#frankie catfish morlaes smut
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Cravings
Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!reader
Summary: Pussy eating king frankie, who gets his aforementioned nickname when you tried to come up with ways to prevent him from relapsing back to coke.
Warnings: soooo much oral —pussy eating, cum eating, grinding, dry humping, cumming in pants, kissing, Frankie's mouth is everywhere, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, little dub con since Frankie doesn't ask if he can cum inside, overstimulation, free use esc situations
Notes: This is NOT the Frankie free-use series I mentioned before; I'm a bit delayed with writing it, so here's something else i had started as a drabble but then... did not stay a drabble. Please like and reblog if you enjoy this fic!
18+ ONLY
- - - -
Rather than drowning himself in coke, Santi slyly suggest he drowns himself in pussy instead. The guys around the table laughed, but you kind of agreed and told him you'd help set him up on hookups. Frankie didn't want to go through the trouble of having to find a potentially different girl each night. Plus, his cravings were sporadic. He would need his fix in that moment whenever it came.
He remembered back when you had drunkenly admitted guys could hardly satisfy you because you had a high drive, usually cumming on your fingers at least 6 times a day before bed, often times more on lonely weekends. He was left speechless at the time, but now he couldn't get Santi's proposition mixed with that knowledge of you out of his head.
You tried to cook him meals instead or buy him hoards of candy, but the idea was stuck in his mind. You knew you'd be a convenient alternative, given you only lived less than 10 minutes away and was always around when he needed help. But you were afraid of crossing that line with one of your all time best friends.
Eventually, being around him so much—"on call" as the boys put it—left you susceptible to his sweet touches, ghosting lips against your ears, sporadic twitches and jittery hands, antsy fingers dancing along your hips. You considered the option heavily before finally caving: you were doing this to HELP him, as his friend. Just a little relief every so often when he absolutely needed it.
You came 9 times on his tongue the first time. It wasn't even that he was trying to make you cum, but the eagerness in the way he moved so fast, growling and moaning at the taste, his lips attached and never left your heat. His big nose just perfectly bumping your clit each time he pointed his tongue dove deep into your craving hole, curling up and hitting that soft spot inside you left you shaking and crying out his name, back arched and fingers clawing at his shoulders.
He was sated for almost 6 days (and you needed the ample recovery time because not even your fingers could make you cum so hard) before the craving hit again. Incessant knuckles pounded your doorstep. You had barely unlocked the door before he was shoving himself in and devouring your mouth with his. "I need another hit, carniño."
He didn't wait for a response, knocking you on your ass on the sofa and stripping your sweats and panties off before throwing one leg over his shoulder. Flattening his tongue, he licks a long strip along from your hole to your clit, obscenely guttural moans from the back of his throat filled your ears. He looked wild-eyed and crazy, as if starved for weeks and was finally given the sugar rush of the century.
You inevitably move in with him, claiming his spare bedroom, worried about how bad he gets when he goes anything longer than a few hours without you.
He makes you ride his face until you're suffocating him, and he still can't get enough. Your juices flood his mouth and nose and his eyes roll back as he loses air. You try to get off and apologies, but he's caged your thighs with his muscular arms, holding your pussy flat against his face as he devoured you more, ignoring your squirming pleas. He hums against your nub, the vibrations sending you into your own addictive high. You cum again, and again, and again, and soon you're tugging his hair, crying his name with fat tears down your cheek, leaning back and scratching at his chest to let off, but its useless. He's so lost in your cunt that you become light headed, barely holding on to the headboard as your lower body continues to spasm.
He only pulls off for a minute, squeezing his nostrils to force out your juices. He's so dazed, pupils blown wide, beard and mustache drenched in your slick, so pussy-drunk and in love that he wants to do it again. "Sweetest fucking cunt, I swear. Just wanna curl up and live inside here, querida."
You offer to suck him off but he gestures embarrassingly down, where you turn to see a dark splotch on the belt-line of his pants where the tip of his spent cock peaks out, dribbling little white drops onto his lower belly, having cum untouched just from eating you out.
It gets to the point where you lock yourself in the bathroom when you take a shower just to have 10 minutes of peace. Your pussy is so puffy, clit so swollen from his constant assault day and night that you have to calm down and remind yourself what good its doing for him. He hasn't touched the white powder in weeks.
He's wondered where you've gone when he sees the bathroom light illuminate under the door. He knocks a few times, then raps harsher with his fists, calling out your name. You tell him you just need a minute. The makeshift locks on the bathroom door of Frankie's apartment isn't designed to keep an ex militant out, and he just pushes it forward with enough force that it gives way and he let's himself in. You go to cover yourself when he pulls the shower curtains away, but the same needy expression on his face as he narrows in to the slit between your legs has you aching once again. It's Pavlovian, the way he stares, practically drooling, hands twitching by his side, sending signals to your cunt to start dripping for his appetite. He spins you around so your cheek is smothered against tile, ass out towards him, not caring about the water drenching his baseball cap, grey shirt and pants as he kneels on the shower floor and puts his face between your legs. He moans when his lips start sucking on your nub, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole. He keeps you in your spread position with his arms holding your waist, making their way to spread your ass for him to dive further in, knees between your heels. You reach one arm back, knocking his cap off as you card your fingers through his damp hair, gripping it when you cum and grind yourself back on his scruffy face.
He's otherwise so gentle, so soft spoken, but when he gets between your legs, something primal takes over and you can hardly recognize him.
Sometime in the evening while you were watching a movie, you see his knee bouncing next to you. You has snapped at him earlier and refused his hunger when he peppered kisses all over your neck, down your back, then tried to yank your pants down while you were cooking dinner for the two of you, nearly burning your arm on the stove from such force.
You hated that you had outright refused him for the first time, but the truthfully the swollenness between your legs needed rest before he wrecked you again. He's biting his lip so hard, stealing glances at you before rubbing his hair and shifting his cap back on.
You instead take your top off, having gotten comfortable enough to go without a bra when it was just the two of you. Frankie is a bit shocked, only used to seeing you strip your pants first before anything else.
You crawl over to him before sitting in his lap, thighs spread over his. He swallows the lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off of your tits right in front of him. His legs are still bouncing in agitation, the movement making your breasts jiggle right in front of him. He groans, licking his lips, breathing heavily.
"She needs a break, Fish," you said quietly, your soft and small hands seeking his big and callous ones, pulling them up over your waist before letting them settle on your cups.
He doesn't hesitate or ask further, head leaning forward and lips immediately latching on to your nipple. He moans, eyes closed as he sucks around the areola, tongue swirling your pebble as he kneads them in his hands.
You're trying so hard not to grind down on his cock, instead sitting upright on your knees so you're not fully resting your damp panty-covered crotch against the tent in his pants. The position is more head level with your tits, but he doesn't like that. He grips your hips to bring you flush against him, gasping out when you instinctually start rocking your hips steadily against his clothed length.
He noticed how heavily your chest is flexing, glaring up at you to see your brows furrowed, face tilted towards the ceiling trying not to cum on him. He cups his hands against your cheeks and brings you in for a sweet kiss, his lips slotting perfectly against yours as his hands return to palming your breasts. He presses his forehead against yours so your eyes meet, goosebumps wracking your whole body at the lust behind his eyes, and something more you couldn't place. "So good to me, querida. Perfect lips"—he gently pecks your lips—"perfect tits"—then a generous kiss to each of your breasts—"my perfect girl." You could smell the scent of your pussy on his lips, as if they'd be stained there now. Kissing your lips, your throat, collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, and erect nipples, and all the way back up again, was enough to keep his mouth busy and his craving subsided. And it worked almost as well, the two of you cumming sticky and wet against one another in your underwear with heavy sighs and sated eyes; you had calmed him down enough to get him to remove his clothes and put on a fresh pair of boxers before tucking him to his own bed with your favorite blanket.
As you tip toed into the bathroom to prep for a bath, you stared at your naked reflection: how swollen, and red your breasts were, covered in raised bite marks the shape of Frankie's jaws. Among your new scars are the faded scratches and bruises of Frankie's fingertips on your waist, stomach and lower back from how incessantly he devours you while his face is buried in your sopping pussy, like he had to sink his claws into you so you wouldn't slip away as he feasted. You look like you were attacked by a passionate lion.
His sweet nothings every time he stared into your eyes was what really turned you on. You tell yourself that it was just the withdrawal symptoms talking. That he was basically just high on a new drug.
-
To you, it must have looked like Frankie's craving were only getting worse with how increasingly frequent his lips found themselves attached to your body. In truth, his desire for coke steadily grew less, and it wasn't the replacement of the powder that he was seeking from you but rather the insaitability of finally having you that grew stronger.
The rest of boys noticed the effects you're having on Frankie too. They see it when he meets them for a drink every other Saturday, the way he anxiously taps his foot under the table, glancing around like he's unsure what to do, where to go, because he can't sit still. It's the signs of his cravings kicking back in, and they're all worried at first. But it's not until you up show later and slide into the booth next to him that they notice: Frankie casually drapes his arm around your shoulders like he always did—that part was normal. But what was new is how they could visibly see Frankie's heart rate slow, the way he slumped against the bench and completely calmed down from just your presence.
They also couldn't help but notice the way his eyes raked you with a mix of lust, love, and obsession, his dark gaze never once leaving the sight of you the entire night. All the while you laughed and chatted with them about your week, oblivious to the change in demeanor of your friend from just a few months ago.
You assured the boys that you two weren't fucking—and it was true, you hadn't slept with him once. albeit a few blow jobs, it was exclusively just Frankie eating you out or kissing. You were very hopeful that his cravings were going to go away soon since its the longest he's been off coke. You were even talking to your old landlord to see if your old apartment a few blocks away still had openings since you'd be moving out of Frankie's place soon. Santi couldn't help but see Frankie's dejection, his arm sliding away from you as he excused himself to get more beer.
By the end of the night, Frankie was drunk out of his mind. Will suggested he slow down so he wouldn't pass out before he could walk home. It sounded like a good plan, until Francisco glanced over to the bar and saw you sitting there and smiling at a guy who was flirting with you. Fish took a giant gulp of his beer, downing the entire jug before slamming it on the table and striding out of the booth towards you. He overheard the guy asking if you had a ride home tonight.
"She comes home with me. Every. Night," he slurred, his sweaty palm skimming possessively over your jean-clad thigh and snaking between your legs, face coming so close to you that your noses slide against each other. Frankie's eyes bore into yours with so much desire, it bordered on range. You knew those were his craving eyes. The pungent smell of alcohol on his breath made you flinch as he tried to pull you in for a kiss. You quickly tell the confused guy that he's your roommate and you need to get him home immediately. You could barely finish excusing yourself from the stranger before Frankie was dragging you out of the bar. You managed to wave to the others, making a drinking gesture and pointing to Frankie before being yanked into the street.
He was stumbling all over the place, breath uneven as you hoisted him up to lean against you, eventually making it through his apartment entrance and turning the key to unlock his unit.
With a renewed sense of urgency, Frankie slammed the door close behind him and pinned you up against it, his hands roaming your body as his mouth desperately sought yours. "Craving," he mumbled against your open lips. "Need"—tongue forcing its way into your mouth, he nipped at your lower lip, sucking on it before releasing with a pop— "need you," he panted.
"I know, I know—Jesus Fish. I'm—gonna help—gonna take care of you—" you breathed, ashamed of how quickly you could feel your panties dampen. It never bothered him though, and only encouraged his sweet tooth more. You weren't nearly as drunk as him, but your few margaritas made you extremely susceptible, even welcoming, to his touch.
You hummed into his shoulder when his hard bulge rubbed purposefully against your covered core. He bit your earlobe as he fisted your low-neck shirt before pulling it down roughly, the fabric tearing away. You gasped, ready to scold him but he pressed his mouth on you again, teeth clashing, his hands slotting down your body to pinch, grope, scratch at any bit of skin he could get.
"So—so good t'me. Always taking—such good care of me, cariño."
His fingers dip into your ass and hoist you up so he's carrying you, your arms and legs wrapped securely around him as he boldered through his apartment, kicking his door open before tossing you on the bed, watching you bounce. You never break eye contact as you unbutton your jeans at the same time Frankie pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside to unfasten his belt and zipper.
Clambering over you to reseal your lips, you breath in his scent, hands exploring his tone arms, down his chest and muscle middle all the way to the little pooch of tummy hanging. His hands gripped your jeans and pulled them along with you down the length of the bed, bringing you to the edge, his grip pushing up on the back of your thighs so your knees are digging against your rib cage, pulsing pussy exposed at his mercy. "I fuckin' love this pussy, querida," he growled before burying his face between you folds for the thounsandth time. "So fuckin' wet for me," he mumbled against your thigh, nipping at the skin.
He ate you out with precision, eyes hungry watching you, determined to make you fall apart quickly. He wasn't doing it for his own taste, but the sheer satisfaction of watching you writhe for him, knowing your body inside out as the only one who could get you like this. He's languidly thrusting two fingers in and out. You didn't even need to be stretched: he'd practically been prepping you for months now. You're crying out into the air as you cum, hips bucking against his nose with your heels digging into his shoulder blades. Frankie pulls away, kissing your stomach and up your tits before making you taste yourself on his lips.
The feeling of his cock nudging your entrance make your once dazed eyes go wide and alert. He pauses, suddenly worried. He can't read your expression, time dragging out too long and it scares the fuck out of him that he's taking it too far, that you didn't agree to this.
He had wanted to tell you everything right then: how he dreams of you riding him, or when he fists his cock in the shower when you're at work to the thought of what your tight walls would feel like wrapped around him when first violates you, how he automatically gets aroused now when he just sees you or smells your laundry, or admitting how many times he's actually cum in his pants without you noticing when he is buried between your legs, dying to have you cum around his cock instead of his tongue.
It's not until you sense his hesitation that you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close, sharing the same breath of air, nodding as your calves hook over his ass and squeeze his hips, the tip of his flush cock slipping in to your wet heat.
You both sigh heavily into each other's mouth when he takes charge again and thrusts fully inside you. He scrunches his eyes closed, forehead dipping down to your breast bone to revel in the overwhelming feeling of the tight space inside you.
You warmly caress his hair to bring him back up to you, kissing him and whispering, lips trembling, "Don't—don't think about it. Just... just use me."
His heart sank: You probably just thought this was another hit for him.
He didn't want to think about the fact that you were everything he'd needed in that moment, the image of perfection beneath him beautifully laid out for his eyes, his touch, but not for his soul. He gritted his teeth, pulling out then slamming back in, jolting your whole body up the mattress. It was fast, rough, and not at all how he wanted your first time to be with him, but he couldn't control his urges. He was gasping loudly as he fucked you, your cunt gushing around his member, the obscene sound of slick and skin slapping skin echoing in his otherwise empty apartment.
He brought his thumb to rub messy circles on your clit, sending you into a spasm of praises and expletives, but the most satisfying sound was his name repeated over and over again.
He barely manages to pull out before jerking his cock only twice and creaming all over your folds and clit. Groaning in post orgasmic bliss, he watches you heaving and shaking, filthy pussy covered in his seed. Half of his mind is only working now as he slides back down to lap you clean with his mouth, his own saltiness filling his throat, fingers scissoring inside to get your juices flowing, obsessed with the sight in front of him: your back arched off the bed, heels digging into his lower back as his hands pinning your hips down flat so he can work his mouth over you. And then you're cumming again, so angelic on his tongue, your sweet moans going right to his dick, hardening once again as he ruts into the mattress. He nips your clit and sucks, reluctant to pull away as he lines up and splits you open. You scream out, and if it weren't for the way your barely-recovered battered walls kept sucking him back in, he'd be worried you're in pain. His hands hook under your lower back, lifting you off the bed as he plows into your squelching cunt over and over again.
Youre both covered in a thin layer of sweat, the pillows and comforter of his bed strewn haphazardly around the floor as he dominates you. The headboard slammed recklessly agains the wall, and neither of you cared about your neighbors trying to sleep at 1 in the morning. He ignores the oversensitivity of his cock and your clit, forcing you both into an unexpected climb of another orgasm like it was a primal need.
It was happening without warning; he should be asking for permission, but he knew you took the pill, and he's been dying to release inside you from the moment you first let him put his lips on you. You're cumming on his cock again, hips bucking and grinding against him without your clit being touched, and he was done for.
With a harsh cry, he climaxes again, his length flooding your womb with ribbons of white. His arm shoots in front of him, flat on the bed next to your ear to hold himself up so he didn't crash down on you as his hips jerked, pushing his seed deeper in to you.
He rested most of his weight on top of you, labored breaths combined into one. He kisses the top of your nose, whispering "thank you," unsticking your sweaty bodies as he rolls you two over to have you lying on top, your head next to his. He pats your hair over your ear, pebbling your forehead and eyelids in kisses. His cock twitched in your spent heat, cum leaking out and dripping down to his balls and on the bed.
"Glad I—could...help..." you mumbled, eyes already closed as you drifted into sleep.
His softening dick slipped from your pussy, warm hands wiping you with his shirt before settling you gently on a pillow. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your breaths, naked and fast alseep on his bed. He pulled his sheets higher to your shoulder, his heart beating faster at the way you snuggled further into his pillow.
Frankie stared at the ceiling for hours, hand on his forehead in anguish, wondering how the fuck he was supposed to tell you it wasn't cocaine he was craving last night.
- - - -
Part 2: Crash
Series masterlist
#pedro pascal smut#francisco morales#frankie morales smut#triple frontier smut#triple frontier#frankie morales#catfish morales#catfish morales smut#frankie catfish morales#frankie catfish morlaes smut#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales fanfiction#catfish morales x reader
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Crash
Sequel to Cravings
Frankie Morales x F!Reader
Summary: Frankie is reeling from the night you two had sex and can no longer differentiate between his addictions.
Notes: Great y’all, now he's got feelings . Hope you're proud. Anyway, thank you all for the overwhelmingly positive feedback from Cravings: alas, here’s part 2! There will be a part 3 finale following after this (because it was getting too long and I like making you all suffer). Thank you all again for the love and reading so far!
Warnings: Oral (m and f receiving), F and M masturbation, dry humping, drunk reader, slight dub con drunk sexual activities, references to sex, mentions of drug usage, language, Frankie is kinda mean in this one :( , poor communication King and Queen
18+ONLY
- - - -
Frankie feels like a stranger who's overstayed his welcome in his own home. When he knew you were deep asleep, he crawled out of bed and sat on the couch for what felt like a simultaneous eternity and quantum leap of time, wrestling in his mind over what just happened.
He knows you'll be waking up soon, and the thought of seeing you now makes him feel so anxious. In direct contract to how he's felt seeing you every morning since you moved in. How much of last night stuck with you? You were tipsy, but not as fucked up drunk as he was. Did he come on to you too strong? Misread your signs? Did he force it on you? Would you regret it?
And even if you wanted it, was it just all for him? Was this just another "helping Frankie get over his coke problem"?
He can't just go back to seeing you as a substitute for his "problems". His hands shook at his side, leg bouncing. You were slowly transitioning from being the solution to his problems to becoming the reason for his new problems. He's never been afraid about how to act around you before, and that even includes trying to touch and kiss you in front of some guy you were flirting with at the bar.
God, what a shitty friend he is. You should have had the chance to go home with that guy, not have to deal with your coke addicted friend so he hog your cunt all night for himself.
Then again, why would you want to go home with that fucker anyway? Like he would know your body as intimately as Frankie does. As if he could even come close to bringing to the edge black out pleasure and back over and over all night. Catfish doesn’t pride himself on much except two things: flying a chopper under any condition, and making you cream on his tongue.
He feels even more guilty as his cock hardens in his pants, the memories of your sweet moans and perfection flood his mind. How he'd wanted it for so long and was so sure he was dreaming. But he could never mistaken: the hot tenderness of your sweaty skin, hair sprawled over his pillow, your nails sifting through his curls and scratching along his shoulders, the way your legs shook around his head, the taste of your over flowing juices needing him more than before, the sounds like honey pouring from your lips, the insatiably tight, wet grip of your pussy swallowing around him like a perfect fit, and the way you wrapped yourself around him like you never wanted to let go.
He wants you. Again. And again, and again. So much that he doesn’t think he can trust himself around you anymore.
-
You wake to a cold bed. It takes you a moment to orient yourself, recognizing the room is not your own.
You sigh relief when you hear Frankie shuffling in the kitchen, the smell of burning toast filling the air. You quickly run to the bathroom to freshen up, wiping your messy eyes. And surprised to find the once mess between your legs from last night had already been cleaned, probably while you had slept.
You can't help but feel like a shitty friend, hogging his bed, having him clean up after you when he was the drunk one who needed caring to.
You bounce into the living space, announcing your presence with an exaggerated yawn.
You rub his broad shoulders over his shirt, feeling him tense at your sudden touch. Slowly, your hands snakes down the chiseled lines of his back, wrapping around his waist. You felt his strong forearms flex the spatula in his hand.
He turned to you, his eyes warm but clearly sleep deprived. His breath is short when looking at you, eyes dilated. He can't stop your hands drifting south and feeling the clear tent in his pants that has been there all morning. He closes his eyes and groans as you palm his erect cock.
"Why didn't you wake me?" You asked, turning off the stove as you stare up at him.
Frankie swallows the lump in his throat. He brushes your hands off his crotch and holds them in his. “I’m okay. Besides, you needed your rest." He leans down to kiss your cheek, lacking his usual affection despite the gesture before coldly turning back to his cooking.
You pull away and sit down at the table, just a moment before he's plating your breakfast.
Frankie cooked you breakfast?
He brushes your hair out of your eyes before leading himself down the hall and into his room without another word.
Sheets, pillow cases, clothes, all of it gets balled up and tossed in the wash. He glances at you down the ball, your feet dangling over the island stool as you catch up on your news feed.
You couldn’t be any more oblivious to how much his heart is shattering—just from doing absolutely nothing.
-
He's annoyed at how well you carry about your business from then on. So much so that he's trying so hard avoiding using you as much. Yes he WANTS to fuck you again, wants to ravish your cunt every waking minute of the day like before, and then fuck you until you're pleading him to stop, tell you how good you look taking him, and how you were clearly made for him. But how much of it did you want for yourself?
After the first night, he’s been doing everything in his power avoiding sex with you because it’s dangerous. Because he can't control what happens next. Can't keep it platonic, and pretend he’s ok with it just staying sex. He almost lost it and confessed everything the first time—and what would happen when you didn't want that from him? If you didn't feel the same?
You'd leave him.
So of course you make it that much harder for him to resist you everyday since.
Did you realize how sexy you looked wearing nothing but panties, bending over your bed with the fan on after a shower to cool off? you left your door open, casually waving to him, breasts smushed between your chest and the soft blanket on your bed. Did you know he swells with pride when can he still see the obvious markings of his fingerprints bruised on to your hips, your thighs, your stomach, after spending so much time holding your shaking body against his mouth? The way your nipples pierce through his t-shirts that you manage to dig out of his closet, and how they do nothing but aide the memory of you underneath him, begging for him to use you?
Every time he sees you, he gets hard. And he immediately tries to ignore you, walks away, goes to do anything other than giving in to the desire of pushing you down, spreading your legs and taking his frustration out on the one who's causing it all now.
He can tell you're starting to catch on. You notice his curt attitude, the way his eyes avoid you when you’re in the same space.
You two were sitting on the couch watching tv as always, but he was uninterested, leaning back against the sofa with his eyes closed almost in annoyance. You had interpreted it as a sign of him holding back his urges. Sliding down the couch, you glide your hand across his chest, starting to undo your buttoned night gown. when he opened his eyes and saw the first sliver of your breasts opening for him he stood abruptly, throwing you off. He only mumbles 'goodnight' and headed straight to his door.
It's been a few days since the last time he ate you out, last time he really cared to touch you. And you should be glad, really. He's getting so much better. Clearly craving you less. That was the whole fucking point of all this.
But FUCK if you aren't needy as of lates. You can feel the hot flush of embarrassment as you drag yourself to your room. Wet and bothered and for the first time in months, left unsatisfied to your own devices without Frankie's tender and a bit selfish care. You don't remember the last you needed to masturbate, let alone wanted to.
It shouldn't be embarrassing. And yet as you dip your fingers down your panties and through your slick folds, you feel wrong. Empty. Like something isn't there thats supposed to be. The idea that you're so used to him getting you off whether you asked for it or not that you're now incapable of doing it yourself is—troubling.
You huff in frustration and try your best to work yourself to a minimal slickness, remembering all the times Frankie has brought you over the edge again and again. But thinking about him only makes you slightly perturbed by the fact that he's right down the hall and could be doing this himself, if he only needed you as badly like he used to.
You don't notice your friend is right outside your closed door, ear pressed against the wood as he listens to your hushed sighs. His cock is hard in his hand, pumping it with long strokes to your beautiful yet strained moans. He wants to be buried between your legs. Wants his tongue to lap at your folds, fingers craned deep in that tight hot wet heat thats been calling his name all night. Make you flinch away when the stimulation becomes too much, because he knows you'll still take it like his good girl until he decides to stop. He knows all the right places to push, nothing secret between the two of you. In fact, in the amount of time thats passed with your fumbling attempts to get off and his pulsing dick in his hand, he could have made you cum twice now.
His body has been on overdrive trying not to take you again. Trying to be respectful for a change. Everything hurts, even his cock, which no matter how much he tugs on it, it's nowhere near close to giving him that sweet release. He's feral, nails digging in his thighs with the need to feel you against him again. Needs to just fuck, let it out, and then he can deal with his brain, his guilt, afterwards.
And when he hears you softly moan his name, he can't stop himself from barging down your door, wild eyed, dick slapping against his abdomen as he crawled over top of you and captured your lips.
Stop, stop stop, he's telling himself. But with the way you're wrappings your arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss, delicate hands cupping his aching cock, all his needs he's been denying for days have overtaken his movements.
You're so bad for him. An unavoidable addiction.
Worse than candy, worse than coffee, worse than cocaine.
He flips you on your stomach, his hand engulfing the entirety of your lower back, pinning you there as his elbows spread your knees. He lies between your thighs, ass up in front of his face, and spreads your soaked folds, enamored with your clit twitching for him. Your little hiccup goes quiet when he presses his face into your mound, nose dragging along the line as his jaw works you open, fingers pulling your cheeks apart so he can suffocate himself properly.
His fingers dig into your waist, and he's rocking your body back and forth, dragging so deliciously against the sheets below you. His tongue is plunging in and out of your hole, and you realize he's fucking you on his tongue. You hum in relief, rocking with his movements, earning you stinging slaps on your ass cheeks. He kisses them better before biting your folds and gorging himself on your slit again, his appetite voracious after denying himself of your sweetness all week.
He ignores that bubble of guilt wedged deep in his stomach as he let's instinct bring him the relief he desperately needed, your squelching cunt and satisfied sighs tampering his cravings for you once again.
He watches you shake with your orgasm, encouraging him to keep taking. You babble: "Thats it, baby" "so hungry today aren’t you?" "Use it the way you like" and he closed his eyes, wishing he could block out the clear direction of how you saw this transaction. You were never this vocal before, but now when he's tossing and turning all night with his thoughts about wanting you, here you are telling him plainly. Almost as if you're reminding him the truth, discrediting his hopes for a different outcome.
He sits upright and slaps his cock between your ass cheeks, grinding down on you so you're still pressed flat on your bed. God, he wants to do it again. Spread your folds and split you in half with his fat cock. Make you weep and pass out, and then fuck you again. "Gorgeous fucking ass, mi hermosa. So pretty under me," He grunts as he slicks his member up with your arousal, just barely holding on the last bit of sanity he has by refusing to enter you. You whine in protest, but he has both hands on your lower spine, crushing your hips into the mattress as he uses your ass. "So good spoilin' me. Always there for me." He grits his teeth, rutting his cock against you, occasionally sliding back down to your folds to lather himself up. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He growls as he spills his cum over your lower back, breath catching in his throat.
The guilt creeps back in to his clear mind, and he's angry at himself again.
He can't stop himself.
"Frankie, why didnt—“
Before you could finish, he was storming out your door and slamming it behind him.
-
He used to be so loving. Used to worship your body, warm praises about how perfect you are for him. Sometimes he'd take his time, and other times he'd be fast, but still always with warm hands, attentive to your reactions, even when he was so fucked out of his mind needing you.
But now he's rougher. More sporadic than before, even as he decreases the number of times he's engaged with you. Silent now, too. fewer loving praises, less warmth behind his touch or his eyes, and in fact, spends more time having you in positions where he doesn't have to look at your eyes. He leaves you cold afterwards every time.
He's been acting like it a lot more lately: ignores you all week, being uncharacteristically polite when you corner him but managing to ditch whenever possible. And then he caves all at once, crashing in on you and takingtakingtaking, before going back to ignoring you. It should be a good thing: that he needed you less. That his cravings were subsiding more and more that he could actually go a while before needing a hit. It really should have been like this from the start: Cold. Transactional. Indifferent.
So why did you feel so awful now?
The only reason you haven't lost all hope is that very occasionally, that sappy, wet puppy dog of a mess shows his warm side again. You were showering when you heard him slip the curtain open behind you and step in, his arm immediately wrapping around your stomach, loving kisses adorning your shoulder, neck, and up to your ear. You sigh, relaxing in to his touches. He just held you there and kissed your body. He didn't even try to touch you, although you knew you were growing a different wetness between your legs. He didn't let you touch his obvious erection either. Just peppered you in kisses, dragging his lips over your stomach, combing through your hair, up to your elbow then down in the palm of your hand. There was no rush behind hid actions. No urgency. All gentle.
All Frankie.
YOUR Frankie.
But incidentally as he brought his eyes to yours, his chest seized with coldness again, and he's suddenly leaving you and the now cold shower without a word.
You didn't know how to make it better anymore.
He was so agitated again recently, and you could tell he didn't get any sleep again. You suggested he take the day off, the two of you could spend it "however he wanted", slyly offering yourself to him to take the edge off. But when he ignored you and went to watch the football game, two beer bottles dangling between his fingers, you rolled your eyes.
So fed up with his change in attitude, you spent an hour getting ready in your room, walking down the hall in heels, your tightest shortest shorts, and a low hanging crop. It had been a month since you and Frankie first fucked: combined with his recent behavior, stress with work, and lack of action, you needed a night out, needed to get wasted. Needed to stop being the baby sitter.
You needed sex.
"Where the hell are you going?"
"Out."
You grabbed your keys and left.
You hadn’t even closed your car door before opening your phone and texting Frankie that you were going out with Santi to help alleviate any worries he might have of the company you're keeping. Pope’s just as close a friend as Frankie is: he shouldn't have any problems about the fact that you’re in good hands tonight and just need some time to drink and be out.
Away from Frankie Morales just for the night.
-
It’s like you’re perfectly doing everything wrong to him.
She's out with Santi. Fucking Pope. The same Santi who told Frankie years ago you're smoking hot, and he wouldn't hesitate to jump on you if you let him. His best friend, the one who knows him better than himself, and yet here he is making a move on his girl—
But you aren’t his.
In fairness, he has been a total ass. He keeps trying to curb his desires, punch away his uncontrollable feeling about you, only caving all at once on you like a bullet train. Then the emotional brick wall of regret builds immediately after release, desperate to shut out his overwhelming feelings and the rough actions he’s taken against you. It keeps repeating.
He vainly hopes he'll actually stop wanting someone who doesn't want him any more.
He curses himself for only having enough alcohol to get slightly tipsy. It's been a week since the two of you did anything sexual, a month since "the incident" so it's a good thing you're out.
It doesn't make him feel better.
To his annoyance, his phone buzzes next to him as Santi's contact pops up. He puts it on speaker, can hear loud giggles and music outside, barely registering his friend saying you're completely wasted and need to be taken home. He doesn't even send a reply, already throwing his jacket and cap on and walking out the front door.
-
"FISHY!"
You're leaning over Santi outside the bar when you spot Frankie walking towards you two. Your mascara smeared across your eyes like you had been wiping them all night. You're mumbling incoherently, throwing your head back in a fit of laughter. Pope is barely holding you up right, sheepishly smiling to keep your morale up.
"Hey man. I’m sorry, She lost her keys and I walked here. Otherwise I would have..."
"It's fine. Gimme her," Frankie said curtly. How Santi would ever let you drink this badly, he'd have to berate him later.
"M' Pinocchio!" You gasped as Frankie slung one of your arms over his neck and hoisted you up on one of his shoulders.
Why? Full of lies? he wonders.
“I’m gonna be swallowed by a great big FISH." You hiccuped, cackling upside down with a nice view of your besties tight ass. Frankie readjusts your body like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder and stands up, holding your thighs securely. If Santi wasn't here, he'd smack your ass to get you to shut up.
Frankie nods once at Santi and goes to turn around.
"Hey Fish? Take—take care of her. Please."
No shit.
Frankie is pushing open the apartment door as you're mumbling "fishy fishy fishy—hic!— squishy fishy."
He drops you down carefully on your bed. "Get undressed."
You giggle even more, seductively biting your lips as you pull yourself up to his body, hands roaming his abs and down to his hips. "You first."
He stared down at you, your lust ridden eyes meeting his, as you're pulling your shirt off so you're only in a push up bra. He tried avoid staring at your supple tits, the faint bite marks and bruises from his past ministrations almost completely faded by now. A fresh canvas practically begging to be marked up again...
He shakes his head. "We're not doing this. You're getting in your pj's and going to bed," he said, scolding you like a brat.
"Ppfftttttt." You ignore him, lifting his shirt and kissing his belly button, tracing down his happy trail and pausing at his belt. "At least someone here misses me."
He hasn't even noticed how hard he was in his jeans until you were rubbing your cheek against his clothed bulge, doe eyes staring up at him. He hears the soft pop of his pant's button undone, zipper slowly being dragged down by your teeth.
"When was the last time I blew you, Fishy? Let me relax you. I know you've needed this..."
His jaw clenched as he avoided your eyes.
“Know you want me,” you purred.
Those fucking words again. If you KNEW how much more he actually wanted from you...
"He's positively aching, Fish. Shouldn't ignore a big man in need."
He doesn't stop you when you pull his cock out of his pants, having foregone the underwear in a rush to get you. He closes his eyes when your pretty nails wrap around his thick length, lips ghosting over his tip as you press an innocent kiss to his slit.
You hadn't blown him in a long while, and not often enough as you would have liked. you don't normally take charge, but he's been so distant lately that you can't help but use the alcohol in your system as a newfound confidence to forcibly get him to unwind. Your cunt throbs with need, forgetting just how indescribably big he is until felt him swelling in your mouth. It's sinister how well his dick reacts to your tongue, like you had been practicing as often on him as he had intimately gotten to know your pussy.
Your lips suction his tip into your mouth, causing him groan. His stomach flexes above your forehead. He's resisting again. Your tongue swirls around the tip as you lightly bob your head, swallowing an inch more and pulling out with a pop, teasing him slowly. You needed to get him worked up so he could let go, relax for once.
Maybe not be so cold to you for a while...
He feels your hands gently grasp his own that were down by his side, guiding them up to the back of your hair. You squeeze them in permission before returning your hands to wrap around the length of his cock that didn't fit down your throat.
You experimentally swallow around his shaft, eliciting a soft "fuck" from his breath. He collects your hair in a makeshift pony tail in his hand so that he had a full view of your face, submissively staring up at him as you gulp more of his cock into your inviting mouth.
You feel him twitch against the roof of your mouth, the veins in his v-line in front of you throbbing. Other than holding your hair up, he continues to let you set the pace. His eyes are fixed on you, head slightly titled to the side, entranced by your spell, his tongue just hovering between his teeth.
You push your face a little further, nose brushing against his public hairs, the first jolt of your esophagus resisting the intrusion. y|You hold yourself there, holding your breath for a moment before sucking him again. He's breathing deeply with long, staggered huffs.
You tilt your head back up, eyelashes fluttering as he watches his shaft rest on your outstretched tongue, slowly tracing the veins on the underside of him.
He fists your hair a little tighter, struggling not to grab your face and fuck your throat raw until you choked.
You swallow around him once before letting his dick fall from your mouth with a slick plop.
You stand up, eyes challenging his dominance despite the height difference as you drag him to sit on the bed, and while his eyes are emotionless, body stiff, he doesn't try to stop you. He rests against the headboard as you crawl over his lap. You waste no time to kiss him.
He’s not accepting your tongue, just letting you work over him. What the fuck is his problem? it's never taken him this long to give in. You can tell he WANTS to kiss you back, his jaw clenching so hard he could shatter his teeth. It's never stopped him before.
Truthfully, what you didn't know was that he was tired of you today; from trusting Santi over him for fuck knows what reasons, then having you come home drunk out of your mind, trying to tempt him with more emotionless sex. It's putting him off of your antics mentally. He wanted you, but not like this. He couldn't handle the aftermath of giving in to you again, but not having you.
Sexually, his mind was losing the war over his body's needs.
If it wasn't coke, it was you. And if it wasn't you...
It can only be you.
And Jesus, just when he thought he had a grip on being able to block you out for good tonight, you somehow managed to be an irresistable siren:
"'M so wet for you," you slurred seductively against his lips.
He can't hide the growl rumbling lowly in his chest. His lips part to let out a breath he had been holding and you take the chance to engulf his mouth with the hot kiss you'd been dying to get all week. His lips quickly mold to yours as you whimper pathetically, his hands sliding down to grip your ass in his warm, rough hands. You prop yourself higher on him, cupping his face in your hands, forehead nudging his Standard Oil cap off. You can feel his hot breath panting quickly against your cheek, his resolve crumbling.
He's right there. He's so close to relaxing. Just a little push...
You pull away, his lips almost chasing after yours. "C'mon big boy, wasn't it soooo good?" You playfully bite his ear. "You've got suck a nice cock here," you whisper, fisting his dick once again with the remnants of your spit, pumping his shaft easily. "Shame if it wasn't pounding me tonight...C'mon. Let's do it again."
He finally brings his eyes directly to yours. Your pupils were blown wide, crowded with evident lust. But it was what he could see beyond your eyes that told him exactly what he feared all along:
Nothing.
He doesn't stop the words from tumbling out of his month. "Why? so you can just use me for sex?" he said matter-of-factly, his face relaxing into a mix of coldness and spite.
You stop giggling and pull away, eyes widening with the most seriousness, and hurt, he'd ever seen on you. "And how is that any different than how you've treated me for the past year?"
His jaw is slack with panick, immediately wishing he could take back what he just said. No I—shit, I didn't mean —I didn't mean it like that—“
You get off of him with a hostile sense of urgency, ignoring his hands trying to caress your elbows, to keep you on him. You dig in your back pocket and then you're throwing something hard at his chest. "No, you know what? Fuck you, Frankie." You storm off to your bedroom and lock it.
He covers his face with both hands and leans back against the sofa. Looking down at his lap after a minute, he sees the pair of keys you've had to his apartment for the past year.
What he'd give to be high right now and to forget everything.
-
You spend the entire night packing. He's right at your door first in the morning when you open it, his stomach churning with pain at the image of your eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, hangover, and tears.
You brush past him before he can even apologize, settling your belongings on the kitchen counter. As you toss your scattered items in to your tote, he watches you, fingers twirling in on themselves with anxiety.
Now, now, do it now! he's screaming in his mind.
“I—“
You interrupt him, and it's only now that he sees you're not shaking in anger—you're trembling in tears: "I'm s-sorry that I snapped at you last night. I wasn’t— in the right head. I c-came on to you. You had your reasons for doing what we've done, and last night I was just genuinely u-using you for no other reason other than self interest and I'm s-so sorry." You swallow and take a deep breath before continuing: "I gave up a lot coming here, trying to help you, letting you use me to get better. But I can't do it anymore. I wanted to help you, but then when we had sex, I didn't know if things would change, I didn’t want things to change, and when I woke up, you weren't there, and then you treated me so coldly afterwards. I don't know what I did wrong.” Your voice cracks, sniffling away the running of your nose. “And it felt awful. I just wanted to go back to the way things were. But you s-seem like you hate me now, and I—“ you pause, rubbing your eyes on your sleeve, suddenly changing tone in a polite manner, like you were address a principle and ignoring your previous breakdown. "I'm very happy you're clearly doing a lot better and don't need me anymore. Sorry, I don’t—I don't mean to cry like this.”
Frankie is frozen.
You're crying. You're crying in front of him, which wasn't a first; you've cried to him about stupid boys before. But what IS a first is that you're crying for the first time over the stupid boy right in front of you. You're crying, Because. Of. Him.
Just tell her tell her tellhertellhertellherNOW
But as he opens his month, his words get caught in his throat, like swallowing a lump of coal and puking a ball of fire all at once. His chest aches unlike anything he'd experience before. All he can say is "I... understand."
Nononononoyoudumbfuckwhatareyoudoing!
You nod and sniffle, clearing your throat. "I'd like to just go back to being friends. Before all of this. I'll still support you, I swear. I want you to still feel like you come to me for anything else. But I need some time. To get myself in check." You calmly collect your things and make for to the door.
"Wait!" he goes to grab your arm but his hand freezes up, like touching you would give you painful blisters. You pause and look over to him as he stands a bit closer. “I—I think you should keep this." He puts your key in your hand. "In case. Something happens."
Your lip quivers with empathy, eyes softening for him. "Please. I don't... I don't want to think about..." I don't want to think about seeing you lying face down OD'd on the carpet.
"Just. Hold on to it. Just in case. I'm asking as your friend. We're still that at least. Right?" The words feel like hot iron in his mouth, a heaviness in his heart desperately trying to convince himself more than you.
He wants to hug you. but if he did, he wouldn't let you leave. The warmth of his hand draws away from you after depositing the key in your palm.
You nod, rub his shoulder affectionately yet with clear distance, and leave.
He stands there like a statue in the hall, unable to comprehend just how much quieter and colder the apartment is now than it has been in months.
- - - -
Tagging people who either requested a part two or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)
Part 3: Insatiable
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#pedro pascal smut#frankie morales smut#francisco morales#triple frontier smut#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x you#frankie morales fic#frankie catfish morlaes smut#catfish morales smut#catfish morales x reader#triple frontier fanfiction
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Insatiable
Part 3/Finale to Cravings and Crash
Frankie Morales x F!Reader
Summary: Frankie and reader spend some time apart before realizing that’s actually really stupid—and solid communication happens for once :)
Notes: it’s finally HERE! Thank you all so much again for your words of praise and keeping with these two absolute idiots in love. Honestly intended the first one to just be a one-off drabble throw away thought, but I’m glad everyone enjoyed it so much to ask for more! I’m spitting this out earlier than expected. Don’t know if I’ve done them reasonable justice but this is what I’ve got—hope you like it!
Warnings: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, mentions of m oral, pussy eating king returns, cum eating, missionary, doggy, cowgirl, overstimulation, fingering, squirting, bit of possessive and jealous Frankie, mentions of drug use, drugs present, language
18+ ONLY
- - - -
You had cried when you got in your car. And again when you went to your cousin’s house to crash until you signed your new lease. And then again every night for a week straight.
You had NEVER cried this hard over a boy before.
Except this wasn't some boy—this was Frankie. The guy who comforted you through all your dates that stood you up, and shitty boyfriends, albeit few, that left you feeling less than worthwhile. The same Frankie who stood around you like a guard dog when you went drinking together so no one would even think to slip something in your cup, but who YOU have to comfort during horror movies because he's a big scared kitten. Who lets you sleep on his shoulder for five hours in the car no matter how uncomfortable it was for him, never once moving, but still ate the food you didn't like off your plate "because he's a garbage dump who'd eat anything, even mold."
The first guy to tell you that you were beautiful when you weren't even trying to impress him. Who brings a hair tie with him when you go to eat because you always forget yours and get your hair caught in your fork. Who pushed you to take charge of your life and break up with your loser first love, and it was the hardest and best decision you could have ever made.
And you know what? The ONLY guy who made you cum 9 fucking times the FIRST time he went down on you.
You called Santi that night because you needed to let loose, and the only other person you trusted to hold you up outside of Frankie was Pope.
“So how is he?” Santi asked, as you immediately double fisted your first two shots.
"I don't wanna talk about him tonight."
Santi nods, eyes widening as you don’t even resist the bitter taste going down your throat. He holds his finger up towards the waitress to order 4 more glasses.
You really didn't want to think about Frankie. The more you thought about him, the more confused you felt, and you couldn't afford to be confused about your purpose in his life right now. You knew battling addiction isn’t a linear healing process. That it would get worse before it got better at times. You're his friend. You're helping him. That's it.
Frankie spent a whole year being physically intimate with you, but never once asked or made a move for anything more emotionally. So why let yourself get carried away even thinking about something more?
To even consider if you wanted more...
You snatch the shot glass out of Santi's hand right before he was about to sip it and catapulted it down your throat, the burning sensation taking your mind out of the gutter.
Fuck Frankie for not keeping his shit together. Fuck him for being hot and cold. Fuck him for using you when that's exactly what you’re here for.
It's much easier to keep it all that way. Easy to encourage him with sex to avoid overthinking his intentions. Easier to constantly verbalize it, knowing he won’t deny it, as a means of reassurance to yourself.
But absolutely fucking HELL he’s being so difficult lately. The sex—wasn’t just good. It was fucking phenomenal. you could physically see how much better he was just moments afterwards, even if you were blacking out and falling asleep not too long after. He was so hungry for it too, why deny? But he’d been holding back too much now—getting too tense, crashing, then stressed again. You needed to get things back on schedule with him so he’d be happy again.
And gentle, nurturing, innocent, sober you just wasn't doing the trick for him anymore.
You barely hear Santi over the pounding in your head: "When we was the last time you got laid? You need a distraction from your Fix-a-Fish hobby."
You gulp down the last of the vodka on the table, suppressing a slight burp.
"I'm 'bout to do both tonight."
That was 4 weeks ago. You didn’t achieve either that night.
Fish didn't seem too upset when you left, ultimately making the choice much easier. You looked so fucking stupid walking in there, basically demanding sex from him when he made it clear all year that you were only there for HIM and not the other way around. He didn’t want you like that.
Good. Makes staying friends that much easier.
Or it did, for a little while.
You couldn’t get over the way he made you feel when all was well—when he’d serenade you so easily in affection like Querida, Carino, Hermosa, and you could barely contain the butterflies in your stomach each time. You had never once heard him even refer to his dates or ex girlfriends in the same manner. It was both confusing and arousing. He treated you like a best friend some times, but adored you like a lover more.
Hadn’t the man heard of friendship boundaries? Aside from the fact he made you orgasm every minute of the day, what was Frankie like as a lover? What more could he possibly do to cross that line?
Who the hell treats their friend like that?
That last month, however, felt more realistic. Grounded in the truth of your relation. You didn’t realize how much he had gotten to you with sweet words first that made the change in his attitude so unbearable.
You wanted to go back to being selfish with his unbridled love.
You hadn’t gotten off in over a week, a new record. But as you lay in bed, conjuring any and all pornos, audio eroticas, pillows, aching fingers, even the dusty vibrator still wrapped in its new plastic, nothing was getting you to that same addictive feeling that Frankie gave you every single day.
You should have called him to return his shirt you had accidentally packed in your bag in a haste to get out of there. But it still smelled like him. You felt perverted getting wet just by holding it in your hands, but it was doing the trick, and finally you could touch yourself without additional lubricant assistance.
All the memories that tumbled from then on only made the ache between your legs worse: The first night, Frankie between your legs, begging you to let go so he could force more orgasms from your shaking body. “Doing s’good for me, cariño. Give me more, fucking starving” ; when he held you in his lap as you grind down on his bulge, his head buried under his shirt that you were wearing as his lapped at your nipples, “Don’t you dare hold back those beautiful moans, wanna hear you singing when I’m devouring you”; when he’d come home from work and didn’t say a word, just grabbed your wrist and lead you to his bedroom, lied on the bed, slapped your ass a few times to get you to straddle him higher, higher, until you were right over his lips. He didn’t even wait for your hesitation, immediately bringing your hips down and crashing his lips on your pussy, shaking his head like a mad scientist at work, hell bent on discovering what makes you cry faster.
You pulled your fingers away from your slick cunt. No amount of memory would compare to the real thing—and it wasn’t all the acts that you needed, but the intimacy, the familiarity that came from Frankie—THAT’S what always sent you over the edge.
It scared you.
Santi was half right. You did need to get laid. Needed someone who wasn’t Frankie to remind you that you don’t rely on him for some shit like getting off (although you had developed a keen preference by now). You needed a new hobby that wasn’t thinking about Frankie all the time. YOU needed a distraction.
He was half wrong, however, because you knew very well that you’d be drowning in lame date after lame lay a million times before you got over the addictive feeling of being around Fish this past year.
It never felt like a chore. Well, obviously, you were getting ate out like a Sunday brunch. But it was everything else that made you want to keep staying around, even after he maybe didn’t need you anymore.
You realized then that leaving was the best for you and him. You had somehow managed to score a date tonight, the first one in over a year, with a James. Or Jonathan. Or Jimmy. Something J. I think.
I’m excited. I’m going on a date. I’m going to have fun. I’m excited. Im going on a date. Im going to have fun.
You didn’t even have the care to shave tonight before you begrudgingly left for dinner and a movie.
-
He couldn't say it then. Frankie remembered so vividly the image that he wishes he could forget: you standing there, so meek and vulnerable, spilling your tears as you tried to level your emotions with your feelings and confront the fucked up situation he put you in. Maybe if you had screamed, yelled at him and cussed him out for being such a dick, then he could have told you how he truly felt.
He was always better at being shouted at by others from being in the service. The guys would let their tempers soar and just shout, honesty tumbling through like a flood, and then everything would be out on the table, and shit would get DONE.
The apartment is unforgivably quiet and cold.
He's noticing little things you left behind: your nice moisturizer, expensive shampoo, a paper towel holder. He thinks you’re mocking him by leaving bits of you around his place, so he collects them in a bin and waits for you to come retrieve them. But you don't contact him for the first week.
He starts to think maybe you left those things for him. You bought all these things while you were here, forcing him to use them with you:
"Your face is as dry as a desert; you need moisturizer, not body lotion.”
"You can't use a 4 in one hair and body wash!"
"Who the fuck doesn't have a holder for their paper towels?"
It wasn't all just sex when you were here. He remembered coming in to the bathroom when your feet were soaking in the tub, and you explained you were rubbing your calluses off your feet. He joined you, sweats pulled up above his knee as you held him down to get the stone on his crusty feet, the whole time laughing and squirming because it tickled too much. He fell on his ass in the tub desperate to escape your strangely strong grip around his ankle, getting his clothes all wet.
And despite how well he had known you even before your arrangement, he continued to learn new things about you. Like you took night showers, and could only go to bed with your hair in braid. He'd come to see you, agitated in his room all morning, waiting for you to finally wake up so he could distract his craving. He’d walk into the kitchen where you were already cooking him breakfast, slip his arms around your hip, and pull your braids out lovingly to smell scent of your shampoo waft off in waves, closing his eyes and feeling his jitters dissipate, instantly calming him like no other remedy.
Found it funny that you couldn’t use a regular spoon for cereal, always replacing it with a tea spoon because the other ones are “too big” for your mouth to fully close around. A sentiment he suspected to be a load of BS when you had no problem swallowing his cock whole and then gulping down his cum without spilling a drop.
Or when you got red sauce all over the laundry and had to borrow Frankie's shirt to sleep in. He liked that you smelled like him, that it draped over you so pretty, and you'd never wear pants underneath. He'd put you in his lap and make you hold the shirt up with your teeth, showing off your perky tits. His thumb circled your hip bone, large hand clasping your waist to keep you upright while he'd kiss your nipples, and then make you both look down and watch as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, sucking the juices off as he finger fucked you over top him.
He can't help but feel his twitch of his cock stir in his pants at the thought.
Ok. Maybe the sexual parts were a big part—how could they not be? That’s all it was, at first. And he was able to pretend like it was too. But the more time he spent with you. The more time he got to really know you, live with you, breathe you in, unravel you and bind him to you so that you had no sanctuary untouched by him, it was all over before it began.
He sat down with Pope a week after you left:
“You look like shit.”
Frankie grumbled, shrugging it off. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten like he used to when you were around. His beard was growing in more patchy and less manicured than before.
“Have you talked to her since?”
“Don’t wanna talk about her tonight.”
Jesus, a broken record with these two, Santi thought. But he knew Fish much better, knew the exact reason why he called him out instead of all the boys together is precisely because he needed to get this off his chest. “She thought you were stressed, needed time. Clearly she was right.”
Frankie’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard that he could form diamonds.
Santi cleared his throat, twirling the ice in his glass casually. “Course, I didn’t tell her you’re head over heels in love with her. Why didn’t you?”
He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t think he could again. “Imagine how that would have gone? She was crying right there. Right in front of me, BECAUSE of me, after I’d treated her like shit for weeks until her breaking point. Would have given her some fucked up idea that that was my expression of loving her. If I’d said it then, she would never have believed me. Would have ruined everything. Including our friendship.” He pauses, staring down at his rough hands. “She deserves better,” he said weakly, more to convince himself than anyone else.
Santi leans back against the booth. He’d heard the Frankie pity train before, but this was much lower than usual. “And friendship is still good enough for you?”
“I’ll take whatever she’ll give me at this point. I can’t lose her.”
“You can’t? Or don’t want to?”
Frankie thought about that for a while. He had realized too late he didn’t actually still need you. He hadn’t really “craved” cocaine like before. He no longer needed you tending to his every reaction, overly serving his necessities and desires, always a few steps away to brighten his smile, or warm the house with your laughter, your cooking, your terrible taste in movies, all for the sake of keeping him sane and sober.
But damn it all, he still wanted you.
Frankie goes 4 weeks of the hardest withdrawal of his life. You were right, he was getting better at not thinking about cocaine. But without you here, he's more agitated than before. It's not that he craves it now, but rather craves a substitute to get him through your absence.
He's itching for his phone, for the number of his dealer he should have blocked and deleted so long ago.
He shouldn't. It would devastate you. You'd think it's your fault because you weren't here to distract him, only making the whole lie he’s been telling himself that you could still be just friends more abundantly evident. Pushing that useless tale even further, rooting it in your mind.
In truth, it is your fault that his entire happiness is now emotionally and physically tied to you, but he can't really blame you for leaving him since he's the big idiot. He had the entire year to make it right, damned be the consequences of your possible rejection.
He’s clenching his fist at his sides, debating whether to text his dealer. He doesn't even want that shit, at least not the way before. He just wants a distraction from the real aches that you've left behind.
And if he did... wouldn't you come back to him to make it right?
You’re so clear in his mind that doesn't even struggle, doesn't hesitate as he pays the money and carries the little pouch in his hands. He gets back to his apartment with vigorous haste, slamming the door behind him, and sits it on the coffee table, staring.
Even if you don't come back to him, getting just a little bit high would help take his mind off it all. He'd be able to stop thinking about you, even for just the night. Just to get some sleep.
Just to stop feeling.
He shakily tries to undo the tightly sealed bag, but few particle traces catch in his finger tips from outside the plastic, and he instantly wafts the infinitesimal scent of it on his finger tips. He stops, feeling something he's never felt before when staring down at the thing thats caused him so much trouble in his life:
Disgust.
-
You considered calling Frankie a million times, but how soon was too soon? Would he think you were just desperate to get ate out again? Would he deny you the second you wanted to see him, thinking it was just a booty call again? You had made some stupid choices, like going on a shitty date with a guy you weren’t even interested in, just to get over Frankie, so that you could avoid thinking about how badly you had shattered your friendship.
And going right back to being his friend, which included sharing one of your reckless decisions you make on your own, was one of them. He’d be interested in hearing about it, right?
You dial him up quickly.
You rock back and forth on your heels, unable to sit still.
The phone rings out to voicemail.
He’s never missed a phone call from you. Not even at 2am on a work night. He's never on his phone, and yet still always managed to answer your calls even if it’s on the last ring.
He's just avoiding you again. It's fine. Santi said he'll get over it eventually. That you’ve done enough worrying for him, and need to take care of yourself for a change.
You glance at the key he gave back to you, and not even a moment later, are soon slipping on shoes and heading out the door with it in hand.
-
You unlock the door and slowly walk in to the familiar layout of Frankie's apartment. It's entirely dark, curtains drawn save for a small crack in the shades. You call out his name tentatively, the eeriness of the place making you anxious. When you see the bathroom light on and door slightly ajar, hearing the rushing sink water running, you sigh relief.
Thank God.
You gently push open the door. "Fish?" You see him, heart skipping a beat at how much thinner, paler he looked now than before, eyes sunk from lack of sleep.
His eyes light up when he sees you, and your heart breaks at how different he looks but STILL has the brightest, softest, loving smile at you.
Your eyes drift down, smile fading, horror quickly overtaking your face at the unopened baggie of white powder sitting at the sink. And his face drops at the realization.
You take one step back, unable to close the gape in your lips, petrified. "Fish—I—holy fuck..."
You had never seen him doing it, never seen him freshly blown high from it. The closest you ever got was what the boys would tell you, or seeing the long aftermath of his crash. They were always first on the scene and quite frankly, ensured you were never the one to find in him these states. You had never been able to mentally prepare to have to handle it now.
"No—no no no! It's not, I didn’t, I didn't! Look—ok it looks like I did but I swear I haven't touched it. It’s still sealed! I’m. I'm dumping it down the toilet."
You don't trust his word, seeing as the bag is here, albeit fully wrapped up, seal unbroken like he said. But here, nonetheless. With him. In front of you with no denial that it was his.
He gets on his knees and wraps his arms around your waist. “Please don’t leave me. I didn’t want you to leave the first time…”
“And it’s taking you being high right now to admit that?!”
I’m not high, seriously. Check me.” You peer down closer, and aside from his rampant heart beating against your leg and big round eyes, there’s no trace of smell or lingering white powder anywhere on him. But you’re hesitant.
“I bought it but then realized It wasn’t what I really wanted…”
He licks his lips quickly, his brown eyes pleading up to you, biceps flexing against your ribcage.
Your chest is pounding, the encasing feeling of Frankie refusing to let you back away making you feel like a trapped rabbit.
“Please believe me,” he breathes.
"Your eyes are dilated as fuck Frankie!"
"That's because of you!"
You both hold your breath, a pregnant silence ringing in the air.
“I—I’m. Um. I meant." His eyes trail off sheepishly as a warm blush takes over his face.
He stands up, rubbing the back of his head. He can tell you’re patiently waiting for him to get over his blubbering awkwardness so he can explain properly. To find the words he’s combing his brain for. And find them he did:
"I miss you, Querida.”
He breathes slowly, time catching up and suddenly stopping.
You glance toward the bag, still fearful that he had gotten to this point while you were gone. “Frankie. I’m—I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. For your needs—“
“I don’t need you to fix me. I haven’t craved that shit for a while, still don’t even now. I just wanted you here with me.” He snatches the baggie and chucks it in the toilet, immediately flushing it.
You want to say that might not be great for the plumbing, but Frankie’s hands are on yours, holding them securely to his chest. “I just want you. I should have said it before you walked away. Should’ve said it a year ago, when I knew I didn’t want to pretend this was just some—some drug replacement.” He goes quieter. “I didn’t want this to be nothing. I thought when we had sex, maybe you’d feel the same, but you didn’t—”
“I was afraid about what would happen to you If our dynamic changed, Fish. I was worried it was just another high. So I tried to make things go back to how they were since it seemed to be working so well for you before,” you rambled. He can see the shininess in your eyes, feel how your body is no longer resisting him and instead, cradling his neck with affection, empathy, nurture, all the things he’d been depraved of for weeks. “But then it made everything worse and I didn’t know what to do—“
He cut you off, as if suddenly things didn’t line up. ”Why did you come back?"
You lick your lips, eyes unable to meet his. “Well I called, and you didn't answer. And I wanted to check up on you, and tell you... um—I mean I always tell you about… I went on a date, my first one in over a year."
Frankie's eyes blankly drift lower, down to your feet, his arms retreating. He takes an awkward step back. "How... how did it go?" He asks slowly, feeling the distance between the two of you growing again.
You throw your hands up in the air, unable to express yourself. “He was…Handsome. Funny. Charming. Paid for me, made me feel pretty, treated me real good—“
He nodded, unable to bring his eyes anywhere else but back to the back on the sink as he listened. “S’good. That’s what you deserve,” he says, jaw tensing.
“Yeah. Yeah it is what I deserve.” You pause, here goes everything. “Except the whole time, I hated the fact that he was nothing like you."
Frankie’s attention darts back to you as you cup his scruffy face in your hands. "You're irritable, and sassy, and needy and clingy, and you pout when you don't get what you want. And you don't listen to me or stop when I tell you to stop—“
A roasting fest? Now?? “OK, That's, Jesus, I get it—“
"And I love all those things about you.” You hold his gaze, feeling his breath seize in his chest. “And I miss being here. I miss waking up with you every morning, and your smug face being the last I see before I go to sleep. And it took me until after I left to realize how I actually felt about you. This whole year with you has felt like this perfect—“
"High?"
Your brows furrow shyly. “I didn’t want to put it that way, for obvious reasons. But fuck it. Yes. I don’t—I don’t wanna let that go.”
His fingers tense around your waist, almost begging you to say it, spill it out for him and don’t hold back ever again.
“You got me addicted to you, Francisco."
You aren't aware of how fast he moves, his hands grabbing your neck as he smashes his lips to yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest when he sucks every breath from you, barely separating from your lips to utter "I've waited—so long—for you—“ He hoists you up on his waist and brushes out of the bathroom with your legs wrapped securely around him, his kiss hot and full of passion the entire time. "Wanted you since you first let me have a taste of you.” He slams you on the bed, the familiarity of you two being in this exact situation settles on you. “Wanted you to want me. Want more.”
He continues to engulf your lips with his, his moans vibrating against your tongue. "I shouldn’t—“ he hastily bites your lip with a grunt “—shouldn't have pushed you away—treated you so bad.” He pauses his assault. “I was so scared you didn't want me like that. Couldn't handle pretending I could be okay with it.”
You place your hands on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart matching yours. "Frankie, I want you."
"Good," he smiles, leaning up to remove his shirt over his shoulders. You whine at the sight. Draping himself over you, his lips never leave your body as he kisses down your chest then back to your lips. You’re unable to bring yourself to action as his body dictates both of your moves.
You feel his bulge pressing painfully against your core, eliciting an obscene moan from your throat. "Frankie—Let me take care—“
"No. Fuck no. I'm taking care of you tonight. And tomorrow, and every fuckin’ day after," he growls.
He kisses you once again but then slowly backs away. "Um, if... if you want that."
He feels your hand tangle in the hair behind his neck as you bring his face back to yours, teeth clashing for dominance. "I want it," you whisper, sucking his lower lip and biting it possessively.
His jaw hitches. “Prove it."
You unbutton your pants, taking his large hand and guiding it down your panties in haste. His digits make contact between your folds, the two of you sighing.
"Oh f-fuck. You want this, don't you?"
"Want you so bad, Frankie. It fucking hurts.”
His fingers dont leave your dripping cunt, spreading your slick around your swollen clit. His other rips your string underwear off with incredible strength. He then helps push your shirt over your head, and you immediately unclasp your bra. Frankie growls lowly at the sight of your perky breasts bouncing from their release. "Fuck, I missed these.” His mouth wraps around as much fat of your tit he could before biting, making you lurch.
“I—I’m not gonna be slow—I wanted to—“
"Jesus Fish, I don’t care, just take me!"
He plunges two of his thick digits into your soaking heat, making your back arch off the bed. He takes the opportunity to suck a nipple back into his mouth, half his body hovering over you to keep your form perfectly positioned between his mouth and fingers. They teasingly thrust in and out slowly from your hole, intentionally dragging out his torture against you. "So mean to me, baby." His teeth nip at your nipple with a smug grin. "Takin’ my sweet little pussy away from me like that. I barely touched you and you're absolutely soaked. Were you wet on your way here?"
"Frankie I haven't... haven't been able to get off in weeks."
"How long?"
You moan out loud, eyes rolling back as your brain turns to mush. Your hand tries to guide his wrist faster but he slaps it away, continuing his teasing ministrations.
"Answer me!"
"Since the last time you touched me!" You cry.
He haults his movements.
The girl who bragged about cumming an average of 6 times a day just grinding on a pillow, now telling him she hasn't been able to orgasm in a month, because of him.
Ohhhhhhh fuuuuccccckkkkkfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “That why you went on your little date, huh?"
You nod shamefully.
"Did you fuck him?"
You whine, eyes burrowing in confusion that he still expected you have coherent thoughts while he had you in this compromising position, teetering on the brink of your much needed orgasm.
"Your date.” He repeats, his wrist slowing down entirely. “Did. You. Fuck. Him."
“No—no! I didn’t even let him kiss me goodnight. Couldn't even get wet for him, that's how bad—Frankie, fuck! please!—bad you've got me fucked up."
He speeds up his hands, satisfied with your confessions. They are thrusting perfectly in and out at record speeds as his jaw clenched around your tit, watching your eyes roll back as your first orgasm in WEEKS overwhelms you fast. You’re shaking violently, legs desperate to close but Frankie pries them open with his strong hand, continuing to dominate your cunt with his incessant fingers.
You feel something else coming as he continues to ram his wrist against you, fingers digging so deep, curling so effortlessly that you can’t stop the gush of liquid squirting out of you. “Oh shit, oh fuckfuckFUCK that’s it! That’s my girl, holy fuck yeah—yeah keep going, Cariño, so fucking good.” He continues to finger fuck you repeatedly, working you through it as your pussy continues to contract and release your spend.
You hardly have time to process your embarrassment as he's shifting below your hips, throwing your thighs over shoulder and giving your soaked pussy a longing look. Your clit twitches excitedly. Cool air is blown on it, making you fist his hair harder. He presses his large nose into you, inhaling your scent like bloodhound, growling like a man possessed at the sticky coating. "I fucking missed you, Hermosa," he groans, and his mouth latched right on to your pulsing cunt. You gasp, hands fisting his hair as he rolls your overstimulated clit with his tongue, jaw opening wide to practically swallow your pussy whole, sucking away everything you're giving him.
Whether he was talking to you or your pussy, it didn’t really matter to you. All you could process was the rough feeling of his fat tongue and scruffy face rubbing perfectly between your legs as Frankie got reacquainted with his former addiction. "FrankieFrankieFranke-ohFUCK!"
You can’t stop him, can’t even warn him as the overstimulation send you into a fit of gasps, cumming again, legs squeezing his head as painful pleasure courses through you. His upper back is littered in your scratches, the red marks raising his skin like tiger stripes.
You're struggling to catch your breath with ragged moans. He slows his licks to draw it out, letting your spasms pass. His sinful, lidded eyes have never left your face, absorbing every reaction from you, committing it to memory.
"You really have neglected this poor pussy," he teases, kissing your clit as his fingers begin to spread your glistening folds once again.
You can only nod, arms covering your face as he starts to rub the pad of his thumb on your swollen nub again. “It’s—not as good—unless it’s you.”
He grits his teeth in satisfaction. “S’okay. M’ gonna take care of you now. Gonna fuck you real soon."
You whine when he pushes his fingers back in to your tight heat.
"And then, when I’m done fucking you—We're gonna fuck again," he laughs.
You’re a bit frightened with how he’s looking at you: like he’s fucking possessed by a hungry, malicious demon.
He makes you cum on his fingers again, then his lips, then both at once. He’s pinning you down so harshly, you have no choice but to take the endless barrage of orgasms he’s forcing from you, almost as if he’s trying to make up for the time you two have been apart.
By the time his tastebuds are content, he brings himself back up to you, messily kissing your lips so you taste yourself, his beard and stache now soaked in your cum and rubbing along your chin.
You gasp when you feel his hard cock sliding along your folds. He rolls his hips against you, your copious slick letting him glide effortlessly, tip nudging your clit.
“Frankie,” you warn, unable to handle his teasing now.
He grabs the base of his dick. “Beg. Beg me for it,” He commands with a godly voice you’d never heard him use before. He slaps the underside of his throbbing member repeatedly against your pussy with a taptaptaptap. “Tell me you want it.”
You don’t care for the fat tears spilling down your cheeks as you whine like a bitch in heat. “Fuckyou, Frankie,” you seethe, anger building with your desperation. “I fucking want it, want it so bad, want you to ruin me, please, Fish, fucking please put it in already!”
He grins, big and sadistic as he watches your face contort with the first push of his tip into your wetness. “Oh F—“ he breathes, eyes closing as your tight walls do their best to accomodate his size.
Your eyesight is blurry, waves of pleasure rolling throughout your entire body, delirious as he bottoms out. Where he belongs. Where he’s always meant to be.
He presses his forehead to you as his hips start rutting.
He’s hardly fucked you for a few seconds, but the pressure building inside of you, desperate for this moment again after months, isn’t giving you a choice to savor it. “Fish—fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK! ‘M not gonna last!"
He growls excitedly, driving his cock more harshly into you, reaching that special spot he’s decided is only his to abuse. “It’s okay, babygirl. You cum for me. You're always so good at it."
And you are, you really are. “OH FUCK FRANKIE!” You scream. Your body agreeing with him so much that your abrupt orgasm squeezes around him so hard, his movements stop altogether.
“Oh shit—“ he hisses, your pussy greedily milking the cum right out of him. He only pauses for a moment, shaking over you for a moment as his first orgasm subsides before his hips are moving of their own accord, his cum forced out with each thrust.
“Keep goin’, pretty thing. Give me more,” he grunts.
You nod deliriously, eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he pounds your battered puussy.
He pulls out, the sudden withdrawal making you whine with emptiness. He sinks to his knees again, yanking your knees up to your chest. Your pussy twitches, his cum spilling out and sinking down your ass.
He lets out of primal groan from the back of his throat before smashing his mouth on your cunt, sucking your clit and tongue fucking your hole like a cream filled pastry. You feel the descending bob of his Adam’s apple against your rear as he swallows the mixture of your cum, drinking it like liquid life from the source. “We taste—so—fucking—good, Princesa,” he taunts, tongue lapping your little clit in quick succession before shaking his head back and forth aggressively against your mound, smearing the obscene mixture across your folds and making a mess.
Oh fuck, he’s so gone.
He quickly gets on his knees, turning you over on your stomach like you weigh nothing. His hands grip around your hips, bringing them flush against his crotch again as you arch your back for him. He puts his palm on the small of your back, keeping you right there, pressed tight against him as his cock slides back into your eager and cum coated cunt.
“Fuck yeah,” he groans, setting a faster pace this time. You hadn't realized just how much Frankie was holding back the first time you had sex. He leans over your body, hands splayed past your shoulders, fisting the bed as he rails you deep, his thighs crashing against you with harsh slaps. Your temple lands against his cheek, meeting eye contact. He smiles, breath caught in his throat like running a mile at your fucked out expression.
He continues to fuck you like an animal. A soft hand grips your chin lovingly, tilting your head further back so his lips meet yours with each punishing grind. You’re surprised by how much you love the hold he has on you, willingly submitting to him without being told. Drunk on each other’s lust.
You suck greedily around his tongue, hand reaching behind the two of you to play with his soft brown curls, refusing to let him leave your mouth. He stutters with a few more thrusts before halting, eyes scrunched closed. “AUUGHHH—haaaahh!” You feel the twitch of him inside you, draining his balls some more of his plentiful seed.
“Fuck, fuck I love it when you cum inside me!” You confess. The action makes you fall forward, mouth burying into his pillows as you muffle your own cry of your release again.
He pulls out of you and flops to the bed. You think maybe he is done, after having cum twice now, bur Frankie is quick to bring you to straddle him, his dick never once softening as it presses incessantly to your entrance again. He licks his lips, watching his cum spill down your thighs, right to his creamy cock that refuses to fully part from you.
“Frankie,” you moan, unsure if you can take him again.
“Want you just like this. Ride me,” he breathes. He’s covered in sweat, out of breath and shaking with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline if it were possible. His hands gently wrap around your waist as he guides you. Eyes so lidded, transfixed on the area where your mound slowly swallows him again.
You’re nodding, body taking over all actions, completely starved for the man under you.
He leans up to get a good look at you, taking it slow, burning this in head to remember.
"Thought about you... everyday.” He whispers, mouth parted in lust, gliding your hips along with steady rolls. “Couldn't sleep."
His hands down along the curve of your ass, to your thighs spread out over him, before rubbing up the length of your back, holding you as close to him as he can possibly bring you, your tits pressing against his chest. He struggles to breathe evenly as your creamy pussy continues to tighten around him each time he breaches you, the two of you moaning softly into each others’ open mouths. He occasionally catches your lips, slotting perfectly as you grind against him.
His mouth finds its way back down to your pebbled nipple, biting gently before kissing it better. He brings his face back to yours. “So perfect for me,” he whispers.
You start grinding on him more fervently, lifting yourself on your knees ever slightly and baring down on him. He grits his teeth, sinking further down into the bed, eyes never leaving you as his digs his nails into the meat of your hips, forcing you to bounce harder.
“That’s it, baby. Ride me just like that. MY girl, my beautiful girl.”
You bite your lips, feelings your clit catch on his public hairs. The sloppy squelching of his cum being driven out of your heat by his thick cock is no match to the heavenly sounds you were making atop him. The vein in his neck strains like he’s suffocating himself from air, refusing to slow down, to take a break, to let go for even just a moment.
“More. Give me more,” you moan, confidence soaring as you feel him begin to meet your hips with every thrust. “I want all of you, Frankie.”
He shouts out, lifting you up, his feet digging into mattress as he fucks you from below. “Fuck, fuck!”
You want to throw your head back, ride out this high, but the dangerous allure of him watching you brings your focus down to him, watching the way the two of you are getting off to the other falling apart.
“Just like this. You n’ me. Want it just like this. Forever.” He mumbles repeatedly, ragged pants uneven as he fills you the way you had been unknowingly wanting for months.
You feel the build of your umpteenth orgasm building in your lower tummy. “Frankie-F-Franke! I’m—I’m gonna—“
“Do it, Querida, do it f-for me.” He thinks he can starve off the low build of his third orgasm of the night, just enough to make you cum for him once more.
You feel the heavy knot in your stomach snap. With absolutely no hesitation, no doubt behind your word, you cry out, “I love you!” as you cum harder than any time before.
Lifting you both practically off the bed, Frankie’s hips seize, pressed so tightly against yours there was no room between you. He shouts loudly, animalistic, snarling with his teeth baring at you and 0 control left in him, immediately emptying his load deep inside with each heavy pulse of his cock against your cervix, painting your walls white with the last of his cum that his balls could give you.
You collapse on top of him, the two of you sucking air like you were underwater for years. Neither of you say anything, covered in sweat and cum, but finally being able to relax from the pent up release that’s been building there far longer than it ever should have been.
His hand rests against your lower back, somehow pressing your naked body closer to his.
“I love you,” you whisper again to his collarbone. He brings your eyes to his, and this time he knows you mean it.
-
Frankie wakes to a cold bed.
His arm reaches out subconsciously for your body, but only feels cool empty sheets at his side. His eyes fly open, head sitting upright as he scans his bedroom. There's no sign of you. None of your clothes are scattered on the floor, no immediate trace of your scent. He feels a strong pain in his chest suffocating and stabbing him all at once.
He lies back flat on his pillow, fingers rubbing his forehead. He has two thoughts: the first thought, the one he'd rather think is true, is that it was all dream. You hadn't come home to him.
Before he could bring himself to consider the pain of the second thought, the fear is instantly squashed when he hears the door creak open, your sweet soft smile and gentle eyes landing on him.
‘Hiiiii,” you whisper in a singsong, gentle morning voice. Tip toeing bare foot on the hardwood floor, he see’s you’re dressed in nothing but one of Frankies slightly torn over sized, faded band T shirts that swallows your body. Your bed head still evident, eyes baggy yet happy from the events of last night.
He didn't realize he had held his breath the moment before you walked in, afraid that rather than having dreamt it all, that it did happen, and you had left him anyway.
"I made you tea," you hummed, setting the two cups down by his bedside table.
Your ears go red at the image of him: sheet pulled half way up his hip, his bare chest and torso visible as he props himself up with his elbows to get a good look at you. And the WAY he's looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, has you sheepishly avoiding his big brown pupils, sliding in to the covers and nuzzling your head against his shoulder.
He wraps his arms around you, unwilling to let you sneak off again. “Don’t wake up before me like that again.”
You giggle. “Frankie, it’s 4 in the afternoon.”
He checks his digital clock by the bed, true to your word. You both had fucked so hard, so long last night that he didn’t even realize it was well into the morning by the time you had drifted to sleep.
He lies back down in bed, encircling you to him again. He can more clearly see the damage of last night’s episode on you: bite marks along your tits, hickies against your inner thighs and swollen lips. he doesn’t even need to touch your pussy, feeling its puffy soreness pressing against his leg. He kisses you gently yet passionately this morning, cradling your head so you can’t back away. Not that you want to—he doesn’t feel any resistance in your movements as you devour his lips.
“I love you,” he says clearly. He can feel the way your breath hitches, the blush on your cheeks at the confession. “I love you, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it. I’m sorry I caused you so much confusion and I—“
“Okay, Fish. It’s okay. I know.” You bite your lip, pushing your hand against his chest so that he’s lying down on his back. “But I’m not sure I forgive you just yet.”
A brief moment of confusion wracks his face before you’re clambering on top of him again, your naked lower body straddling his under the sheet. You fist the t shirt of your head, letting your soft supple breasts fall. Frankie immediately grabs them tenderly with both of his warm hands, his breath quickening. His length twitches, hard as a rock and pressing right against his lower stomach as you glide your slick folds along him.
“I think you should keep making it up to me.” You align the tip of his throbbing cock against your swollen entrance and sink down, hands seeking purchase on his chest, scratching the skin there as he fills your sore cunt, taking him down to the hilt in one go.
You let out the tiniest, sexiest whimper, and Frankie is ready to drop everything he’s ever owned just to hear it again. So smitten with you, he’s grinning harder than he has his entire life. Like a big dumb idiot.
Your big dumb idiot.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Querida: I love you.”
Tagging people who either requested a part 2/3 or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)
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#pedro pascal smut#frankie morales smut#frankie catfish morlaes smut#catfish morales smut#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#triple frontier smut#triple frontier fanfiction#catfish morales x reader#catfish morales#francisco morales smut#frankie morales x you#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie x reader#frankie morales x f!reader#triple frontier fic
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Happy Hour
Part 1 to the Sharing is Caring series
Frankie Morales x F!reader free-use with the triple frontier boys
Summary: Frankie loves using and abusing his free-use pass with you. He’s got no problem introducing it to the rest of the guys.
Warnings: Exhibitionism, Voyuerism, Cucking, free use, unprotected sex, male masturbation, oral m-receiving, assisted masturbation, using beer bottles as dildos, indirect pussy eating (?), slight breeding kink, language
18+ ONLY
- - - -
Frankie invited the boys over for the summer kickoff Barbecue in your backyard. You spent all day preparing snacks and side dishes, setting up yard games and helping clean the pool, all the while getting praises by Frankie who found every opportunity to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you all over.
"You get enough beer for tonight?" He asks, nuzzling his nose against your neck, pressing kisses over your shoulder.
"Yup. I almost cleared out the shelf. You boys gonna have a good time, I’ll take care of everything else.” You lay your hand over top his which were caressing your lower tummy affectionately.
With how busy things had been getting recently, you wanted Frankie to get together with his friends again. He had thrown you such a wonderful girls night-in when you had your girl friends over last month, so making sure he and his buds were well taken care of tonight was your top priority.
“I think you'll have some fun too."
Frankie continues to nip at your exposed skin, his hand drafting up to the exposure of your off-shoulder frilly blouse, tugging it down with one finger. "Frankie, stop, I'm still cooking."
He ignores you, slipping his hand inside the elastic band and palming your breast, his hips pinning yours to the counter as he rubbed his hard-on against your ass. "Gonna do everything I ask of you tonight, aren't you?" His breathes huskily into your ear.
You remained tight lipped, unsure of what he had planned tonight, but having some ideas as to the sexual acts he'll want to get away with. You felt heat pool in your lower stomach at the idea of fucking in the powder room while the boys were outside, or having him finger you under the table while they ate. He's been pushing his free-use license further and further, making you simultaneously nervous and excited at how far he intends to use you for his pleasure.
"They'll...be here... any minute..." you whine, your body caving in to his touches as you breathe heavier. You feel his fat fingers dip below your naval, through the lining of your skirt and down your panties, fingering your clit softly to work your arousal.
"Nothing they haven't seen before, baby mamma," he groans. He removed his hand from between your thighs, bringing its stickiness up to dance on your lips. Your mouth happily parts at the intrusion and suck your arousal from his digits. He lifts your skirt above your hips, splaying your panty-clad ass on display, his lips never leaving your neck or cheek.
"Not a baby mamma yet, that's your job to make happen remember?" You smile, turning your head to lock your lips together. You feel a tap on your thigh and lift your leg to aid in his removal of your panties. He stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans.
"I'm keeping these, need you nice and wet for us tonight."
The doorbell rings, and Frankie backs away from you abruptly, leaving you wide eyed, back now cold. The faint breeze from the open window whistling under your skirt and between your damp, exposed pussy. "Us?"
- - - -
Frankie greets each of the guys with a long awaited hug as they enter your home together. You tried to act like you're not dripping between your thighs as you kiss and cautiously hug each of them. It was Benny who scooped you up in his arms and twirled you around, your skirt lifting enough to show the lower half of your bare ass.
Santi bit his lip at the sight. “Keeping Fish good company I hope?” He asks as Benny set you down with a fat kiss to your cheek.
You hastily bring your skirt lower, tugging it down. “It’s been pretty smooth sailing since the wedding, hasn’t it?”
Frankie's hand skims the back of your rear, hand lifting your skirt back up over the side of your thigh, pulling you in to him like a little prize, fully well knowing everyone got a good look at you. “It’s been more than great,” he says. You could help but blush at the way he beamed at you with adoration. "Beer anyone?"
They pile into the backyard, sorting through the cooler of assorted bottles and cans while you sift through the kitchen drawers for an opener. You could overhear indistinguishable chatter from the group, their occasional glances back towards you in the house.
"Found it!" You call out, skipping out to the yard. "Let me," you offer, grabbing each beer from their hand and popping off the lid.
"Sweet of you, baby, thank you." Frankie kisses the side of your head. Then his voice changes an octave lower, whispering lowly into your ear: "Go sit on the chair right there and put your heels on the seat."
You shiver, pulling away to stare back at him incredulously. His face told you he wasn't playing, that this was the first of many things he'd be asking of you tonight. You gulp and did as he said, settling uncomfortably in the plastic lawn chair and bringing your knees up to your chest, desperate to keep your ankles together and closed so everyone couldn't see right your bare pussy behind your ankles.
Frankie leans next to you, bottle in hand. "Don't be shy. Spread 'em."
Your face felt hot red as Benny, Will, Santi and Frankie eyes bore down on your anxious figure. You muster up your courage and boldly spread your legs wide, skirt falling from your thighs entirely to your hip, glittering cunt now open wide for the entire backyard.
Benny whistles lowly. "Never gonna get tired of that pretty view. Damn. Lucky bastard.”
Frankie grimaces proudly, his hand cupping your jaw affectionately like a pet. "Keep 'em spread for us, okay babygirl?"
You nod, clit twitching at his praise, not even noticing when he hitches the rim of his bottle at your entrance. Your brows furrow, never breaking eye contact with his beautiful brown eyes as he pushed the bottles neck into your pussy, your arousal making it easy for the object to slide right through.
"Holy fuck," Will coughs, watching the way you cunt greedily swallows the tip with ease.
Frankie thrusts it in a bit, making you stutter your breaths with the increased fullness pressing inside, hands fisting the chair's armrests. He was coating the bottle and its contents inside with your juices, fucking you like it was a toy. He notices the resistance when your walls squeezed around its neck, smirking to himself, knowing you were comfortable and enjoying this with him.
Too soon, he slips it out of you, your hips slightly canter forward to chase the object that was just buried inside you. You felt empty, needy, denied.
Frankie smirks at your helpless state ad he brought the beer to his lips and titled back, chugging the new flavor of alcohol. "Tastes better like that," he says, licking his lips clean of your taste.
----
Frankie watches as you eagerly spread your legs further, leaning back in your chair with confidence so that your cunt hangs out in the open off the edge as each of the guys line up to coat their drinks in your pussy. The way your breath quickens, with each intrusion, how you lick your lips and look down at the sight of it disappearing into you, the mix of gentleness and roughness that came with each boy’s individuality—it drove him crazy how much you let him do this.
Santi rubs your cheek soothingly, very passionately fucking his bottle into you while never breaking your eye contact. You giggle along with him, rocking your hips with his steady thrusts until he pulls out and takes a long sip.
Will is far more gentle, rubbing the inside of your thigh with the pad of his thumb. He nudges your pearly clit with the rip, only swirling the top at the most shallow base of your walls. He likes the way you whine, wanting more, but his hand on your thigh is quick to keep you in your place. He slips the edge of the bottle along your folds to gather your dripping juices before retreat, giving you a little wink.
Benny dropsy to his knees, excited to have you so open for him.
“Be nice, Ben. That’s my wife you got there,” Frankie warns.
Benny rolls his eyes, pouting as his visible excitement tones down. You cup his face, knowing Frankie’s threat is a load of BS. “Don’t worry, Benny, you have your taste the way you like it.” You spread your legs even further, ankles now dangling over the arm rest, the cool breeze of the backyard swooshing through your folds.
Benny pushes his beer in as far as he can, making you gasp. You grab his shoulder to steady yourself as you rock your hips back and forth, letting his hands remain where it is while you fucked your exposed pussy on the neck of the bottle. He rams further inside, the body of the bottle beginning to stretch your cunt.
Benny’s eyes were wide, unsure if he wanted to watch your facial expressions or the scene between your legs. After a few more playful dips, he pulls out, immediately mouthing around the bottle and suckling every drop of your juices around the neck, with little interest of the actual liquid in the bottle.
The boys spend the evening standing around the grill, all taking turns to use you like a glorified bottle opener. Frankie keeps your panties tucked in the back of his pockets the entire time. He occasionally checks in on your reactions, making sure you’re still laughing and accepting their actions.
They came back after each sip, some taking extra care to fuck you with the bottle, hoping to get you to cum, other times just to get a fresh coating. Frankie watches your expressions each time, the way your jaw hangs open slightly, biting your tongue, quiet moans making their way to his ears. And each time, he forces the boys to stop, leaving your clenching around nothing, frustrated but wet beyond belief. He wanted you dripping, needy all night so they could get the most out of your gushing cunt.
At one point, you had to get up to serve their food, making them all sit around the rounded patio table and dishing their plates one at a time. Frankie helps place the portions on each plate as you take it to the table before sitting down himself. His hand runs up along your smooth thigh, skirt lifting with his wrist as he inches high and higher, before squeezing your ass possessively, looking up at you. You pinch his nose and move around the table, making sure all the guys have filled drinks.
You didn’t have your own “seat” at the table, instead going around to each of the guy’s laps and eating bits off their plate. While they ate with one hand, the other held a bottle, thrusting in and out of your spread thighs over their leg.
You currently had your arm draped over Will’s shoulder, spread open next to the table as he bounced you in his lap, his bottle nudging the sweet spot inside you. He split his attention evenly between Frankie and you.
The copious amount of alcohol in everyone’s system, including Frankie’s, made the rules of your use a little more lax. That—and they were all so pussy drunk off your juices mingling on their tongues, they couldn’t keep their hands off you.
You kissed along Will’s cheek, nipping his jawline and tracing patterns on his throat with your tongue as he fucked you on his beer. His languid thrusts making you feel hazy. The man had an exceptional talent at knowing the exact pace and pristine jolts to hold you on edge forever. He gave you soft smiles with sincere eye contact that made you flutter. “You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers in your ear.
Santi was a little cheekier, eagerly pulling you down on his lap. He taps the inside of your thigh, urging you to spread fast so he could get his drink between your legs. “This cunt is still so tight, hermosa. Frankie Papi not taking care of you enough?” he asks brow raising with a challenge towards Fish. Before you can deny him, he blows hot breath against your ear before biting the lobe, making you squeal quietly as he quickly thrusts his 11th bottle of the night into your waiting heat. He continues to dot his lips against your skin, nipping your collar bone. You can see Frankie’s eyes narrow on you two but he doesn’t say anything, letting his conversation with Will continue. His aligns his head perfectly over your top, peering down at your tits. He groans softly at the little jiggles of your supply mounds with each little thrust in to you.
You look over to Benny, who’s got no care to Will and Frankie’s convo and is instead anxiously bouncing his leg, dying to get you on him for his turn.
“Oop, I gotta take care of the baby boy,” you say quietly into Santi’s ear. He pouts briefly, rubs your clit with his thumb under the table so no one else can see. You bite your lips, wide eyed but aroused. He eventually lets you up.
Benny grabs your waist with strong hands and lifts you on to his muscular thigh.
“Eager?” You tease. You rub your hand over his strong abs and chest, grabbing his beef for him and putting right along your folds, waiting patiently for him to take charge. He doesn’t. “Want you to do it for me,” he says, smirking. You kiss his cheek and notch the beer into your cunt, moaning wantonly right in his ear. He shivers with arousal, bouncing the knee you’re perched on, the bottle neck slipping deeper inside you. His hand gropes your ass cheek, keeping you upright on him while his other arm feeds himself potato salad. he makes a poor attempt to shovel it in his mouth, dropping bits of it along your chest and down your tits.
“Making a mess on my girl, Benny,” Frankie chuckles.
Benny shrugs. Conveniently left with no more free hands, he dips his mouth down to your chest and licks a long stripe along the skin, slurping up the remnants of sticky food on you. You tilt back and laugh drunkly, fisting the bottle and shoving deep inside your cunt, panting breathlessly as your other hand messily rubs his blonde curls like a dog.
You suddenly glance back at Frankie, who is shaking his head at you in disapproval. Not from one of his buds eating food off your tit, but from your less than sneaky trial of trying to finally make yourself cum on the bottle. You pout, draw the neck out of your messy cunt, feeling your little nub twitch with remote. You’re making a big show of innocent eyes at your husband who’s been simultaneously ensuring you are both taken care of and neglected all night.
Frankie raises his hand and curls his finger at you in a come hither motion. You slide off of Benny’s lap guiltily, striding over to him in the sexiest walk you could muster. Chatter had died down as all eyes rested on you standing over Frankie.
He stares up at you, rolling your skirt over your ass so everyone could see. He presses a soft kiss to your throbbing clit, tasting a mixture of your sweet juices and the different brands and flavors of beer that have been inside you all night. You whine, trying not to flinch too hard at how desperate you need him to make you cum.
He pats your ass assertively. “You been good tonight so far.”
The power he possesses over you was something to behold: despite standing over him, and looking down upon him, his voice and eyes carried such a dominant force against you that it was clear to everyone else how much you not only submit to him, but how much you like doing so.
“Everyone else getting taken care of real good except me. That doesn’t seem right, does it, Querida?”
You shake your head. You knew the drill, knew the devious look in his eyes. His darkened expression points down to the ground only once.
Without missing a beat, you sink down to your knees on the grass, delicate hands immediately rubbings along his sturdy thighs in his khakis until you came upon the bulge in his pants. You rub your palm over, pressing your face to it, feeling the scratchiness of the material roll against your cheek. You give it a chaste kiss before unbuckling his belt and pulling the zipper down, freeing his erect cock.
When you finally push his tip past your tight lips, Frankie sighs relief before starting up the group’s conversation again. The boys shifted in their seats with their evident respective bulges pressing uncomfortably between their legs. They tried to respond respectfully to Fish, occasionally darting glances at you between his legs, working his length in and out of your skilled mouth. The little sucking noises from you interrupted his speech but he made no show of acknowledging you while you sucked his fat cock deep into your throat.
You could hear little coughs and grunts from the others, none of which sounded perturbed. They were all entranced by you, your obedience, submission to Frankie. Santi “dropped” his fork below the table, hunching over to get a good look at you with his mouth agape at the sight: resting back on your haunches, your glistening pussy dripping into the grass as you bobbed your head, hands resting on his knees to keep you from taking it all and choking on it.
He licks his lips and sits up, worried he took too long. Frankie catches his eye and mouths Does she look good?
Santi nods energetically.
Fish smirks, taking the opportunity to push the back of your head further onto his cock, making you gag loudly in surprise. Benny and Will’s voices go quiet as Frankie starts slowly forcing his cock deeper in your mouth, making you more verbal in your choking. When he releases the pressure, you pull up so that just the tip is suctioned between your lips, moaning obscenely. Your eyes are closed in bliss, taking him back down and returning your rhythmic bobbing.
After a few minutes, Frankie’s breaths are coming out short. He’s having a hard time paying attention to what the guys were saying. Just between the two of you, he gently caresses your jaw, letting his cock fall out of your mouth. You stare up at him, slightly teary eyed but full of lust and obsession. “My perfect little whore of a wife,” he mumbles affectionately. “Get up here and make me proud.”
You giddily climb to your feet and throw one leg over his strong thighs, sighing loudly as you straddling him. The texture of his pants feels heavenly against your neglected clit, rubbings your slick folds along his thighs with an arched back, ass peaking out for the boys to once again get a nice show.
Frankie taps your ass again, making you sit upright. He positions the swollen red tip of his member at your wet entrance. You sink down, taking his cock entirely in one motion. The hot, fat pressure of his cock stretching you fuller, deeper than any of the beer bottles could ever reach immediately has your eyes rolling, moaning out loud like a fucking whore as your body shakes, squeezing his dick tightly while your first powerful orgasm of the night washes over you.
He holds you tight as you spasm through it. “Oh shit—she just came,” Frankie laughs.
“Oh fuck. Didn’t even have to fuck that delicious cunt.”
“That’s hot, Fish. She was so desperate for it.”
“Fuck I’m jealous. I want me a wife like that.”
You continue to gently hump him, their praises falling deaf to your ear. His large, strong body felt good to relax in, putting your weight on top of him with no care as you chase your pleasure Hips swaying of their own accord as you whimper through the aftershocks, arms thrown wrapped over his shoulders.
He strokes your back soothingly. He wants you to settle from your much needed orgasm first. Frankie sits back a little bit, letting you lean forward. The guys are practically standing over the table, desperate to see the space where their friend’s well endowed cock is joined to his wife’s tight and pretty cunt.
He has the audacity to ask the guys if they’d seen the game this past Sunday, resuming their conversation as you continue to pickup pace. You roll your hips along his length, the delicious drag of his cock sliding in and out of you leaving you dumb on him, face pressed tight against his collar while he talks casually over your shoulder.
When Frankie starts to clench the meat of your hips and pull you down on his length a little harder, neither he nor anyone else at the table cares to talk anymore. He makes sure to fist your skirt over your waist as he drills his meaty girth up into you. They all stare, unblinking, at some point all having whipped their stiff cocks out and stroking furiously.
Frankie gets lost in your tight heat. You couldn’t care about the fact that the boys were jerking off to you and their best friend fucking—your focus was entirely on making your husband spill his sperm deep inside you.
The squelching sound of your pussy slapping down and your breathy moans can only be heard in your private backyard among your closets guests. He can feel the dampness seeping into his pants, darkening the fabric with each splatsplatsplat of your ass slamming down on his thighs.
“Did I tell ya’ll? We’re trying to get pregnant,” Frankie boasts proudly. He doesn’t stop the way his hips canter up overly excited to share that detail, hitting that spongy spot he had been purposely avoiding all night. A surprised yell escapes your lips, tightening around him in a vice grip. Soon after, you’re both cumming together, releasing long drawn out satisfied groans into each other’s open mouths as your sweet pussy milks him, the pulses of his member filling your womb with his milky seed.
The rest of the boys cum hardly a second later, pumping their veiny cocks furiously at the sight of Frankie’s pearly spend dripping from where the two of you are still connected. Through gritted teeth, they wring out the last dribbles of their cum before everyone is sitting back, panting hard, softened and relieved dicks resting against their full bellies.
- - - -
Notes: I just wanna say don’t fuck yourself with objects that aren’t specifically designed for sex, especially foods or alcohol, because you know… infections. That should be a given.
-
Permanent Taglist:
@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse
Please let me know if you would like to be added (or removed) from permanent taglist--which applies to any fic that I put more than 2 ounces of thought into.
#pedro pascal smut#frankie morales smut#triple frontier smut#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x reader#frankie catfish morales#frankie x reader#frankie morales#catfish morales smut#frankie catfish morlaes smut#catfish morales x reader#catfish morales#santiago x reader#benny miller x reader#benny miller smut#santiago garcia smut#will miller smut#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier x reader
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Every time I look at a pic of Frankie Morales, I insantly know that man wants his head buried between and crushed by a thick woman's thighs.
#frankie morales loves a big girl i stand by it#pedro pascal smut#frankie morales smut#francisco morales smut#frankie morales#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x reader#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x plus size reader#frankie catfish morlaes smut#catfish morales smut#triple frontier smut
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Frankie PLEADING with you to fully sit down on his face--he wants to properly be suffocated. And at some point you lose a bet, and those are his very specific terms of his winnings. Except he makes you sit reverse riding his face, so he can bend you forward to lick the creamy ropes of his spend on his abs after cumming untouched from eating you out.
The only way for you to know he's still alive, buried under your ass without a single means accepting a breath of air, is the sight of his swaying feet and twiddling toes happily dancing at the other end of the bed.
#pedro pascal smut#triple frontier smut#frankie morales smut#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#triple frontier fic#triple frontier x reader#triple frontier fanfiction#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie x reader#frankie catfish morlaes smut#catfish morales x reader#catfish morales smut
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Sharing is Caring - Series
Frankie Morales x F!Reader, featuring triple frontier boys (Will, Benny, and Santiago)
Summary: Frankie has established a Free Use kink with you--and he's excited to extend that to his friends. So much so that he's willing to let them help make your family grow.
Overall Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, free use, group sex, fivesome, eventual pregnancies, breeding kink, exhibitionism, cucking, infertility
* contains explicit content 18+ ONLY
1. Happy Hour *
2. Appetizer *
3. Four Course Meal *
4. Dessert *
5. Leftovers *
#pedro pascal smut#frankie morales smut#triple frontier smut#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x reader#frankie catfish morales#frankie x reader#frankie morales#catfish morales smut#frankie catfish morlaes smut#catfish morales x reader#catfish morales#santiago x reader#benny miller x reader#benny miller smut#santiago garcia smut#will miller smut#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier x reader
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Wearing a nice dress and going out with Frankie to nice dinner, except the "nice dress" doesn't allow for a bra so you go without. And given how exceptionally chilly it is tonight, you have to make use of a unique backup for your breasts to look appropriate in the thin fabric of the gown.
Its not until afterwards when he's pushing you through the door at home, devouring your lips and using his rough hands to strip you, that he sees the little flower petal nipple patches, and Fish goes absolutely feral.
Makes you straddle him while he sits up on the couch and ride him hard, his bicep wrapped obsessively around your middle back, dark gaze hypnotized by your tits bouncing in his face as he tries everything to get your little pebbles to pierce through the flower pads (but they look sooo pretty on you)
#pedro pascal smut#triple frontier fanfiction#frankie morales smut#triple frontier smut#franciso morales smut#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie x reader#francisco morales#francisco morales smut#catfish morales smut#frankie catfish morlaes smut#catfish morales x reader#triple frontier fic#triple frontier x reader#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales headcanon
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Cravings Series (Complete)
Frankie Morales x F!Reader
Summary: What starts out as a way to help your friend avoid his drug addiction turns into an new addiction of its own.
*- indicates Explicit Content, 18+ ONLY
Cravings *
Crash *
Insatiable *
Alternate Sad Ending (non canon)
#pedro pascal smut#frankie morales smut#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie x reader#frankie catfish morlaes smut#catfish morales smut#catfish morales x reader#francisco morales smut#triple frontier fic#triple frontier smut#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier x reader#frankie morales fanfiction
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Frankie prefers having Thanksgiving for just the two of you, touching you all morning and afternoon as you cook and keeping you nice and wet, but never letting it get further. By the time you've finished making the meal, he makes you sit on his lap, shirt off, as you feed him turkey and potatoes. And he looovvesss smashing the potatoes on your naked tits and pouring gravy down your chest so he can lick and suck them off you, pecking your lips softly for a wonderful meal. Like. He LOVES making a mess on your body and eating off of it. Will lap you clean of gravy and potatoes and then lie you down on the table (dishes be damned) to pour cranberry sauce over you tummy, crawling over you and drawing his long tongue over your body while deviously watching your face fall apart between his brows.
Whip cream on pussy for dessert!
#pedro pascal smut#frankie morales smut#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#triple frontier smut#francisco morales#frankie catfish morlaes smut#catfish morales smut#catfish morales x reader#catfish morales#frankie morales x you
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