#fransisco morales
Text
Maybe, Baby?
Summary: You and Frankie aren't trying for a baby just yet, but when your weird symptoms start to throw your body for a loop, you start to wonder if you actually might be pregnant
Pairing: Husband!Frankie Morales x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 5.4K
Warnings: SMUT (18+), Unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap, silly gooses), creampie, praise kink, size kink (if u squint), unintentional breeding kink (lmaoooo, it's me, sorry not sorry), birth control/family planning, pregnancy (or maybe not? part 2 maybe? hehe) symptoms, Frankie and reader mention being closer to 30 than 16 (turns out when you're an adult, it's not a teen pregnancy anymore), reader has hair that can be played with, Frankie being the sweetest husband alive (all the gold stars for him), Frankie is so excited to be a dad that I just may pass away
A/N: I know y'all voted for me to finish chapter 20 but i lied (I'm so sorry), but I wrote this in a day and husband Frankie was really speaking to me on this one 😭 This one is brought to you by my raging baby fever and perhaps some real life inspiration WHOOPS, art imitating life on this one ig 💀 Poorly beta'd bc that's how I roll!!!
Ever since getting off birth control a few months ago, your body had felt… different.
While you were glad you had made the change for yourself, you still found yourself shocked every month when a new sort of symptom decided to appear at some point in your cycle that you had never dealt with before- acne in new places, weird cramps, and crazy mood swings that showed up out of nowhere before your period were just a few of the things you were learning to manage as you figured out your body post birth control.
Another symptom you hadn’t expected was that now, you were insatiably horny.
All the time.
While Frankie had been more supportive and caring in helping you deal with all of your not so pleasant symptoms than you could have hoped for, he was also more than happy to help you with your newly found positive one, too.
The only problem was, after so many years of not having to worry about the consequences of your sex life on birth control, you and Frankie were finding it very hard to adjust to be more… careful.
As you got hornier and hornier, the box of condoms that Frankie had bought after you stopped taking the pill had been seeing less and less use, and to be honest, hadn’t really seen the light of day from the back of his nightstand drawer in about a month an a half- and if you were being even more honest, on top of that, Frankie’s pull out game was almost nowhere to be found.
You both knew that you wanted a family in the future- That was a part of your reason for getting off birth control to begin with. The two of you had agreed to hold off at least for a little longer to try and get your life more in order before bringing a baby into it, but with with your new lack of protection when it came to sex, and constant horniness around the clock, you both were beginning to have a feeling that that your agreed upon timeline for having a baby might be harder for you to maintain that you thought.
Especially when you found yourself morphing into an unspeakably horny monster when you were ovulating.
So little did you realize, that as you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom as the two of you were getting ready for bed and you caught a glimpse in the mirror of Frankie, stripping out of his shirt and jeans, leaving him only in his boxers as he searched around in your dresser for pajamas, that was the reason you nearly spit out your entire mouthful of toothpaste to try and get a mouthful of something else.
You couldn’t help but ogle at your husband's broad body and freckled tan skin, muscles flexing as he shuffled through your drawers, pulling out an old, worn gray t-shirt and tugging it over his head, running his hand through his messy, curly hair before searching for his pajama bottoms.
At this point, you had honestly braced yourself on the edge of the bathroom counter to keep yourself from falling over at how mouth-watering he looked, already feeling the wetness beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear at the thought of wanting to rip his clothes off just as fast as he had put them on.
Letting out a yawn, Frankie raised his hands above his head so a sliver of his soft belly peaked out between his waistband and shirt hem before making his way into the bathroom, sleepily padding along the tile floor until his body was behind yours, chest flushed against your back and arms wrapped around your waist. Even more prevalent, his bulge pressed against your ass, making the wet spot in your underwear grow damper by the second.
“You ready for bed, querida?” Frankie cooed, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder and smiling at your reflections in the mirror.
While you were absolutely ready to get into bed, sleeping was not going to be your activity of choice.
“I think that maybe…” You paused, turning around to face Frankie, his body caging yours against the counter, palms splayed flat on either side of your hips, looking down at you with his sweet, brown eyes, “I think that maybe we should do something else before we go to sleep.”
“Something else, huh?” Frankie smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as your hands began to run up and down his arms, slightly squeezing the muscles of his biceps as your fingers crept under the fabric of his shirt sleeves. “And what might that something else be, Hermosa?”
“You know exactly what it is, Fransisco. You expect me to watch you just roam around shirtless in our bedroom and not get all hot and bothered? God, you’re so fucking hot.” You moaned, letting your hands run up his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him in for a long, electric kiss.
“Damn, what’s gotten into you, babe?” Frankie chuckled, trying his best not to blush at your comment, sliding his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
“I don’t- Fuck, I don’t know, I just know that if you don’t fuck me right this second, I think I’m gonna explode.”
While your statement may have had a flair for the dramatic, it was just about as close to the God’s honest truth as you could get- You were so worked up, you felt practically feral, the ache in your core so strong that you really did feel like you were on the verge of implosion.
Before you even gave Frankie time to respond, your lips were crashing into his with a ferocious intensity, your hands grabbing fistfulls of his t-shirt as you stumbled back towards your bedroom, bodies bumping and bouncing against the walls and door frames, mouths never parting as the back of Frankie’s knees finally hit the mattress, forcing him to fall backwards onto the bed.
Crawling overtop of him, you were already straddled over his hips, grinding your bottom half on the bulge growing in his pajamas as your hands crept under the hem of his t-shirt, running along the tanned, soft skin of his chest, making him let out a low groan that rumbled in his throat.
Frantically shuffling himself further onto the bed, Frankie’s hands dug into your hips and over your ass as your hands slid down from his chest to his waistband, fingers tugging at the elastic to shuffle his bottoms and boxers down his legs, quickly followed by your own, dropping to a crumpled pile on the floor.
Feeling your fingers wrap around his cock, already painfully hard, you swirled the precum leaking from his tip with your thumb before dragging your hand up and down his length, leaving Frankie sitting up in surprise while he watched you begin to hover over him, dragging his dick through your folds.
“Hermosa, are you sure you don’t need me to-” But before Frankie could finish the rest of his protest to make sure you were ready to take him, you were already sinking down onto him, whimpering at the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness, followed by the ragged moan escaping Frankie’s lips.
“Oh fuck… Nuh uh, Frankie. I need to feel you, baby. Needed to feel you inside me.” You whined, taking Frankie cock inch by inch until he had bottomed out inside you, his tip kissing your cervix, the fullness making you cry out in pleasure.
Normally with Frankie’s size, you would have needed to warm you up first, but with how wet and worked up you already were, you were able to take him with ease, desperate to feel him buried deep inside you.
“Jesus fucking christ, queirda, you’re so fucking wet. Fuck, baby.” Frankie moaned, feeling you begin to slide up and down his length, coating him with your arousal with each swirl of your hips.
Arching your back, you jutted your hips forward, bracing your hands on Frankie’s strong thighs, circling your bottom half against his, whimpering at his fullness and the hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your clit, selfishly already longing to chase your own high to ease the ache that had been burning in your core.
“Fuck, Frankie, you feel so good. Feel so fucking full with you in me.” You whimpered, bouncing even harder and faster on Frankie’s cock, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping his and wetness dripping from your heat coating the walls of your bedroom.
“Yeah? This what you wanted, pretty girl? Wanted me to stretch this pretty little pussy out and fill you up?” Frankie groaned, gritting his teeth as he began to jut his hips up into yours as you rode him, the added depth of his thrusts making you cry out in pleasure.
And for as fucking good as it felt, the horny monster you had morphed into had you greedily craving more- to have Frankie stretch you open in a way that had you seeing stars, so much that you could still feel the next day, long after the two of you were finished.
“I-I want more, p-please, baby. Fuck- Fuck me harder, Fransisco.” You cried, your sweet voice whimpering his full name turning him almost as feral as you were, letting out a low growl as he grabbed you by your hips, flipping you so that your back hit the mattress and he was caging his broad body over yours.
Practically ripping the t-shirt still covering your upper half off your body, Frankie dove face first between your breasts, groping one while hungrily sucking at the other, flicking your pebbled nipple with his tongue, his free hand reaching down to line his cock back up with your entrance, sliding back in to your aching core with ease.
Frankie let himself sink all the way back in, filling you to the brim before hooking his arms around your knees, pressing your legs against your stomach, smirking to himself at the ragged moan you let out as the new angle opened you up even further.
“You want me to fuck you harder, Hermosa?” Frankie mewled, slowly dragging his length out of your heat, looking down to see your shiny slick soaking his cock before looking back at you and the wrecked expression plastered across your face, frantically nodding in desperation. “Tell me how badly you want it, sweet girl.”
“Fuck, I need you so bad, Fransisco, please.” You begged, damn near close to tears with how deeply you needed to feel Frankie ease the emptiness inside you. “Please, baby, I- oh fuck-”
Before you could even finish the rest of your plea, your breath was already hitched in the back of your throat as Frankie began to pound into you at a relentless pace, tightening his grip around your thighs while he pressed them closer to your chest, grunting with each rut of his hips into yours.
“This what you want, querida? Meirda- so fucking wet and tight, baby girl. You feel so fucking good, holy fuck.”
It didn’t take long for the all too familiar tingle at the base of your spine to start spreading through your body like a wildfire as Frankie continued to slam into your g-spot, making you chant his name like a prayer, your brain at a loss for any other words than “Fuck, Fransisco.”
And as if you already weren’t close enough, when Frankie reached down to thumb at your clit, rubbing in relentless circles against your sensitive nub, you knew you were a fucking goner.
“That’s it, Hermosa. Cum for me, baby. Want that- oh fuck- want that prefect pussy to fucking soak me.” Frankie groaned, feverishly pounding into you, desperate to feel you come undone for him giving him long enough to fight off his own high that was rapidly building in the pit of his stomach.
A few more thrusts were all it took to have the coil snapping in your belly, crying out Frankie’s name as you came, orgasm ripping through your body with a blinding intensity, eyes scrunching shut and jaw hanging open while pleasure and euphoria flowed through every ounce of you.
Still blissed out and wrecked out of your mind, your eyes shot open as Frankie’s mouth crashed into yours, swallowing your whimpers and moans in a messy dance of tongues and teeth.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum. Jesus fuck- fuck, I’m close too, baby. W-where do you want me, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, barley holding on long enough for you to answer, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as his hips began to stutter, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow with every ounce of self control he had left.
Still barley coherent enough to form a sentence, your brain blurted out the only thing you could think of, and the only thing that you really wanted in the moment.
“Inside, Fransisco. Fuck, cum inside me, baby.”
That alone was almost enough to send Frankie over the edge, letting out a long, low groan, sloppily rutting into you as his brain went blank alongside yours, starting to babble incoherently.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck- you want me to fill you up, queirda? Fuck, I’ll fucking fill you up so good you’ll be dripping out of me for days. Oh fuck, shit baby, fuck, oh I’m gonnaahhhhhh-“
Just like that, Frankie took one last thrust, spilling deep inside you, coating your walls with his spend as his body slumped into yours, the pair of your chests rising and falling in sync as you both came back down to earth.
“Jesus Christ… Holy fuck, Frankie.” You giggled quietly to yourself, blissfully filled with post orgasm ecstasy as your husband carefully pulled himself out before rolling over next to you on the bed, pulling you close against his chest.
“Fuck me, Hermosa, holy shit.” Frankie chuckled, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead, tracing small circles on your back as he held you, heat radiating off of each other's sweat-ridden bodies. “God, I love you. We should probably get you cleaned up. You wanna shower?” He asked, smirking as your face lit up at his nearly rhetorical question.
“Only if you’re up for round 2, Morales.”
“My eyes are up here, Fransisco.”
“Hmmm? What did you say?”
“Exactly my point. Can you stop looking with your man eyes and look with your normal, helpful people eyes to help me decide on a dress for Benny and Victoria’s wedding?” You sighed, laughing to yourself as you raised an eyebrow at Frankie, his gaze still fixed on your chest.
“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be helpful.” Frankie huffed, overdramatically rolling his eyes at you, playfully throwing his hands up in defense as he leaned back against the dressing room door, looking you up and down in one of the cute floral dresses you had picked to try on for your friends’ upcoming wedding. “It’s just that… Nevermind.”
“It’s just that what, Frank?” You asked tilting your head in confusion at your husband as his eyes traveled back to your breasts, furled look in his brow like he was really staring there to prove a point.
“It’s just that- Baby, I don’t know if it’s just the dress or what, but your boobs look huge. Like, they always look good, believe me, but like… Whew.” Frankie whistled, practically shaking his head in disbelief at how good you looked.
“Really?” You asked, turning around to face the mirror in the dressing room, gently cupping your breasts, grimacing as you held them in your hands. “Yeah, I guess they do… Honestly, I was gonna complain about how sore they’ve been all day. I wonder if maybe my period is just coming early?”
“Maybe? You did ride me pretty hard the last couple nights and put on a good show, so maybe they hurt from all that bouncing and-”
“Frankie! We are in public!” You playfully scolded, giving him a flimsy slap to the chest to cut off the rest of his thought, the two of you quietly giggling to yourselves and trying to “Shhhh” each other from drawing too much attention to your dressing room stall. “The dress, you goofball, yes or no? Sooner we pick, the sooner we can go get food, because your wife is starving.”
“I vote yes on the dress. You look beautiful in it, querida.” Frankie smiled, stepping behind you to press a kiss on the side of your head.
“You just like it because it makes my boobs look huge.”
“What? Can you blame me for wanting to stare at my gorgeous wife’s boobs all night?”
“God, you are ridiculous, Fransisco. Fine, boob dress wins. Now let’s get out of here and go get some food before you get stuck in a titty trance and I die of hunger.”
While the rest of your Saturday was spent enjoying the delicious Mexican food that you had picked up on the way home and a much needed night in on the couch with Frankie, there was a tiny part of your brain that couldn’t seem to shake his comment from earlier about how big your boobs looked.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree with him, because truth be told, they felt huge, too. They had been sore since you had woken up this morning, and while you had chalked it up to what you and Frankie had been up to the past few nights, or bad PMS symptoms, there was still just something about you that felt off.
Later that night, during your movie marathon, you had paused whatever new action movie Frankie had been begging to watch since it had popped up on Netflix a few days ago for a popcorn refill.
While Frankie meandered around the kitchen waiting for the next bag of popcorn to finish popping, you stayed curled up with your blanket in your corner of the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, until a sharp twinge began to cramp in your lower stomach. The feeling took you by surprise, digging your fingers into your side to try and ease the dull and achy sensation as your face scrunched in confusion, wondering why in the world you had what felt like period cramps in your belly.
“Hey, you okay, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, returning with popcorn in hand, his face painted with concern to see the pained look scrunched between your brow as you curled deeper into the couch.
“Oh, y-yeah, I’m fine. I just um, I just had a weird cramp I guess. Probably just ate all that popcorn too fast.” You replied, trying to convince yourself just as much as you were trying to convince Frankie that you were overthinking whatever mystery symptoms had just flashed through your lower half.
“Here, lemme just set this popcorn down and then I can rub your back while we finish the movie, okay?” Frankie smiled softly, setting down the bowl on the coffee table before crawling back under the sea of blankets on the couch with you, laying your head against his thigh like a pillow while his hand traced up and down along the small of your back.
“Thanks, Frankie.” You whispered quietly, taking a few deep breaths as the familiar warmth of your husband’s palm worked up and down the worn fabric of his shirt that you had put on earlier.
“Of course, baby. If you need anything else, just let me know, okay? Just promise me you’ll take it easy on the popcorn if you have any more there, Killer.”
The two of you laughed quietly as Frankie leaned down to press a soft kiss into your messy hair laid across his lap before picking up the remote to let the rest of the movie play as your eyelids began to get heavier and heavier as you slowly drifted off to sleep.
“What’s inside this box?”
“Open it up and find out! It’s a surprise for you!”
“Okay? Huh, why is it just a pregnancy test in there?”
“It’s yours! Congratulations! You’re having a baby!”
“Ahhhhh!” You shrieked, panting as you woke from a cold sweat, shooting up from the couch. “What the fuck…” You whispered to yourself, coming to and realizing that you were now awake and had only been dreaming moments before this. Running your hands over your face, you blinked a few times to be greeted by the dim light of the TV still flickering in the background, Frankie sprawled out and snoring by your side where the two of you must have fallen asleep on the couch during the movie.
“What a weird fucking dream…” You sighed to yourself, shaking your head as you quietly pushed yourself off the couch to stumble to the bathroom, pulling your phone out of your sweatpants pocket to check what ungodly hour of the night it had to be since the two of you had crashed on the couch.
2:07 A.M.
You let out a low grumble, pushing your sweatpants down to your ankles as you sat down to pee, blinking your eyes open wider to look through the notifications piled on top of each other on your lockscreen. Mindlessly swiping through a few junk emails and text messages from group chats, one notification in particular caught your eye, rousing you from your half awake state.
“Feeling down? As you begin your Luteal Phase of your cycle, it’s normal to be less cheerful compared to last week when you were Ovulating! Click to track your cycle symptoms for today!”
Oh shit.
You could feel your heart beginning to race as you opened up the app, scrolling to the calendar tracker for the month. Swiping through the days, it didn’t take you long to realize that despite all of your weird symptoms you had been chalking up to PMS, you were almost two weeks away from starting your period. Frantically scrolling backwards, you began to try and rack your brain of all of the times in the past week that you had sex with Frankie while you would have been ovulating, and out of that number, how many times he hadn’t finished inside you, let alone even attempt to pull out.
And that number was a big, fat zero.
That’s when it hit you like a fucking freight train- You weren’t PMS-ing.
More than likely, you were pregnant.
“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, your voice trembling and heart pounding as you buried your face in your trembling hands, your mind flooding with a million different thoughts all at once.
How could you not remember that you were ovulating? Would Frankie be upset? The two of you weren’t even trying for kids right now. Would you be a good Mom? What were you even going to need to do to prepare? Your house was starting to get small for just you and Frankie, let alone a baby. How were you going to find a new place to live in 9 months? And get a new car? How were you-
“Baby, you good in there?” Frankie groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stumbled into the bathroom, letting out a yawn as he opened the door, bright light flooding into the hallway and revealing the sobbing mess you had become, still pants down, hunched over the toilet.
“Woah, hey, hey, hey. Baby, baby, what’s going on? Talk to me, Hermosa. Are you okay? What happened?” You could feel Frankie’s demeanor immediately switch as soon as he saw you in the bathroom, instantly dropping to his knees by your side, his hands gently grabbing your face to shift your gaze towards him, carefully swiping his thumb to dry the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks.
“Frankie, I- I- Fuck.” You stuttered, gulping hard as you tried to catch your breath, fighting back your nervous sobs as you locked eyes with Frankie, wondering how in the world you were ever about to brace him for the news you were about to tell him.
“Hermosa, what is it? Please, tell me baby, what’s wrong?” Frankie pleaded, softly squeezing your face in reassurance as he waited for your response.
You took a few more deep breaths, composing yourself enough to at least try to get a coherent thought out, swallowing hard as the words left your mouth.
“Frankie, I-, Frankie, I think- I think I’m pregnant.”
Frankie’s eyes went wide, his jaw practically hanging open as he tried to process what you had just told him, wondering if he hadn’t heard you right in his groggy state.
“W-what?”
“I think I might be pregnant, Frankie.”
Before you could even bear the thought of looking at his face again, filled with fear that it would be a look of shock and disappointment, you buried your face in your hands again, fighting with everything in you not to cry and keep your composure.
Frankie sat quietly for a moment, his hand covering up the gaping hole his jaw had made as it nearly hit the floor, shaking his head in disbelief before wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulling your hands to look at him.
“R-really? You- fuck- You really think you’re pregnant?”
As your eyes met his, you couldn’t believe the look on your husbands face- Not only was Frankie practically grinning from ear to ear, the sweet brown of his puppy dog eyes were welling with happy tears of their own, waiting on your every word as if he still didn’t believe what he was hearing. Silently, you began to slowly nod your head, biting down on your tongue, your heart feeling like it was about to shoot out of your chest.
“You’re...y-you’re not upset?” You stammered, sitting up a little taller at Frankie’s reaction.
“Upset? Hermosa, why in the world would I ever be upset?” Frankie laughed quietly, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as his other hand cupped your jaw. “Querida… There’s nothing more I want on this earth than to have a family. And-fuck- The fact that it gets to be with you? That you might give me a family? How could I ever be upset about that?
“Well it’s not like we were really trying for a baby, Frank. We said another year or two. With the house and money -”
“Hey. We’ll figure it all out, okay? I promise, we’ll be more than okay.” Frankie smiled, his goofy grin still stretched wide between his cheeks, finally easing some of your worry.
“I don’t even feel like I’m old enough to have a kid. I feel like I need to call up MTV to tell them I’ll be on the next season of 16 and Pregnant.” The two of you snorted, shaking your heads in awestruck disbelief that a stupid joke about a reality TV show could soon become your reality.
“Well considering we’re married, have a house, and most importantly, are much closer to 30 than we are 16, I think they may have a hard time pitching the show “Married Couple Has a Baby”.” Frankie teased, giving you a playful nudge as the two of you laughed, giving you a few seconds to catch your breath before trying to dig into details. “Did- Did you take a test? How long have you known?”
“No, I don’t know for sure yet, Frank. It’s… It’s just a feeling, I guess. But the huge, sore boobs, weird, period-like cramps and the fact that we really haven’t been the most careful are all pretty good clues.”
“Well, I mean, I don’t know, we’ve tried to be care-”
Before Frankie could even finish the rest of his thought, you were already giving him the sassiest look you could muster in your overwhelmed and sleepy state, making the two of you laugh again he let out a sigh of defeat.
“Okay, yeah, we really haven’t been that careful at all. Sweetie, listen, I- I know it’s not what we had planned, but… I mean, if you are pregnant…” Frankie paused, smiling at your stomach as he gently place a hand over your belly, tears welling in his chocolate brown eyes, “Baby, I would be so excited. Nervous as hell, but so fucking excited.”
“Me too.” You sniffed, looking down at Frankie’s palm splayed across your stomach, heart swelling at the thought of Frankie being dad, thinking of how sweet and caring and perfect he’d be as you grew your little family together. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled Frankie in close, letting out a shaky sigh, whispering your words through happy tears.
“I love you so much, Frankie.”
“I love you so much too, Hermosa. More than anything.”
For the sake of Frankie’s shoulder, you pulled away to wipe your tears to keep from soaking your husband’s shirt, quietly laughing to yourself at the fact that this whole time you had been talking to Frankie, you had still been pantsless, hunched over the toilet.
“It probably would have been way more romantic to tell you all of this not at 2:30 in the morning, pantsless and hunched over the toilet like a little gremlin.” You snorted, Frankie following suit as he shook his head, running his hand through the sleepy curls of your hair.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way, mi amor. C’mon, let’s get you up to bed.”
As the two of you sleepily trotted your way upstairs, curling together under the warmth of your comforter with Frankie’s chest pressed against your back, you couldn’t help but smile as his arm draped over your stomach, hand resting on your belly while his thumb traced soft circles on your skin, imagining what it would be like if a few months from now if you really were getting ready to add another member to your family.
The next morning, as the sunrise began to spill through your curtains, casting bright orange and pink shadows on your bedroom walls, you couldn’t help but stir as the familiar scent and warmth of Frankie’s body was missing from his side of the bed.
As you sat up in the sea of blankets and comforters, softly rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you saw Frankie’s frame quietly sneaking through the bedroom door, fresh mug of coffee and bag of breakfast in hand with a stupid smile plastered across his face as he was greeted with your barely awake grin.
“Good morning, beautiful.” Frankie cooed, setting down the coffee and breakfast down on your nightstand as he sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, pressing a tender kiss into the sleep-ridden ends of your hair before wrapping his arms around you in a long embrace.
“Good morning, handsome.” You yawned, stretching your arms over your head, letting out a little grunt and laying your head on Frankie’s shoulder. “What’s all this for?” You asked, gesturing towards the coffee and oversized McDonald’s bag, assuming it was the reason for Frankie’s absence when you woke up.
“I- I don’t know, I uh- I was just really excited when I got up this morning. It was early, and I didn’t wanna wake you up, so I made a trip to CVS to buy some pregnancy tests for you and figured I’d pick up breakfast on the way home.” Frankie smiled sheepishly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, brushing past his untamed morning curls. “I know- I know you can’t really take the tests yet- I spent a lot of time reading the boxes in the store and wasn’t really sure what the best one was to take, so I got like, 4 different ones for when it's time.”
“God, you’re so sweet. You’re the best, you know that? It’s about to be a long week of waiting before I can take one of those. Do you- fuck, Frankie, do you think it could really be positive?” You asked, tears beginning to well in your eyes again as you smiled up at your husband, already beaming back at you, picturing the two pink lines showing up on all of the tests he had bought for you.
“Maybe, if we’re lucky.” He smirked, gently cupping your face, swiping his thumb across your face. “But if it’s not, then maybe… Maybe we start trying for a positive one on purpose.”
“R-really?” You grinned, biting down on your lip in excitement.
“Really, really.” Frankie replied, bringing his lips to yours in a long, slow kiss, soaking in the sweet taste of you on his tongue. “And maybe…”
“Maybe, what, Fransisco?” You giggled, bringing your mouth back to his in a sweet and sloppy kiss.
“Maybe…. We start trying right now, ya know, just to be sure. Wouldn’t want all those pregnancy tests to go to waste.”
Taglist:
@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @amyispxnk @samgirl4life @pigeonmama @pedr0swh0r3
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal character#frankie catfish morales#narcos fanfiction#francisco catfish morales#francisco morales#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales x you#frankie morales#frankie morales fanfic#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales fluff#frankie morales smut#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x female reader#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales fic#triple frontier fic#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fanfiction#pedro pascal fandom#joel miller smut#fransisco morales
892 notes
·
View notes
Text
in another life . . .
rating: explicit, 18+
pairing: frankie morales x f!reader
word count: 7K
summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.
warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed
a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”
🤍Masterlist
. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.
Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled.
“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.”
“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”
You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder.
“I’m sure of it.”
All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.
“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.”
“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.”
Partner.
That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself.
And then he met you and the definition changed again.
You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why.
You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).
“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”
And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days.
“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions.
Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts.
Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed.
Which could be:
Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.
Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here.
He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.
Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging
Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?
Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.
And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.
Then dark. And light.
You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all.
He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.
“Hey, you’re home.”
You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime.
“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath.
“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”
“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee.
“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold.
He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.”
Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.
“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”
In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee.
“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets.
“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.”
“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night.
He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.
“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids.
“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”
He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it.
Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since.
Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks.
Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair.
Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation.
Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay.
Something stronger than light.
Stronger than gold.
You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love.
So much fucking love.
In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.
He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants.
You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.
The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare.
“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.
Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him.
“Baby–,”
He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,
I’m not worth this
With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall.
You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer.
His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.
Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in.
You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle.
“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.
Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut.
This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars.
This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day.
That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.
And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.
He just wonders how stable it really is.
His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.
“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”
Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head.
“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful.
Grateful.
Grateful that he is kissing you.
Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you.
You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees.
But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now.
His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it.
He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch.
Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart.
The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips.
“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs.
Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes.
His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it.
He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford.
Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair.
“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.”
He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.
He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole.
In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair.
“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh.
“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty.
Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible.
He didn’t know he could feel like this.
One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean.
He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face.
You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine.
You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point.
Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now.
His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level.
You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.
“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls.
But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest.
His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table.
Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock.
“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?”
At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich.
“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.
“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.”
“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.”
His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork.
It almost brings him to his knees.
“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”
He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.
Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist.
You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.
“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”
It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.
His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.
“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain.
He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.
“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.”
You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.”
He is covered in gold. Dripping with it.
His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done.
“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.
“I wanna fucking marry you.”
With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.
He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him.
“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow.
“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy.
The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire.
He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust.
He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again.
You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.
The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm.
“B-baby, please–,”
Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer.
“No crying until after I’ve made you come.”
“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.”
“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him.
Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.
“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”
And he unravels, divinity calling his name.
His pace is slow, then rough, then deep.
The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again.
Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more.
Baby, please.
The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst.
With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs.
The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet.
Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling.
“Fuck, Frankie . . .”
He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor.
His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull.
“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face.
“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.”
You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest.
“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”
“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.
“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.”
Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips.
You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all.
You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed.
“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you.
“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.”
Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.
He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach.
Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.
“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”
“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”
His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.
“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.”
He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.
Yeah, who knew?
#frankie morales#fransisco morales#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales smut#triple frontier#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x reader#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#frankie morales x f!reader
483 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Last Great American Dynasty
Series Masterlist
Series Summary: Addiction, deadlines, a nasty divorce. In an effort to shed your skin and find yourself again, you pack up and move to a historic seaside home across the country. It's all a blur, you're hurting and spinning your wheels in a big house all alone. Until Frankie shows up on your doorstep.
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Pairing: Frankie Catfish Morales x AFAB reader
Warnings: Mentions of drug use, divorce, and rehab, angst, fluff, smut, Frankie and reader have pasts with addiction. Will add more as they come up...
Notes: Big thanks to @pr0ximamidnight, @mydailyhyperfixations, @joelsgreys, and @mylostloversbookmarks for letting me ramble to you 🩵💙
Chapter 1:
This Was The Very First Page
#the last great american dynasty#francisco morales#frankie x reader#marry me frankie#frankie smut#triple frontier fic#triple frontier#fransisco morales#she had a marvelous time ruining everything
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yeah... we all totally did this, right?? 😜
Ever hopeful for a TF2...
I already wrote the opener here, Netflix. You're welcome. 😉
@for-a-longlongtime Thanks for this! 🖤😘
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#fransisco morales#frankie morlaes x reader#triple frontier#tf2#pedro pascal characters
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Wedding Date (Frankie Morales x F!Reader) (part 13)
Previous Next The Beginning
“Hello? You home?” Olivia opened your front door. “Jesus fuck you look like shit.”
You hadn’t changed out of your sweats from yesterday, your hair was a tangled mess and you had an angry blind pimple taking up most of the space on your chin. Also, you had been crying, a lot.
“I’ll kill him,” Olivia pulled you into a hug.
“You don’t even know what happened,” you sobbed into her shoulder.
“I don’t have to,” she said with simple finality. “I will kill him.”
She handed you a bottle of cold Rose and pulled another two out of her bag. “We’re skipping glasses tonight. Tell me everything.”
You unscrewed the top of the bottle, taking a long swig. “It just-just came out of nowhere? Am I fucking stupid, Liv?” You flopped back onto the couch, hugging the wine close. Olivia sat next to you, dragging your legs over her lap.
“You’re not stupid,” she replied firmly, “he’s a fucking donkey-brained dickhead.”
“He just cares about his family,” you moaned. You couldn’t fault him for it.
“Nuh-uh, nuh-uh, what did he say?”
You handed Olivia your phone, open to the last message from Frankie. You watched her face as she read the message; the raised brow, mouth twisted in disgust. She had never been great at hiding emotion.
“I never thought he would be so spineless to do something like this over a text. I’m sorry I got you into this.” Olivia took your hand, squeezing it in hers.
You sniffled. “Not your fault, I even warned myself not to get attached to him. I wrote myself a stupid note and everything.”
“You wrote a note?”
Nodding miserably, you pulled the note you had written almost two months ago out of the pocket of your sweats. You had fished it out of your drawer last night, reading it and the text over and over again, hating yourself.
“Holy fuck you wrote a note,” Olivia handed the note back. You decided to either set it on fire or shove it in the garbage disposal. “Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do tonight.” You lifted your head slightly, decided that was too much effort and let it thunk back down on the arm of the couch.
“First, I’m washing your hair. Then, you’ve still got that mud mask, right? Slapping that on you, no arguments. Third, take out for dinner. And then maybe, if you’re feeling up to it, murder?”
“I’m not hungry,” you protested. You had lost your appetite last night and had only had a handful of shredded cheese in the day that had followed.
“You will be,” Olivia promised.
She guided you gently to your bathroom, helping you take off your sweats. “Are you wearing deodorant?”
“I think I forgot it,” you held back the sob.
“Oh, babe. No wonder you stink.”
You couldn’t help it - the sobs turned into laughs. It was the exact type of thing you would have said to her before doing what she did next, which was shove you under the warm water of the shower.
Olivia successfully distracted you, her fingers almost pulling your hair clean out of your skull as she lathered the shampoo.
“Fucking hell! Don’t quit your day job.”
“I don’t have the skills to be a hairdresser. Or the patience.”
“Those bangs you have yourself in college beg to differ.”
“Bitch!” Olivia laughed as she sprayed you in the face with the shower nozzle. Quickly, you were both doubled over laughing, dripping with soap and water, a temporary but desperately needed reprieve from the tears.
Once your hair was washed, you were dressed in fresh clothes and sitting on the rug, leaning against Olivia’s legs as she combed your hair. The wine was being steadily depleted, the TV on Youtube showing the ‘Most Shocking Discoveries on Kitchen Nightmares’. It took you back to your college days, when you and Olivia had first roomed together, self-care nights when one of you was feeling heartbroken or downtrodden.
You deleted and blocked Frankie’s number, not wanting to have the option of drunk calling him and embarrassing yourself even further.
“This is such bullshit,” Olivia muttered, glaring drunkenly at her phone.
“What?”
“I’m trying to get William to bring us more hooch but the sonov’a bitch isn’t answering his phone. Lemme try Benjamin.”
“I’ve got some weed somewhere,” you offered. Olivia gripped your shoulders, eyes wide.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
An hour later, the pair of you were sitting out in the backyard, illuminated by the fairy lights that you had strung up the previous spring, steadily getting higher and drunker. “Should we order pizza or that new Japanese place?”
You shrugged, stomach rumbling. A reminder that you hadn’t eaten, and a reminder that your heart still ached under all that numbing. “Both, but get Ben to pick it up when he get us the drinks.”
Olivia shot finger guns at you. “Think he’ll go for it?”
You passed her the joint. “He has to if he doesn’t want to get wailed on.” Olivia snorted and pressed her phone to her ear.
“Hey, yeah, it’s me - no, shut the fu - no listen to me for one fucking second, you douche! No, no, here’s what’s happening . . . listen to me fuck, we’re getting pizza and Japanese, we need you to pick them up . . . why? Because delivery is expensive, you walnut. Ugh, yes, you can have some, obviously. No . . . yeah, I’ll explain why when you get here. Just an FYI, though, your stupid ‘friend’ is a spineless, brainless jellyfish! I’ll text you the address. Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Oh, and just come around the back when you get here.”
You ordered the pizza while Olivia ordered the Japanese, calling out food options to one another as you selected add to cart. It was probably more food than either of you could eat, even with Benny’s help, but by god, if you weren’t going to stuff your face until your shorts didn’t button, and then just a little more.
The man in question arrived a little later, holding the drinks in one hand and the bags of food in the other. “Ya’ll really gonna eat all this?”
“Are you really asking us that right now?” Olivia took a bag from him, clearing space so he could sit on the grass. Benny shrugged and flipped open a box of pizza.
“While I’m honored to be invited to your backyard picnic-”
“Technically, you weren’t invited-”
“I just gotta know what the hell is going on.”
You sighed and grabbed a container of gyoza. “Heartbreak.” Benny waited patiently for you to continue. “Frankie . . . he uh, well, he wants to make it work with Ariel, I guess. No, I don’t guess. That’s exactly what he said in the text.”
Benny sat back, looking confused. “He texted that? He didn’t call?”
You nodded, taking another gyoza. That was what hurt the most - that he didn’t even have the fucking balls to call. A call, at least, would have allowed you to hear him say it, and allowed you to call him a dick. It would have given you some sort of closure.
Instead, all you got was a stupid fucking text message.
You took a deep breath, pushing down the anger that was beginning to bubble up along with the sadness. Your voice took on an edge as you spoke. “I just wasn’t fucking important enough to warrant a conversation.”
“Ariel?” Benny was perplexed, scratching at his chin with his free hand. “They don’t even like each other as people. The only reason they still talk is because of Lails.”
Apparently, they liked each other a lot more than Benny thought. You watched as Benny shook his head, mouth moving soundlessly. You could see the cogs turning in his brain.
Benny stayed a few more hours, long after the food went cold and the wine warm. You could hear the ocean, steady in its crashing waves. The topic of Frankie was now being avoided altogether, and you had successfully avoided tearing up for almost a full hour.
Well, thirty-seven minutes. Not that you were checking.
“Would you be sad if I moved to Antarctica?”
Benny and Olivia looked at you, and it struck you just how similar they looked. Fuck, slap a beard on her or a wig on him and they’d be almost indistinguishable.
“You hate the cold,” Olivia said simply.
“I could tolerate it,” you shot back. There were many benefits to Antarctica; the marine life, isolation, something new, as far away from heartbreak as humanly possible . . . really, it had everything you needed.
“I’ll take you seriously when you’re not baked.”
“You should always take me seriously,” you deadpanned, “I’m the most serious person I know. I don’t know what a joke is.”
“If you for real flee the fucking country I’m living here.”
“It’s happening.”
It wasn’t, in any capacity, happening. But it got you thinking that maybe you needed a holiday; probably not to Antarctica, but somewhere where you needed your passport to get into. Maybe you would become one of those people who traveled the world with just their wits and backpack. That was manageable.
“Ben, have you done much international travel?”
He shrugged. “A little bit here and there.”
“Any recommendations?”
“I hear Norway is nice.”
“You’ve never been to Norway.” Olivia raised a brow.
“I hear it’s nice, though. I don’t have to be a fucking Lonely Planet guide to hear stuff.”
It was past midnight by the time your eyelids started feeling heavy, your body weary. You closed your eyes, letting the night wash over you. Benny and Olivia were bickering about something, from what you gathered it had something to do with an ex of Benny’s contacting Olivia.
Without meaning to, you fell asleep. Your heart still ached for Frankie, for what could have been, for the fool you had been. But it hurt just a tiny bit less.
Eventually, it wouldn’t hurt at all.
~
The pounding on his door came halfway through eating dinner. Frankie set down his bowl, paused the show he was watching, and stood. Before he had even gotten halfway to the door, the pounding sounded again.
“Alright, I’m coming!” He opened the door, glaring at Benny who had his fist raised. “What?”
“Are you fucking okay?” Benny pushed past, looking for god knew what. “Are you being held hostage? Do you have, what’s it called, fuckin’ Stockholm Syndrome?”
Frankie followed. “What?”
Benny stopped in the kitchen, apparently given up on his search. “That’s the only explanation for you wanting to get back together with Ariel?”
Now Frankie really was confused. “Ariel?”
“Look, Fish, I love you, but is this honestly the best thing for you? I’ve been reading a lot about how we value oursel-”
“What are you talking about?”
“You and Ariel, man. I know the divorce was hard, but I thought you were moving on.”
“I have moved on?” Frankie thought of you, how he wouldn’t have entertained the idea of you if he wasn’t well and truly moved on.
“Then why,” Benny threw his hands in the air as he spoke, “are you and Ariel gettin’ back together?”
“We’re not,” Frankie said firmly, though still confused. “Where did you even get that idea?”
“Where-where did I get the idea? I’ll tell you where, Francisco! The fucking text that you sent the one person on this planet who I think is your whole fucking soulmate. And guess what, now she’s thinking about moving to Antarctica!”
“I never sent anything like that,” Frankie said quietly, mind racing. He had been trying to get through to you ever since Ariel and Laila had left, but you had been radio silent so far. He had chalked it up to you being busy - you probably had turned your phone off or were out on the ocean, out of cell range.
He grabbed his phone from the counter and immediately pressed the buttons to call you. As he expected, it went straight to a robotic voice telling him the call could not be connected.
“Where is she?” Frankie looked at Benny with pleading eyes, now struck with the realisation that with every single moment that passed, it would be less likely that you would ever speak to him again.
“At home, probably. She was still pretty upset when I left.”
“Lock up when you leave!” Frankie was out the door and in his truck in moments. He knew exactly what had happened, how this had happened. Now he just had to hope that you believed him when he explained.
Frankie wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t even give him the time of day. God knew he didn’t deserve it after being such a fool. And he had been, he thought firmly, for trusting that Ariel wouldn’t pull some shit like this after he had suggested she stay the night so she and Lails could avoid an accident on the drive back to Tampa.
When he was in the shower, probably or . . . no. Ariel had asked to use his phone; hers was dead and his charger wasn’t compatible. She needed to let her parents know about the change in plan so they didn’t go sick with worry when they didn’t show up.
Frankie turned onto your street, palms slick with sweat. He could only hope that you’d listen, that you’d understand.
He parked behind your car, pulled his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t put it back on as he knocked on your door, heart in his throat as he waited for you to answer.
@laichka @paintlavillered @idreamofboobear @pjkimrn @gracie7209 @sunnshineeexoxo @lorosette @fangirl-316 @dihra-vesa @astoryisaloveaffair @theanothersherlockian @pedritobalmando @blub-senpai @maievdenoir @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bobbydearest @icanbeyourjedi @goldielocks2004 @1800-fight-me @littledragonlady @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @ficsbynight @hotchlover @dobbyjen @athalien @vanered15 @jitterbugs927 @ritasantosworld @gaypoetsblog
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
FRANKIE FRIDAY LOCKSCREEN 1
#frankiefriday NEW LOCKSCREEN AVAILABLE IN STORIES AND ON TUMBLR! 💚
All edits watermarked 💧 please use/share/credit
#pedro pascal#pedro#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#pedrohub#wallpaper#pedro lockscreen#lockscreen#pedro pascal wallpaper#frankie morales#fransisco morales#triple frontier#Frankie Friday#Frankie morales edit
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
I will not let you go (Francisco 'Catfish' Morales x reader)
Words: 546
A/n: Inspired entirely By @summonthesoups sharing the Above image. thanks to @romanarose for being a sounding board for this fic.
Whenever they went on walks together Frankie always had to have his hands on her, His arm tight around her waist, his fingers intertwined with hers, his arm slung over her shoulders, as long as he’s touching her he’s satisfied. After they adopt an adorable Mutt puppy that Frankie named Mullido from their local animal shelter their walks become more frequent and Frankie loves every second of it. The leash in one hand and his arm around her waist as Mullido investigates every interesting smelling thing on the path dragging them along. Frankie swears this has probably been one of the best choices he’s made, other than his lady and his daughter of course.
One sunny day right after they adopted Mullido, Their Daughter spending the day with her grandparents, they had walked with their enthusiastic pup down to the beach to meet the guys, as usual his hand held on to hers tightly as they made their way across the sand. Benny is the first to notice their approach and calls out running across the beach.
“Hey Guys! Woah! DOG!” He says excited with childlike wonder as he crouches down to let the puppy lick his face and snuffle at his clothes.
"Yeah! This is our dog, Mullido!" Frankie announces with a big smile on his face. She and the Guys are all gathered around the dog as Santiago Steps to the side with Frankie and laughs slightly
"Wait...did you really just name your dog...Fluffy?" Santi asks with a smirk as he looks at him quizzically
“Yep. We thought it would be funny.” Frankie pats his friend on the back and smiles at his girl, who was holding Mullido in her arms as the Miller brothers were enthusiastically fond of the small animal.
As the sun crossed over the sky they were all tossing a Frisbee back and forth as Mullido chases it between them, like an adorable game of monkey in the middle. Out of breath She sits down to the side and watches as the others play. A smile on her face as she watches them. She grabs a cold drink out of the cooler and takes a drink as she watches. Eventually she was joined by a smiling Francisco and an exhausted puppy.
“You doin’ alright Mi Vida?” He asked as he flopped on the ground next to her.
“Yeah, just taking a break.” She smiles at him.
“You’ve got the right Idea. Mulli is a little pooped too.” Frankie puts his hand on her thigh as he looked at the ball of fluff curled up at their feet.
“Well it’s been a good day to be a dog.” She chuckles
“I’d say.” Frankie laughs, they watch the guys abandon the frizbee to all take up a spot in the circle of beach towels that they had laid out. They all start talking and joking. Will holding Mullido in his lap as they sat together. She smiles as Frankie puts a protective arm around her. This was everything she had ever hoped for. A Happy life with a happy family.
~
Bonus scene
About a month later Frankie get a call. Its Benny.
"Seriously Fish. Fluffy? The dogs name is Fluffy?”
“Yes! Did you just figure this out?”
“…Yeah.” They both laugh.
~
Masterlist
#triple frontier#Francisco 'Catfish' Morales#Francisco 'Catfish' Morales x reader#x reader#triple frontier x reader#triple frontier x you#spotify#santiago pope garcia#william miller#benjamin miller#catfish morales x reader#francisco morales#frankie morales#fransisco morales#pet fic#triple frontier fanfiction#fluff#Spotify
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
HAPPY BIRTHDAY PEDRO!!!
#pedro pascal#happy birthday#its pedro pascals birthday#joel miller#fransisco morales#pedro pascal fandom
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
here's one for you while I think about the one you sent me!
once more, with feeling 🧡
kate, bb, yours was utterly delicious!
this was so much fun! here's mine - once more, with feeling {frankie morales x reader}
It started off as a chance encounter at the convenience store. Picking up a prescription and a bag of sour gummy candies. But of course your wallet hadn’t been inside the chaos of your purse. The cards hadn’t been rattling around amid the pens, gum wrappers, scraps of paper with lists, or the lighter that had somehow ended up in there either.
“Shit.”
The cashier rolls her eyes, popping a large bubble she had just blown out from the wad of gum in her mouth. An arched brow her silent judgement.
“I don’t have my wallet.”
“Okay.” She begins to slid the items away before a figure closed in on your right side.
“I’ll cover it,” A deep voice rumbled and you turned to meet a pair of startlingly wide brown eyes. They were set in the face of a handsome man. Your own roved over him, from the patchy scruff lining his jaw, the plush set of lips set under a thick moustache, the curls tamped down and curling around a cap tight over his head, the aviators slung in the collar of his grey t-shirt. But what really stole your breath away was the toothy grin he was flashing at you as he set down the items in his arms and reached to retrieve his worn wallet from a back pocket. “Gummies are an essential, can’t let ya go without them.”
Another bubble popping startled you, making you realize you hadn’t said anything in response. With a chuckle the man was gently corralling you away from the debit machine, a card between his thick fingers. He swiped it, nodding his head to the cashier as she held out two different plastic bags for the man to take.
“Thank you, that was very kind of you-“
“Fransisco, but Frankie is just fine.” He held out a hand, the bag with your items in it. You took it as you walked along side him out the sliding doors. You offered your name along with a thankful smile. All too aware of the large hoodie you had thrown on over a pair of shorts in your rush out the door. You only lived across the street, but of course you would run into a stunning man on your put off and then rushed errand.
“No problem at all.” He didn’t move toward the parking lot and neither did you, both rooted close enough to catch the scent of each other’s perfume and cologne. You could feel his eyes watch you as you tore into the bag of gummies, twin cherries. You held the open bag out to him as you brough one up to your lips. He smirked as he brought one to his own mouth.
“Cherries, that your thing? Cause you smell like ‘em and I bet you taste like ‘em too, now.” An eyebrow raised, though it was anything but a judgment like it had been on the cashier’s face. It was a flirty challenge and you couldn’t help the pull of your lips to match his energy.
“I dunno, why don’t you find out?” You swallowed, the candy sweet on your tongue and tangy. Your breath hitched, betraying your nerves as he reached a hand out to gently hold the back of your head and pull you toward him. His lips were plush against yours, so soft and faintly flavored from the candy. He didn’t try to push it past a chaste connection, pulling back after a few seconds.
“Mmm, seems like I need to do a little more research.”
“Seems like you do.” The flimsy handles of the bag slid down to the crook of your elbow as you reached up to cup his face. Leaning in, you kisses him with more intention. Allowing for him to lick into your mouth, licking the flavor from you as if he was starving and it was hist first taste of food in a long while.
You hummed, pulling him closer to feel the front of his body pressed up against your own, his hands going around the small of your back. Pleasure pooled in your middle, lighting you up as you stood in front of the convenient store and shared kisses with a beautiful stranger.
Sharing a breath, his fingers twitched around you as your lashes fluttered. His eyes were already watching when you opened them back up.
“Cherries were always my favorite.” He kissed you again and somehow you knew it would lead to a cherry frosted cake and the sharing of vows.
fic title prompts!
#dev writes#drabble#drabble challenge#writing challenge#fic title challenge#writing exercise#frankie morales#frankie morales fanfic#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#fransisco catfish morales
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sirowsky's Masterlist
The Lonely Castle - Complete
(100 000+ words)
Follows canon but takes place after the movie. Pero & original female character Ember/Snow, no reader insert. Slow burn romance, idiots in love, fantasy. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.
Driving Mr. Tovar - Complete
(370 000+ words)
Modern AU. Pero & female reader. Slow burn romance, hint of soulmates, magic. (Horses are significant characters in this story.) Explicit content, 18+ONLY.
The Stranger in the Bar - Complete
(169 000+ words)
Modern AU. Pero & Female Reader. Thriller/Romance. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.
Collision - Complete
(55 000+ words)
Modern AU. Pero & Original Female Character Nikita. Friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity. Thriller/Romance. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.
The Lost Island - Complete
(112 000+ words)
Follows canon but takes place after the movie. Marcus & female reader. Enemies to lovers, fantasy, supernatural powers. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.
The Flowers Always Know - Complete, but currently undergoing an update.
(148 000+ words)
Follows canon but takes place after the movie. Marcus & female reader. Slow burn romance, fantasy, supernatural powers. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.
The Legend of Mar'Sol - Complete
(15 000+ words)
Follows canon, takes place after the events of chapter 16. Mando & original female character Mesh'la, no reader insert. Slow burn romance, slavetrade, forced submissive behaviour, the force. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.
The Last Demon - Complete
(70 000 words)
AU that takes place around the time between Chapter 16 of The Mandalorian, and Din's appearance in TBOBF. Din & female reader/monster. Violent content, 18+ONLY.
The Old Prince - Complete
(81 000+ words)
AU, Halloween themed fantasy/horror/romance story. Monster Oberyn Martell & Female reader, reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast. Horror themes/explicit content, 18+ONLY.
Din Djarin
The Stories We Tell Ourselves (1872 words)
Grogu's Gift (1900 words)
A Little Menace (2080 words)
--Part 2 (2518 words)
--Part 3 (2240 words)
--Part 4 (2120 words)
--Part 5 (2130 words)
Surviving Christmas (6500 words)
Trouble (150 words)
Marcus Pike
The Bad Day (1525 words)
The Birthday Hike (658 words)
Monday (500 words)
Wrong Way Home (18,280 words)
The Secret Lake (3630 words)
Pero Tovar
Christmas Special (8060 words)
--Part 2 (8090 words)
A Safe Place (3250 words)
Loneliness (3921 words)
Fearful Heart (1900 words)
Clumsy Heart (3352 words)
--Part 2 (2910 words)
Date or Inseminate (1240 words)
Various Others
An Unexpected Valentine - Marcus Moreno
2838 words
Kittycat - Dieter Bravo
1140 words
Attention - Javier Gutierrez
1500 words
Forgiven - Din Djarin
666 words
Surprise - Pero Tovar
575 words
Bad Guy - Javier Pena
570 words
Don't Die - Din Djarin
1500 words
-Main Page-
Neighbors - Joel Miller
920 words
Acts of Kindness - Din Djarin
1450 words
Anger Management - Pero Tovar
1200 words
The Well (poem)
138 words
Lost and Found - Joel Miller
1630 words
Moving On - Pero Tovar (DMTU)
960 words
Reunion - Marcus Pike
732 words
Daring to Dream - Marcus Moreno
2850 words
An Imagined Adventure (poem)
82 words
Masterlist
Like Father, Like Son - Dieter Bravo
650 words
All Hallows Quarrel - Marcus Moreno
825 words
The Haunted Toaster - Javier Gutierrez
660 words
Grumpy Pumpkin - Pero Tovar
750 words
Temple of Love - Pero Tovar
1570 words
Recovery - Marcus Moreno
680 words
Birthday Cake Writing Challenge of 2022
River Poem
444 words
Hold On - Pero Tovar (DMTU)
850 words
Treat Me Right - Javier Gutierrez
3225 Words
Warmth
320 words
Grogu's Gift - Din Djarin
1900 words
Whiskey Nights - Jack Daniels
825 words
Their Poem
240 words
Danger Close - Javier Peña
1374 words
Fearful Heart - Pero Tovar
1900 words
Max's Monster - Max Lord
3280 words
The Day - Francisco Morales
8500 words
--------------------------------------------
Birthday Cake Writing Challenge of 2023
Meeting Expectations - Jack Daniels
580 words
Judgement - Marcus Moreno
2210 words
-Part 2
3100 words
Turning Corners - Javier Gutierrez
2775 words
Dreamt You Were Here - Din Djarin
1485 words
I Came By - Dave York
1160 words
The Beauty of Mechanics - Francisco Morales
1500 words
--------------------------------------------
#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pero tovar fanfiction#marcus moreno fanfiction#marcus pike fanfiction#jack daniels fanfiction#javier gutierrez fanfiction#javier pena fanfiction#fransisco morales fanfiction#dave york fanfiction#maxwell lord fanfiction#joel miller fanfiction#oberyn martell fanfiction
43 notes
·
View notes
Text
Honestly tho
#ezra (prospect)#din djarin#fransisco morales (triple frontier)#dieter bravo#probably Joel honestly#marc spector#the man is an accordion and I will take such good care of him
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
Quiet Poolside Cuddle
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader
Words: 2.6k
Warnings: mentions of anxiety, insecurity, nsfw activities mentioned, alcohol use
Note: I haven't posted a fic in forever so I'm sorry for whatever this is
It was rare that you ever felt calm when you were at a party. Normally the mixture of loud music, too many people, and not being in your own home puts you too far out of your comfort zone to feel totally at ease. This party seemed to be no exception. For the most part you either liked or knew the people here, but they all know each other far better than they know you. Either current or former military or the family that they’ve also known just as long, make up most of the attendees.
After years of being out of the country, and subsequent months of getting his life back on track, Santiago “Pope” Garcia finally bought himself a permanent home. A gorgeous house with an expansive backyard, and a pool backing onto the edge of a wooded area. The inside was just as beautiful, but the backyard had a cozy feeling to it that reminded you of your own backyard. If it weren’t so cold, maybe the rest of the party would have joined you outside, but as it were you preferred to be by yourself. Too many people and being too loud overall, you needed some peace and quiet.
Shoes sat aside, pretty little things you bought specifically for the party, tossed off when you lowered yourself to the poolside. Your cardigan draped across a chair, leggings pulled up just enough so they stay out of the water as your feet gently kicked themselves back and forth, and the small bowl of grapes you managed to sneak right before sneaking out the sliding back door, sitting by your side being picked at gradually. You considered getting up to scroll through your phone to pass the time, but part of you remembered it was tucked safely in your boyfriend’s jean pocket instead of in your cardigan. Frankie had noticed your pockets were just slightly too small to carry it without risk of falling while navigating through all the people, and offered to hold onto it for you.
You sighed deeply, having Frankie cross your mind. You had been dating him for a number of months now, but after knowing him for years beforehand you sometimes wondered if this fairytale floating feeling you got when thinking about him should be a phase you were over with by now. He was so sweet though, how could you help it? Even now as you sit outside, Frankie is probably inside, nursing a new beer that either Santi or Benny slapped into his hands, being able to simply laugh and joke with these people he’s known for years.
Part of you wondered if you should be inside with him, seeing that giddy smile and slight flush on his face from the alcohol, maybe a tad more affectionate than usual with those around him. The other part of you, maybe the insecure part, thinks he deserves his space. Frankie spends so much time with you lately that he needs to spend time with those he loves without you hovering at all times.
Just to prove you wrong though, as soon as the thought crosses your mind, the sound of the sliding glass door hits your ears. Turning you head, you see the soft smile on Frankie’s face as he slowly closes the door and makes his way towards you. Popping another grape into your mouth you go back to looking at the clearness of the pool water, giving him the chance to take his own shoes off to join your feet in a good chlorinated soak.
His heat envelops you as he sits right next to you, and his hand grasps as your free one, pulling it into his lap so both of his can hold onto it. “Watching Benny and Pope try to outdrink the other isn’t as fun to watch without you there to make fun of them with.”
Frankie’s tone was warm, you could hear the bit of smile without even looking at him. Your own face matched his as well. “Both of them are gonna end up passed out on the floor at the rate they were going.”
The chuckle that follows is also drenched in warmth, his voice a constant source of comfort at every turn for you. You know when you don’t say anything else, that Frankie is looking at you. He looks at you a lot, you’ve just gotten used to sensing it with him.
A good moment of silence passes before he says anything else. “It’s too cold for you to be out here alone, querida.”
Shrugging slightly, you continue to just watch the stillness of the water. “It’s not so bad after a while.” You want him to be inside if he’s cold, not outside babysitting his partner. “I have my cardigan if it gets too cold.”
With a hum, Frankie leans in closer to you, an arm gently finding its way around your body and resting against your arm furthest from him. A slight pull brings your side against his, a small reprieve from the coldness of the night, being up against his warm body. “You know there’s a lot less getting used to the cold, if you were back inside with us.”
Another shrug, still not looking back at him. “Maybe. I think I just needed a moment alone, is all.”
Fingers start gently moving up and down your arm as Frankie speaks, “Talk to me baby, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
Your unsure if you even want to answer that. Sometimes whats going on in your head sounds stupid when you say it outloud, and tonight you just want Frankie to go back inside and enjoy himself without whats on your mind, also be on his.
“Nothing. I just needed a breather, is all. You know me, not a-”
“Not a party person.” Frankie answers for you, he knows you all too well. He knows you don’t like crowded parties and he also knows that being at a Santi’s house warming party wasn’t what was bothering you at the moment. He watches your face continue to not look directly at him, before turning slightly to watch your feet kick and swish through the illuminated pool water.
Thinking before he speaks again, Frankie makes a soft approach. “We can go home if you’re ready, I don’t want to keep you here if you want to leave.”
Except that was the opposite of what you wanted. That's what makes you look up at him. You were right, he has a flushed glow about him from the drinks, not as much as you would assume he’d have, this late into the evening, but enough that you can see he’s enjoying himself tonight. “No no no, I’ll be in in a bit, you go back to the guys I’ll join you in a second.”
Frankie also knows you well enough to know that’s not true, and so you reaffirm your statement with a playfulness not previously present. “Come on, Santi offered us a guest room, you shouldn’t waste a chance to not have to drive home at 3am.” You reach up to his hair as you speak, brushing it slightly out of his forehead with a gentle smile. Frankie though lets go of your loose hand in his lap, and reaches up to the one in his hair, grabbing it before you can pull it back to your own body.
He kisses the back of your hand before holding it against his chest, right over his heart, “Baby, tell me what’s wrong. You were so excited to come tonight before we left, what happened?”
His big brown eyes, ones that you could drown in are too much. Its so hard to lie to him when he looks at you with those big beautiful eyes, soft as can be looking right into yours. “I’m just tired.” He doesn’t believe you, you know it. “Really, it just caught up with me is all.”
Frankie’s hold on your hand tightens, but he doesn’t say a word he just looks at you. Waiting. Eventually you just lean in and kiss the material covering his shoulder, chin finding a seat resting on it as you look up at him. “Go back inside, my love. Enjoy yourself, they all want to spend time with you anyways. No need to waste your time out here with me.”
The soft gaze Frankie had towards you shifts then. His brow furrowing down and his eyes narrow as he takes in what you said. “Why would I be wasting my time?”
“You just, you know..You don’t spend as much time with those guys anymore, and with Santi finally home, you should spend time with them without me to worry about.”
When Frankie sighs, hand holding yours dropping it gently back down, he begins looking at the water now as you had been previously. You worry you said the wrong thing, but Frankie doesn’t let you ruminate on the thought long enough to let it turn to anxiety. “I was having a good time when you were beside me also having fun.”
He doesn’t let you respond, he just keeps going. “You’re who I want to spend my time with. I love them all don’t get me wrong, querida. But spending time with you is what makes me happy. Not too much of Benny’s crap taste in beer and telling lighthearded versions of army stories about the only few missions we even can share with people.”
Frankie reaches to your chin and gently raises it up and turned to look him in the eye once more. “I don’t need you giving me space. Not at a party that we came with together, not anytime.” He leans in, never once giving up his gentle hold on your chin, even moving slightly to be more of a hold on your jaw. Directing you towards his lips.
Frankie kisses you softly, so softly that you could have missed it if he didn’t keep you so close after. His lips brush against your own as he mutters your name. “You make me happy, okay? Don’t ever think I need space from you to be happy.”
You nod just enough to feel his lips brush against your own, top and bottom lips brushing past the other just a little more noticeably then when you speak up. “I..I just worry everyone’s going to see me as clingy, that you may think I’m being clingy if I’m always right beside you.”
Frankie laughs, a much fuller laugh then the chuckle he gave earlier. The hand on your jaw slides up, encompassing the side of your neck, him leaning to grant your nose a small kiss. “I’m the one who followed you out into the cold because I missed having you to cuddle up against, you know.”
Finally, you give a real giggle. Frankie does always act as the clingy one, but neither of you ever cared about that. Being close to you makes him happy and at ease, and it makes you happy. You suppose that’s just all either of you need.
You sigh and lean in, Frankie shifting to let your head rest on his shoulder, his hand now moving to hold the side of your head in a gentle hold, almost protectively. His feet begin to swish around in the water, as do yours following suit. The quiet splash of the water, and the faint sound of music and chatter muffled through the house walls, leave the two of you in a quiet but gentle embrace.
Sometimes you think you don’t deserve what Frankie offers you, his kindness, his generosity, his utter devotion to your happiness, but then you think to yourself, Frankie would argue to the death that you give him the same things. In fact he has absolutely said exactly those things before. Sometimes said while you hold each other in your arms after a night of passion, other times said by him, after you’ve just moved his coffee cup tipped to his mouth, when his hands are too preoccupied trying to feed his baby girl breakfast.
“I’m going to ask you one more time, and this time I want you to tell me the truth, querida.” Frankie says firmly. You can feel his head has turned to sit his mouth near the top of your head.
You look up in his eyes as his hand refuses to let go of it’s hold on the side of your head. “Do you want to go home, baby? Or do you want to go back inside and we can spend some more time with everyone before going upstairs to bed?”
You inhale deeply, before placing a hand on his chest, your thumb naturally rubbing over one of his shirt buttons without realizing it, as if you yearn for it to open, to let you feel the skin underneath. “I’m sure we won’t hear the end of it from Santi if we leave before he’s had a chance to do a drunken I love you guys so much speech.”
Another laugh comes out of Frankie, as he moves to stand up. His arms wrapping around you to gently lift you up along with him. The space right where you were sitting quickly soaks with pool water, as Frankie looks around, only to spot the small towel rack near the house wall. And quickly moving away only to grab one, an arm outstretched to you as he does so, as if to say 'don't move'.
Gently he has you hold onto his shoulder, so he can lift a foot of yours at a time to dry them, before helping you back into your shoes. Before he can dry his own feet, you lean in and sneak a kiss, grasping the towel out from under him.
You kneel down, intent on giving him the same gentle treatment, when the sound of the door sliding opens fills the air. Only this time the sound is far less gentle, and immediately followed by the yelling of Frankie’s oldest friend.
“Hey, hey, hey, if you’re gonna suck him off in my house at least do it in the fucking guest room I gave you!” Santi clearly has enough alcohol in his system to lack any boundaries about yelling that with an open door to a party, but clearly he’s sober enough to still find ways to tease Frankie at any opportunity.
Frankie himself turns his upper body towards Santi, and for a moment the two yell back and forth, bantering in Spanish too advanced and quick for you to make out what they are saying. Not that it matters though, with Santi waving a hand dismissively before shutting the door as he goes back inside.
You and Frankie look at the other laughing more easily then the entire time you’ve been outside. You dry his feet and help his shoes back on. Frankie simply grabs the towel and tosses it onto one of the chairs, before grabbing your cardigan and gesturing for you to turn and open your arms to let him put it on you.
As the both of you walk back to rejoin the party, you both move an arm to hold the other around the waist, leaning into the other, knocking the other body playfully.
Frankie debates going back to bring in the bowl of grapes you brought outside with you, but decides against it. Santi can clean it up himself in the morning if he’s gonna make a blowjob joke about you to the whole party.
Instead as he slides the glass door open, Frankie simply asks you, “Now querida, do you want another drink, or could I persuade you to have this dance?”
When you choose dance, you swear you can hear one of the Millers joking about neither of you having rhythm, but it falls on deaf ears.
All that matters if Frankie wants to dance with you, so that’s all you’re going to care about.
#Frankie Morales x reader#Fransisco Morales x reader#Frankie Morales x you#Fransisco Morales x you#Triple Frontier#Pedro Pascal imagine#Frankie Morales imagine
96 notes
·
View notes
Text
Masterlist
Frankie "Catfish" Morales
Let Me Take My Time With You
Agent Jack "Whiskey" Daniels
Play With Me
#masterlist#fransisco catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#triple frontier fanfiction#kingsman the golden circle#agent whiskey x fem!reader#agent whiskey fanfiction
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
NEW LOCKSCREEN AVAILABLE IN STORIES AND TUMBLR 💙
All edits watermarked 💧 please use/share/credit
#Frankie Friday#feral Friday#pedro pascal#pedro#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#pedrohub#wallpaper#pedro lockscreen#frankie morales edit#frankie morales#triple frontier#fransisco morales#lockscreen#Spotify
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
I will not let you go (Francisco 'Catfish' Morales x reader)
Just sees what he wants to see (Benny Miller x Gn!Reader)
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x TransFem!reader)
Come on baby, make it hurt so good (Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Gn!Reader)
I walked with you once upon a dream ((William "Ironhead" Miller x F!reader)
My Blood would teach me how to love (Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader) (18+ DDDNE)
Main Masterlist
#triple frontier#santiago garcia#santiago pope garcia#frankie morales#fransisco morales#francisco morales#francisco catfish morales#william miller#william ironhead miller#benjamin miller#benny miller#ben miller#masterlist
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cramps
Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.
Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)
Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes
A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u
Bitchy.
You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate.
You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for.
What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period.
Your cycle had been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag.
Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military.
Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it.
So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response.
“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood.
“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration.
“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.”
For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man.
Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work.
You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband.
“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending.
“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee
Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.
You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie.
“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!”
At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath.
“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-”
“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.”
“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door.
“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway.
But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it.
You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood.
Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.
Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear.
Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants.
Your period had come.
In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie.
“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ”
It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply.
“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.”
Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first.
“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.”
You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply.
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘”
“Oh shut up, meanie.”
“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙
“Love you too. 🤍”
Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way.
Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch.
As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband.
“Frankie? Babe, are you home?”
Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest.
You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace.
“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you.
“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-”
“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse.
“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem.
“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.”
“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.”
“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.
“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him.
As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you.
As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you.
“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza.
“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-”
Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?”
“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?”
“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.”
“I think I can make that happen.”
About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest.
“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy.
Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth.
“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you.
“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core.
“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you.
“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices.
Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period.
But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man.
“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths.
“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.”
Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds.
With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt.
“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot.
Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool.
“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over.
Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue.
Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name.
“Frankie, holy fuck.”
“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could.
“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.”
Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt.
“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace.
“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over.
Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him.
Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity.
Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him.
“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate.
“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word.
“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.”
Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there.
“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did.
“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.”
You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in.
“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.”
That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you.
“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high.
With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.
“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss.
“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss.
“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight.
“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.”
“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”
“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”
Taglist:
@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @munson-hargrove-barnes86 @angel98624 @anoverwhelmingdin @pimosworld @nandan11 @iloveenya @survivingandenduring
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#francisco morales x reader#francisco catfish morales#francisco morales#frankie morales#frankie morales fanfic#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales fluff#frankie morales smut#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x female reader#francisco morales x you#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales imagine#frankie catfish morales#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character#pedrohub#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal smut#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction
2K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
echogekkos-writes
Gekko
mithridas
Mithridas
wsofreedownloads-blog
Sans titre
apkviral-blog
ApkViral.xyz
linguistics-bizarre-adventure
Linguistics' Bizarre Adventure