#sub!frankie
Note
frankie is a long time friend of a friend/runs in the same circles as you, and you both have a hate boner for one another. it all comes to a head bc he's the only one in the group chat who answers your call for aid when your [insert some busted appliance/plumbing fixture] and you're going to either fight, fuck or fumble this night.
WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE.
You ask, ye shall recieve. Thank you "nonnie" ;)
This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.
Specific warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Angst, alcohol consumption, drug addiction, coke addiction, Frankie being mean/an asshole, Whiny Frankie Supremacy, weed smoking (medicinal), Ken Burns?, Country Music?, pining, angst, M!Masturbation, sub!Frankie.
Thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta-ing this real quick. Word count: 2.3k
Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3
Frankie pops his first beer of the night as he starts the next episode of the Ken Burns ‘Country Music’ documentary. He started it out of sheer lack of something better to do a few nights back, but now he’s hooked. He’s ready to settle in for the night, rolling a joint as a new message in the group chat comes in.
He checks it, only to see its you.
He locks his phone and turns it over; no way is he entertaining your bullshit tonight.
~*~
You sit there for what seems like forever, not a soul answering your cry for help in the group chat. You know it’s Friday night, you know everyone is likely to have plans, but the way water has flooded your kitchen is no joke.
So much for the joys of home ownership.
You lament as you wish there was a super contractually obliged to fix this mess. But it’s a week away from your next paycheque and you cannot afford to call in an emergency plumber. You’re about to give in and get your credit card out when a message comes through.
~*~
The credits roll at the end of the documentary and Frankie hums in approval, he realises he’s barely touched his beer, and his joint is similarly untouched, long gone out. He’s ready to put the next episode on and re-light as his modest buzz settles him into the recliner. Since quitting coke he’s found weed to be a welcome mellow fix that never tempts him too far but lets him mute the cravings otherwise. It has meant he’s gained a few pounds from all the munchies, but he takes that as a win. He was getting too skinny and working out is near impossible when so under-fuelled.
Absently he checks his phone again and his stomach drops.
No-one has answered your call for help, it’s been almost two hours. He shouldn’t care, the two of you butt heads on everything, you’re the Lex Luthor to his Superman. He hates you, at least, that’s what he tells himself. You challenge him in a way the other guys don’t. You don’t take his bullshit.
He swipes the message across to reveal the “Seen” tab, and his stomach drops. Everyone in the group chat has seen it, Alyssa, Barry, Benny, Santi, Will… the list goes on. There’s a pang of guilt in his gut as he realises just how desperate you must be right now.
He grumbles as he turns off the TV and snaps his lighter shut, putting his ashtray and joint aside. He’ll be damned if he leaves you hanging like this, no matter how much he claims to hate you.
~*~
You pace your hallway, waiting for the bane of your existence to arrive. You’re trying to put on a brave face, trying to ignore the coil in your gut. You play it off as anxiety, but you know it’s more than that.
You’re nervous because as much as you try and hate Frankie, he always gets under your skin. You’re always left wondering what his scruff would feel like on your skin, grazing your jaw, your neck. You hate Francisco Morales, but only as much as you secretly find him hotter than the sun.
He’s not a bad guy, you know he’s struggled with addiction, you know he and the guys saw some shit in the military. But there’s a rudeness reserved only for you when it came to social gatherings and interactions in the group chat.
You’d initially put it down to you being a new addition to the group – by way of Santi – after you two hit it off at a quiz night last year. But in that year, he has only seemed to close you off more and more. You’re almost at the point of looking for a new group of friends, if you’re completely honest with yourself. And you resent him for it.
You’re jolted from your thoughts as a fist pounding on your front door signals his arrival.
I have a doorbell asshole.
You grumble inwardly, but you tell yourself to play nice, Frankie’s doing you a favour here.
“Coming!”
You pause at the door, not wanting to seem too eager as you feel a nervous flutter in your stomach. You take a deep breath and swing it open to reveal Frankie in all his glory. Your chest constricts as you feel the inevitable bloom of desire in your core.
He’s wearing a floral pink and white Hawaiian shirt with a dark tank underneath that stretches across his soft belly. His sinful calves are on display under his tan cargo shorts and you try not to ogle him further as you welcome him into your home.
“Hey, thanks for doing this,” you start as he steps over the threshold, eyeing up your house with a methodical gaze, “Look, I know we’re not-,”
“Don’t worry about it, just show me where the sink is.”
He cuts you off, not looking at you as he speaks, and you bristle at his tone. It’s like he’s speaking down to a child, scolding you no less.
“This way,” you snap as you lead him into the kitchen and gesture at the sink, the cabinets below open ready for him. You feel his gaze on you. It makes you squirm, but you do your best to ignore the pooling of arousal in your panties.
“You turn the water off?” Frankie asks as he notices the multiple bath towels on the floor, sodden in your failed attempt to try and dry the place out. You’re just glad the kitchen is tiled.
“Yup.”
“Good,” he says almost to himself as he strips off his shirt, throwing it onto a countertop before getting on his knees. You prop yourself against the counter and wait, trying very hard not to stare as he gets on his back. He bends his knees to brace himself as he grabs the adjustable wrench that you’d been battling the U-bend with for the last hour. You try not to imagine how he’d look similarly stretched out on your sheets upstairs.
“Ok so good news, it’s not the U-bend,” Frankie says with a huff as he pops the entire faucet unit up and out of the basin, he rolls up onto his feet. You’re a little annoyed that he was able to determine the issue in minutes after you had spent over an hour googling and trying to fix it yourself.
“Oh?”
You are genuinely curious, so you push off from the counter to see what Frankie’s doing. He holds up the underside of the faucet, showing you a broken rubber ring sat at the neck of the mechanism. His shoulder brushes yours and you feel the fizzle of heat under your skin. Your heart flutters and you think he’s going to move away at the contact, but he seems only to lean in further.
He smells good. A faint hint of weed, which you know he has a prescription for, and his cologne, earthy and rich. It blends together into a smell you know by heart, something so uniquely Frankie, it makes you salivate. You hate how much you want a man who seemingly thinks so little of you.
“This happened to me last month,” he explains as he brings the offending washer into your eyeline, “Damn contractors used cheap fittings so they’re all going, Santi’s went last week.”
“So, I need a new tap? It’s that simple?” You groan in frustration, you’d been ready to spend hundreds of dollars to get this fixed, and here’s Frankie swooping in to save the day.
“Yup, but you’re not likely to get anything now,” Frankie looks at his phone, it’s way too late to be getting something decent. His eyes flick up to meet yours and you see his pupils dilate. There’s something in his deep, sinfully dark eyes that makes you wonder if you’ve been wrong about his feelings towards you all this time. But you avert your gaze, you’re probably just reading into things too heavily.
“Yeah, shit,” you sigh, “At least I’ve got bottled water, so I won’t die of thirst.”
“I can come by tomorrow to pick up and fit a new one if you want?”
The offer is out of Frankie’s mouth before he can stop it, his good nature tumbling out in an unusual display of kindness towards you. You furrow your brow, shocked by the sudden good will from him. It makes you nervous.
“Why’re you being nice to me all of a sudden?” You scoff, something about Frankie being so cold to you for the last year, only to play nice when you’re in distress makes your stomach turn. Like he’s trying to take advantage – or worse – pitying you.
“You needed help and no-one else was responding so I thought it was the right thing to do.”
He grumbles bitterly as he turns his back to you grabbing his shirt from the counter and hastily pulling it on as he turns to leave.
“You could have just left me hanging,” you snap, “What’s different today? Is it so you can lord this over me? Saving the poor little damsel in distress, another tool with which you can ridicule me with?”
“Ridicule you?” Frankie snaps, turning to face you, his face pained as if you’d struck him with a physical blow.
“Don’t play dumb,” you growl as you square up to him, “I hear the snide comments you make about me when we’re out with the others. Desperate this, lonely that.”
Frankie winces, he remembers exactly what you’re talking about now. That night months ago at a club in Orlando. You were dancing with someone you’d met at the bar, and he’d gotten jealous. He brushed it off to Will and Alyssa, going on the offensive instead of letting slip that he’d have done anything for it to be him you were grinding against. He just didn’t know you’d heard him as you went to get another drink.
“That was one time,” he growls but it’s a weak rebuttal and he knows it, “I was in a bad place.”
You know that; you know he was only a few months sober. He wasn’t in a good place when he first met you. But that’s no excuse to continue to treat you like he has ever since.
“Sure, but ever since you’ve looked at me like I don’t belong,” you hold his gaze, even as your eyes start to fill with tears, “Always dismissing my comments, rolling your eyes if I dare speak up in your presence, it gets tiring Frank- Francisco. You don’t have to like me, but they’re my friends too, don’t make me lose them just because you can’t stand me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way I swear.”
“Yeah well, save it,” you say, pointing to the door, “I don’t need you to save me Francisco, and I sure as hell don’t need your pity. Get out of my house.”
“That’s not how it is, I promise,” he pleads but you’re not looking at him now, your cheeks are hot with embarrassment and you’re trying not to say something you’ll regret.
“Please, just leave,” you snap as you feel tears welling in your eyes.
“Yeah, ok.”
Frankie sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair, he brushes past you, and you hear a soft “I’m sorry.” As the door clicks shut behind him.
You feel your body tremble with rage as you find yourself unable to process the whole interaction. You pull out your phone and message the group chat.
You: Crisis averted.
You think you should add that it was Frankie who helped, but you’re feeling petty. All he did was show you the problem, he didn’t actually fix anything.
If anything he made things so much worse.
~*~
Frankie slumps back down in his recliner but he doesn’t turn the TV back on. Instead, he sits in silence and broods. He re-reads your message to the group chat and scowls. He has no right to be mad, not really, he knows that. But he really wishes he’d dealt with the situation better.
He looks down to his tented shorts and curses himself, the moment he showed you the faucet you were so close to him. The moment your arms touched he felt the rush of desire he suppresses every time he sees you. Now he’s worried he’s fucked it up completely. He can still smell you, the scent your bodywash he’s committed to memory now clings to his skin.
He forces himself upstairs and into the shower, running it ice cold, just to try and make his erection go away. But it doesn’t help. He’s painfully hard as he tries to think of anything else.
All he can think of is the way your skin felt against his, the way you called him Francisco. It was meant to spurn him, but he loved it. The way his name rolled off your tongue with derision. It’s all he can think of as he turns on the hot water and grips his cock. He pumps himself slowly as he feels the hot burn in his gut, he’s already so fucking close.
“Fuck,” he groans under the hot stream, “I’m sorry.”
He growls as he fucks himself harder to the thought of you putting him in his place. He’s never considered himself a sub, but it’s all he can think of now. He’s whimpering as he fucks his fist faster and faster at the memory of you chewing him out. He deserved it, and that makes it all the sweeter.
He wants you to make him suffer. Atone.
He comes with a whine as his spend splatters against the tiles and slowly washes away down the drain. He pants desperately for some time before washing himself off. He heads back downstairs to re-light his joint and watch another episode of his documentary. On a need-fuelled whim he texts you.
Frankie: If you want me to fix your sink, let me know, I’m free all day.
Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3
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Be polite || Sub!Frankie x dom!f reader
A/N: I have 0 excuses for this. Also, this is my first time writing for Frankie. Hope it’s decent. (Didn’t suffer through that terrible movie for nothing)
CW: Lots of praises, petnames (good boy, mi amor, etc), sub/dom dynamics, pussy eating (ofc), fingering, spitting, squirting
Masterlist
Francisco Morales was a strong man. A military veteran, an ex-coke addict, the father of a little girl he had with the woman who left him.
But boy, he was the complete opposite in bed. You never thought he liked being dominated, but you found out one time by accident. And since then… you had a routine.
“Cariño, let me take care of you.”
“Aren’t you gonna be polite about it?” You asked as you cupped his cheeks between your fingers, squeezing the flesh there to make him look ridiculous.
“Please, cariño…” He pleaded again.
“I’m still not convinced, mi amor.”
And then, he fell to his knees in front of you. “C’mon, let me… Let me eat your pussy. Please.”
You smirked as you looked down at him and grabbed on his curls, freed from his usual vintage cap.
“Since you’re being such a good boy for me.” You said. “Go ahead, Frankie.”
He kissed your naked thighs and slid down your shorts, leaving them around your ankles. His kisses migrated to the cotton covering your core.
“Always so eager, aren’t you?” You cooed. “My sweet boy.” You caressed his curls softly and Frankie melted into your touch. “Come on, don’t wait if you’re so eager, baby.”
Your panties joined your shorts, and you kicked the clothes away. You laid your back against the nearest wall to keep your body from falling limp from pleasure, you knew Frankie wouldn’t stop even when you were satisfied. He scooted closer to you, following you like a sweet puppy. You spread your thighs to accommodate his broad body, swinging a leg around his shoulder.
“Fuck, thank you, cariño.” Frankie whimpered as his nose met the warmth of your core. He nuzzled at the skin there, breathing you in, before he replaced the hook of his nose by his warm, wet tongue. He traced expert circles around your clit, hitting every pleasurable spot only like he knew how to.
You pulled on his curls to encourage him, and you heard him moan weakly. So, you pulled him away for a few seconds and looked down at him, his big brown eyes wet with tears.
“If you’re gonna moan, let me hear it. Don’t half-ass this, Francisco.”
“M’sorry…”
“Don’t fucking disappoint me again.” Then, you shoved his face where it belonged. He started lapping at your folds rhythmically, and you sighed in relief. You used his mouth, hips thrusting messily against his face, and you could hear the vibrations of his moans against your skin, sending you over the edge for the first time of many.
“Can I touch you?” He asked. “Please?”
“You’re so good for asking, Frankie.” You praised. “Open your mouth first for me.”
He parted his plush lips like you asked, looking up at you with dark brown eyes that had a certain innocence to them. You folded your knees, so you’d be on his level, and took his chin between your fingers.
“Keep your mouth open and hold it there.”
His eyes were sparkling with questions, even though he fully trusted you. You spat in his mouth, and he resisted the urge to swallow everything you were giving to him.
“Now, wet your fingers for me baby.” You watched as he did everything you asked, and smirked when you saw the movement of his throat while he licked around his fingers. “Now, you can.”
You straightened up and leaned back against the wall, looking down at him with dark eyes. You were wet enough to accommodate two of his big fingers, your walls stretching at the familiar intrusion. Frankie curled them upwards slowly and completed the pleasure cycle by using his mouth on you. You breathed in and out heavily and closed your eyes to concentrate on the fire building up in your stomach.
He accelerated gradually while sucking on your clit. You cried out as you felt the vibrations of his moans on your sensitive skin, coming undone again. He didn’t stop, though, waiting for more words of praises. You caressed his curls softly and looked down at him.
“You’re doing so good, mi amor. Keep going.” You praised softly.
You woke up the eager animal inside of him with your praises. He kept lapping at your overstimulated clit like a starved man, drinking every drop of your juices, while the tip of his curled fingers kept hitting the soft spongey spot inside of you.
You felt something snap inside of you, something more intense than before, but still familiar. You tried to warn him, but it was too late. You cursed, your body shaking violently as your juices spilled down his chin, on his shirt. He grunted against you, drinking everything he could. You pulled him off you and your back slid down the wall. You sat in front of him, completely limp.
“Fuck, sorry for the mess.” You breathed.
“Hmhm, don’t be, cariño.” He said as he licked his lips, cheeks red and curls all over the place.
You pulled on his shirt to bring him closer and kissed him sweetly. Your hand traveled from his chest to the front of his pants, and you stopped moving all together when you felt how wet the fabric was there.
“Good boys don’t cum in their pants, Frankie.”
#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#sub!frankie#sub ! frankie morales#sub frankie x reader#francisco morales#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x yn#frankie morales x y/n#triple frontier#triple frontier fic#pedro pascal#frankie morales smut
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let it flow | frankie morales x f!reader
read on ao3
pairing: sub!frankie x f!reader
rating: 18+ minors dni
word count: 4.4k (i think something possessed me bc this was originally 1k lmao)
summary: you start a new form of birth control which has many side effects but frankie takes advantage of one side effect in particular.
warnings: canon divergent, established relationship (reader and frankie are married), sub!frankie, soft dom!reader, body worship, pet names, nipple play, mommy kink, lactation kink, mutual masturbation , praise kink, pre-ejaculation, overstimulation, cumplay, cum eating, fluff. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader. um i think that’s it? *scratches neck*
disclaimer: this is literally for shits and giggles bc a friend and i were talking about sub!frankie having a lactation kink, but we weren’t feeling the whole pregnancy trope so i found a loophole hehe. after extensive research, i found that certain types of birth control that include progestin *can* increase lactation as well as breast enlargement and tenderness, so i tweaked this specifically for the purpose of this fic. i don’t study medicine so some of this isn’t 100% accurate so if anything is wrong just remember this is just for horny fun and i changed some things to fit what i was going for. if this piece is not for you, that’s cool, obviously not everyone is gonna be into the same stuff but please just move along and let everyone else enjoy the fun.
a/n: thank you for all the love on my first fic i was so incredibly nervous about it but yall have been so so kind. technically, i told myself i would post this friday for frankie friday, but the longer shit stays in my drafts the more i start to hate it and the urge to scrape everything grows too strong lol. this one is for kat and lyss who gave me this idea and then we screamed about it til 1am. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo and @papurgaatika for beta’ing and literally always saving me bc i can never read my fics from start to finish so they always come thru during the editing process. and shout out to my pinterest QUEEN, @aurasjournal, for helping me with the visuals. thanks for reading i hope you like it <3 super cute divider by @saradika
You’re staring back at yourself in the foggy mirror of your bathroom, assessing your breasts, they’re full, heavy and they ache. This is the fourth day in a row of feeling the consequences of your new birth control and the pain has only gotten worse. “The shit we do….fuckin’ birth control,” you mumble under your breath.
You had switched to a different form of birth control earlier in the week, the IUD route wasn’t working out so well for you. For starters, the pain of getting the IUD implanted was unbelievably excruciating and on top of that, you had ParaGard (the copper IUD) implanted which didn’t have hormones so you were still getting your period. Your periods were heavy and painful and you have been seeking an alternative solution to stop them completely. At your last visit with your gynecologist, you both agreed to switch you over to taking birth control pills.
Your physician had informed you that the pill form was a progestin-only contraceptive that would decrease the bleeding during your menstrual cycle or possibly get rid of it completely if you skipped the placebo pills on the last week of your pack. There was one not-so-tiny problem, you were not told that being on the pill would make your tits swell and you sure as hell didn’t know the damn pill would make you lactate.
Earlier today you practically sobbed to your doctor on the phone.
“Doc, sorry to be blunt but my tits fucking hurt,” you cry, tears welling up in your eyes. At this point, the pain had become unbearable.
“That’s pretty normal hun, it’s a common side effect for some women. As I told you on Monday, the use of a hormonal birth control that contains progestin can increase the likelihood of producing breast milk even if you aren’t pregnant. It’s your hormones adjusting to the pill and it’s going to take your body three to four months to adjust,” your doctor explained.
‘Wait three to four months,” you shout, "Doc, you didn’t mention anything about that. What the hell am I supposed to do?” you ask rashly.
Your doctor hesitates, “Well, we could go back to the copper IUD but then-”
“Then, I’d get my period yeah absolutely not,” you frantically cut her off.
“We could book you to come back in and try another route but I’m booked until the end of the month,” she suggests.
“Of course you are, you’re like the only nice physician in the office, everyone wants to see you,” you laugh bitterly.
“There is something else that may help until we can see you in the office...many women have said that it helps,” she says.
You cross an arm around your chest, wincing slightly as your arm presses tightly against your chest, before dropping your arm back down at your side, “Okay…what is it?”
“You could massage them or have your husband stimulate your nipples,” she says nonchalantly.
“Stimulate my nipples?” you hesitate, your eyes widening at her suggestion.
“Yes, have him use his fingers or-”
“You’re not serious?”
Your doctor chuckles at your curiosity, “Yes, nipple stimulation and other sensual activities, can trigger and release the hormone, oxytocin, commonly referred to as the love hormone. Once oxytocin is triggered, your hormone levels are boosted and then it increases arousal and stress relief. Once it's released into the bloodstream, it helps alleviate breast tenderness and breast pain as well assisting with the flow of breast milk so yes, it’ll help.” she says pointedly.
You stare ahead, wide eyed and mouth agape. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?
“Look honey, many women have come in and told me directly that it helps, believe it or not, it even helps induce labor, but that’s beside the point, many women have been in your position and they have reported that it works. So at least try this out, and see how it makes you feel, just until we can get you an appointment and have you come in and then we can try something else. Alright?” she asks.
“Yeah alright, thanks again Doc,” you huff, your hand rubs at your temple before dragging it down your face.
“No problem hun, keep me updated through the portal,” she says.
“Will do,” you hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch.
That was six hours ago and now you’re standing in your bathroom as you wait for the bathtub to fill up. You read online that heat therapy could reduce some of the pain. While your husband was at work, you sprawled yourself out across the couch with a heating pad on your chest. It managed to ease the pain for a bit until the set timer turned the heating pad off and the second you stood up, the pain worsened again.
To be honest, you’re a little embarrassed to bring it up to Frankie. It's not like Frankie won’t want to do it, he’d be very interested but what the hell are you supposed to say to him. Hey honey, my tits hurt and they’re leaking breast milk. Can you play with them a little so they feel better? He loves to engage in a little titty appreciation but this is a whole different ball game. You really aren’t in the mood to have this conversation with Frankie tonight, unsure of how he would react and possibly causing a bigger issue.
You can hear the TV through the bathroom door, Frankie is watching some game. But when he hears you croak out in pain when you remove your bra, hands clutching at your swollen breasts, he moves lightning fast towards the bathroom door.
“Querida, are you alright in there?” he asks through the door, his hand wrapped around the door handle.
You bite down on your lip, sighing before you finally bite the bullet and admit what’s going on. You crack open the door just enough so he can hear you better.
“It’s-,” You let out another exhausted sigh as you rub your temple, feeling your cheeks warm.
“Remember, a few days ago, I went to my gynecologist and we decided to switch birth control methods?” He nods, eyes full of concern.
“The pills are making my hormones go crazy and they’re making my tits swell and well…” you pull the door open to gesture towards your breasts. “I’m like a fucking pregnant woman but without the damn pregnancy,” you grumble.
You immediately clock the worry on his face but Frankie can’t help the fact that he is practically salivating when he looks down at your tits. You notice his jaw slacken, his lips part as he takes in the curve of your breasts, they have grown a noticeable difference in size. You hear him inhale sharply when his stare drops to your nipples, dark and swollen.
Suddenly feeling a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, you bring a hand up to cover your breasts, he inhales once again before speaking, yet you speak before he does, “It’s fine, apparently a bath will help, and I’ve got the water running. I’ll be out in a few minutes babe,” you press, a tight smile on your face.
You see it all over his face, he wants to help but he doesn’t know how. His big, deep brown eyes filled with worry. “Okay baby, I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything,” he says quietly, eyebrows still raised. You can sense the uneasiness in his body language but he doesn’t press the subject.
You thank him and shut the door, hearing him step back towards the bed. You slip off your panties and toss them into the hamper, then step into the hot water, sighing as you dip beneath the water.
After a few short minutes, you slowly bring your hands up to cup your breasts, experimentally kneading them. You press your hands more firmly and you bite down on your lip as you try to muffle a quiet moan. Huh. It does help. You continue toying with them until the water is no longer warm and your fingers become pruny.
Dragging yourself out of the water and stepping out of the tub, you pull the plug out, the water spinning through the drain. Leisurely, you dry yourself off, pull a thin white tank top over your head, and drag a clean pair of blue lace panties over your legs.
As you open the door to let the steam out of the bathroom, you grab your fuzzy robe from the hook behind the door, wrap it around your damp body, and head into the bedroom to catch the rest of the game with your husband.
Yet, to your surprise, you find the TV off and instead see Frankie sitting up in bed, one hand tucked behind his head and the other holding his phone as he squints at the screen.
You chuckle as you walk over to your nightstand. “Thought you were supposed to be wearing your glasses?” You tease, your lips forming into a smile.
“I look dorky with ‘em, ‘sides I don’t need them right now,” he mimics your tone and turns his head to watch as you pump some of your cocoa butter body lotion into your hand and work it into your skin.
“So, I did some googling,” he starts, a sly smirk creeping up onto his face as he continues, “It said…messaging them and sucking on them would help.” His eyes are still on the bare parts of your damp skin, completely enamored by how your skin looks in the dim light of your bedroom.
You tense, hands freezing, streaks of lotion yet to be fully rubbed into your skin, “Baby, that’s ridiculous,” you laugh him off.
“No, I’m serious look,” Frankie sits up and moves across the bed, holding out his phone for you to read the article he was studying beforehand.
“I don’t know about this Frankie,” you shake your head, frowning while you avert your eyes from his.
“Come here,” smirking devilishly as he brings his hands up to your arms, pulling you towards the bed.
“Frankie–” you scoff, playfully rolling your eyes at him.
He tilts his head up to look up at you with those big brown eyes that you often find difficult turning down. “Trust me,” his hands rubbing up and down your arms soothingly.
“You know I do, Frankie, the hell did I marry you for,” you tease, you sneak your hands behind his neck and interlock your fingers as you lean down and press a soft kiss to his head.
“Then c’mere, let me help,” he whispers and it sounds more like a plea. He’s pulling you down onto the bed, guiding you to sit up against the pillows. His hands find your robe, untying the knot in the soft belt across your waist. You lean forward slightly while he pulls your robe off slowly, his eyes watching your face, searching for any indication to stop but he doesn’t find any.
He tosses the robe behind him on the bed as he leans down over you, nudging your legs open as he settles himself between your legs. He brings his hands back up to the thin material of your tank top, cupping your tender breasts in his large hands.
“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, fuck–, so pretty baby,” he babbles lowly, goosebumps erupt on your skin, even after years of being married to him he still knows exactly what to say to make you feel so desirable.
He gently squeezes your breasts, his thumb sweeps over your nipple back and forth, you whine softly as your hands find his hair, burying your fingers in his curls. It hurts but it’s pleasurable, the pressure he’s using feels better than what you were doing earlier in the bath.
Frankie pinches your covered nipples between his rough fingers, hardening under his touch, you hiss when he tweaks them tightly, Frankie pauses, his eyes meet yours for a moment, “it’s okay–feels good, keep going,” you whisper to him.
He brings his mouth down to one of your nipples and sucks it through the material with his other hand still fondling your other nipple. “Fuck– that feels good Frankie,” you moan, he whimpers lowly and feels his cock twitch in his boxers. Your eyes roll back in your head, your mouth falls open and he hollows his cheeks, sucking harder around your nipple.
His mouth lets go of your breast, you look down to see the wet patch that formed over your peaked-covered nipple before he hastily pulls the tank top over your head, tossing it onto the floor, Frankie lets out a shameless groan when his eyes hungrily lock on your bare chest like a missile to a target.
He leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your breast. You feel the warmth of his breath over your breast, a tingling sensation sneaks down your body. His hot mouth closes around your pebbled nipple.
“Shit, Frankie,” you arch further into his mouth, and he moans and his tongue flicks up against your peaked nipple, and then he bites down softly, his eyes open, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Frankie feels a slight warm gush fill his mouth, his eyes slip closed, whimpering around the bud.
You tug on Frankie’s hair, pulling his mouth away from you, your stomach twisting at his reaction when he feels the gush of liquid filling his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would happen-”
“Baby, hey, it’s okay. I was just surprised-”
“No I know, it’s just gross,” you frown, feeling the pang of embarrassment in your belly.
“It’s not–it’s not gross. I–I liked it,” Frankie says sheepishly.
“Really?” you ask softly.
He laughs lightly and leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth then another just below your jaw. His beard scraping along your skin as he places wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck, all the way down past your collarbones until he reaches the valley of your breasts once again.
“Relax baby, I got ya,” he whispers against your skin.
Your eyes squeeze shut, your head falls back against the headboard, and your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, petting at his long brown curls. He ducks down to bring his mouth to your nipple, he parts his lips around the bud, his tongue circling around the bud a few times, licking at your nipple, he closes his lips and sucks softly before tugging it between his teeth, he hums around it, making you grasp at the sheets beneath you, a low ache building in the pit of your stomach.
“That’s it baby boy,” you say softly, petting his hair. You open your eyes when you feel him press his cock against your leg, his cock stirring in his boxers at your praise.
He’s loving this, loves the taste of you and loves how good he’s making you feel.
His hand palms your other breast, squeezing and kneading the meat of your tit, beads of milk collecting at the peak. He takes your nipple in between his calloused fingers and pinches it harder between his index and middle finger, the milk pours out from the bud down his hand and onto his forearm.
Frankie feels the warm liquid on his arm, his mouth letting go of your breast, his pupils full of lust never leaving your face as he lifts his left hand up and licks a long slow, thick stripe from his forearm up his hand. Your mouth falls open and your chest heaves at the sight.
“You taste so fucking sweet, baby,” he groans, his eyes closing at the taste of you. His cock twitches against your leg, now painfully hard in his boxers.
He dips his head back down and licks up the milk leaking down your torso up to your nipple. He moans once his hot mouth latches around the stiff peak and his tongue swirls around it. He laps up the warm white liquid he’s sucking out of your breast. “There you go baby, just like that,” you sigh, closing your eyes and your head falls back against the headboard.
One of his knees perches onto your leg, he grinds his cock against the meat of your thigh, he moans deeply, his fingers digging into the flesh of your breasts. “So, needy for me huh, baby boy,” you tut, gripping firmly onto his soft curls.
He whines quietly, and unbeknownst to Frankie, he starts rutting his hard length against your leg in slow, shallow thrusts, you feel a rumble of a moan in his throat around your nipple. At the sudden movement, your head snaps up to see your husband getting himself off against your body, his teeth sinking into your breast.
You’ve never seen him like this before, he’s insatiable and relentless and it makes your pussy pulse and clench around nothing.
“Ohhh that’s it– good boy Frankie,” you moan breathlessly, feeling him suck harder on your breast with a deep groan.
You grab at Frankie’s hair again, your hand combs his hair back while tugging at his hair, gently pulling his head back and he whines loudly when you pull his mouth away from your breast. You catch a glistening sheen on his lips when you direct his head to your other breast.
Your eyes meet his dark, blown out pupils as your thumb rubs his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. You thumb the bottom of his plump, soft lip, wiping the milk off of his mouth. Your thumb slips between his lips and you whisper, “Who’s my good boy?”
He shivers beneath your touch, “I am,” he murmurs softly, his head resting down on your chest once again. Your hand cradles his head and you move your hand down along his head to cup his face.
You watch your husband’s eyes shut as he closes his mouth around your nipple and continues suckling from your breast, “Fuck– Frankie, keep going,” you pant into his hair, your hands still toying with his curls, eliciting another whine from him.
He shifts and begins fucking himself into the mattress once again, seeking any type of friction possible.
Watching your husband getting himself off to your body sends a sharp, hot spark of arousal down your spine straight to your core, your pussy throbbing and your panties now wet and sticky with your slick.
You smirk and bring your lips down to his ear, whispering the word that you know lights a fire within him. “You’re making mommy feel so good baby,” and Frankie whimpers, his mouth swallowing your breast whole, his hips grinding down faster into the mattress.
“That’s it, baby, atta boy, such a good boy for mommy,” you coo into his ear. Frankie lets out a high-pitched whine, his hips stuttering and groaning when he feels himself spilling out all over the inside of his boxers. Your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at him, realizing he just came simply from putting his mouth on you.
His hips shudder, occasionally jerking erratically, his legs shaking uncontrollably as he hisses from overstimulation, you continue whispering praises into his ears.
While his mouth works on relieving your breast you take matters into your own hands, bringing your fingers down to your neglected cunt. You press your fingers into your covered slit, feeling the wetness of your pussy through the material before pushing your panties to the side. You move your fingers to your throbbing clit, circling eagerly while his tongue swirls over your nipple.
He bites down on the bud a little more harshly, feeling another gush of warm liquid in his mouth, “tastes so good mi corozòn,” he whimpers against your breast, closing his eyes while his teeth nip at the wet bud.
Feeling a cooling wetness from his eyes seeping onto your breast, you briefly look down to find tears stinging his eyes from the pleasure, the teeth marks on your nipples, your skin all wet and red from his mouth.
He continues sucking at your breast, licking up the sweet taste of you into his mouth and moaning around your nipple, savoring the taste.
You slip your fingers into your wet heat with a moan. “So good, Frankie, ohhh– you’re doing so well for mommy,” you gasp out while grinding your hips up into your own hand. He whimpers, his cock twitches, throbbing lightly against the mattress, he’s getting hard just from hearing that word once again.
Your other hand roughly tugs on Frankie’s soft locks, pushing his head further into you, swallowing more of your breast into his mouth.
Frankie was too far gone to notice, but you realize he’s grinding himself into the bed once again, still moaning and whimpering into your tender flesh. You thrust your fingers into your pussy, timing them to Frankie’s thrusts into the bed, the wet squelch from your fingers thrusting in and out obscenely echoes in your bedroom.
“That’s perfect, Frankie— don– don’t stop…shit. I’m so close–” You curl your fingers inside yourself, petting at the spongy spot deep inside while his teeth nip and lick and suck at your tit.
You shout Frankie’s name as your back arches off the bed, legs shaking around Frankie’s body when your orgasm finally sweeps over you.
He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, moving fast to sit up and back on his knees, his hands making quick work of pulling off his underwear. His cock bobs up against the soft swell of his stomach. He hisses when he wraps a large hand around the girth and he thumbs the wide blunt of his tip smearing the beads of pearly white dribbling out from the slit.
Your tongue pokes out, licking your bottom lip before biting down on the flesh. Your hands massage your breasts, your fingers pinching your erect, sensitive nipples under Frankie’s fucked out gaze.
Desperately, he fists his cock over your figure. “Come, baby. Be a good boy and come for mommy,” you order him while staring into his eyes, dark and dilated, his mouth hanging open as he strokes his cock.
Your low voice and your words are all he needs to bring him over the edge. The thrusting of his hips gets more erratic as he jacks his cock tighter in his hand and increases the pace, the wet, lewd slap from his strokes gets louder, his whimpers and pants filling the otherwise quiet room.
“There you go, atta boy, give it to me Frankie, let it out," you encourage him softly.
Your eyes watch the muscles in his soft belly tighten and his thighs tensing up, his moans growing louder and louder and louder, his eyes roll back into his head, “Fuck– mami,” a long drawn out, agonizing groan slipping past his lips, you watch as his cock twitches in his hand, his hips stammer as long, thick, warm ropes of cum paint your stomach.
“That’s it baby, just like that, you did so good. So good Frankie,” you murmur. He opens his eyes and looks back down at you, still catching his breath while he watches the last of his cum spill onto your swollen breasts, he groans seeing the marks he’s left on your skin. Your tits are covered in splotches of red and teeth marks from his mouth, his come and the milk from your breasts leaking down your chest and onto your stomach.
His hair is a mess, his pupils are blown out, he looks completely in a haze, utterly fucked out. You smirk up at him and click your tongue, “You made such a mess on mommy, Frankie.”
His cheeks warm, the redness creeping down his neck and chest, he’s embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he mumbles, his hand scratching the back of his neck.
You move your fingers down your stomach, gathering his cum onto your fingers, “Don’t get shy on me now, come here my love,” your other hand reaches for him.
He crawls up towards your side, you slip a coated finger into your mouth and you close your eyes and hum. Frankie curses quietly to himself, seeing your pearly-covered finger slipping into your mouth and back out devoid of sheen.
You bring a finger up to his mouth, your fingertip pressing against his lips, “open,” you order. You take advantage of his jaw slackening, sticking your glossy finger into his mouth and his lips close around your digit. You feel his tongue flatten underneath your finger then swirls it around your finger as he sucks it clean, he closes his eyes, his brows furrow, and he moans at the salty taste.
“See, I keep telling you, you taste good, sweetheart,” you smile down at him, tucking a single brown lock behind his ear.
“You did so good for me baby, made me feel so good,” you tell him while holding his patchy-bearded face. He chuckles timidly before pressing his lips to yours, licking behind your teeth, tasting himself in your mouth and mumbles a faint I love you against your lips.
Frankie pecks your lips again before sitting up and walking over to the bathroom. You hear him flick the light on and the tap turning on and off while your eyes drift shut. You feel the warm wet rag dragging across your tummy and your tits, and then down between your folds as he cleans you up with tenderness.
You open your eyes again when you hear him pad off towards the bathroom once more, watching him toss the washcloth back in the bathroom before he tucks himself into your side and nuzzles his face into the valley of your breasts, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin.
Frankie’s low voice breaks the comfortable silence, “Next time it hurts, you tell me cariño, ‘m more than happy to do that again,” he says shyly, feeling the smile on his face against your chest.
You fail to suppress your giggle, “Yeah, you enjoyed yourself didn’t you, sweet boy?” Your fingers run through his long soft brown curls, your fingertips grazing down his neck, a hint of sweat at the end of his hair along the back of his neck.
“Mhm,” he hums, and you grin into his hair, pressing your lips to his messy curls, your eyelids heavy with sleep. He feels your fingers still, Frankie tilts his head to look up at you, “Don’t fall asleep yet, we’re not done mi vida, I still need to make you come again.”
#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales#sub!frankie morales#triple frontier fanfiction#frankie morales smut#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x y/n#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales fanfic#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader#noelle's workshop#noelle writes
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Bisexual!Dark!Santiago Garcia x fem!reader
Bisexual!Dark!Frankie Morales x fem!readr
Bisexual!Dark!William Miller x fem! reader
Masterlist : Taglist : Read on AO3
Summary: Based on an request. I took a little liberty here and there.
You are married to Santi and you and him dabble in CNC scenes. This time, Santi enlists the help of Will and Frankie. Slowly, things start to devolve, and things get heated between the three men that was not discussed prior. This culminates when you try to safeword and you find Will's fingers in your mouth.
Contenant And Warnings: WARNINGS! DDDNE!: CNC FANASY BUT IT TURNS NON CON, DONT BE FOOLED. This is not simple a cnc scene. Safe word is stopped and ignored. Acts happen between the men that while not involving read, reader did not consent to her husband engaging in sexual acts with anyone other than her. Santi is a little mean to Frankie but Frankie is into degrading. Dick too big to take, bisexual madness, calling Frankie a puppy, desperate and needy Frankie, unintentional edging and premature ejaculation, bukkake, penetration before properly wet. IDK I feel like there should be more? LMK if I missed anything.
*I do not take requests, but if you have ideas, I'm happy to hear them and might end up using it if it speaks to me*
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It all had started out as a simple fantasy, something you played with at night if Santi was gone or asleep; his life keeping him out at odd hours. Google said it was normal, having a rape fantasy; or non con/dub con as fanfiction called it, but in the real world it was just rape. Now, you didn’t want to be raped, let’s make that clear, and your husband was not a rapist, but the two of you had played around with some scenes where you were ‘forced’. Of course, the two of you always had safe words and signals that you weren’t afraid to use. You loved Santi dearly, he was everything to you and you appreciated that you could be open about your fantasies with him.
The idea had also been tossed around of sharing you with the guys. Santi’s best friend, Frankie, and the two Miller brothers were like family to you now, and you couldn’t deny they were all attractive, especially the older brother, Will. Will was tall, not as tall as Benny, but close, and he made up for it with insanely broad shoulders. He was handsome with kind eyes and you couldn’t deny you had wanted him mostly of all. Santi confirmed all the guys found you attractive as well. The sex hadn’t manifested yet, but after sharing a specific fantasy of yours, Santi had suggested this was the perfect opportunity to start.
Now, having all 4 of them would be a lot, so Santi talked to the guys first. Will and Frankie were interested, Benny was out. He said he was in for another scenario, but CNC just wasn’t his scene, no judgment.
The fantasy was simple. A home invasion. You weren’t going to know what day, but you’d go to bed with Santi as usual and wake up to 3 masked men beginning their assault on you. You had a safe word, of course: apple . You’d use that if you needed to.
Finally, the night came. Santi had given no clues as to when it would be, but you had assumed it would be night you didn’t work the next day. Generally, you hated your sleep interrupted, especially when you worked, so Santi planned it when you could sleep in nice and good the next day. Santi kissed you goodnight, cuddling you up in his arms like most nights and you fell asleep in his loving embrace.
You woke up to a gag in your mouth and hands pinned to the bed. You tried screaming, but only half-heartedly. You recognized Frankie’s soft curls around the handkerchief over his face, and knew right away what was going on. It was finally happening.
A firm hand slapped you before gripping your cheeks, forcing you to your husbands eyes. Will must be the one holding you down. “No need for that, bebecita” He chided. “We won’t hurt you if you behave, can you do that?”
This part was discussed, you were to keep quiet so they could take the gag out, allowing you to use the safe word if needed. Frankie was sitting back on his haunches between you spread open legs, looking hungrily between your barely clothed sex in your lacy underwear. You nodded for anti and he pulled down the gag, allowing you to get full breaths in as Frankie caressed your soft thighs.
“Please,” You beg them. “You can take what you want, please don’t hurt me! I have a husband.”
Frankie pulled down his sweat, freeing his massive cock from his pants and god, it lived up to the rumors. Big-dick Morales’s size was legendary, and you were getting wet just thinking about it.
“Oh baby, we’ll be taking what we want, don’t you worry.” He leaned in close, mouth up against your cheek. “You.” He nodded to Frankie, and with his leader's permission, Frankie pulled your panties aside and unceremoniously thrust into you in one go. You gasp, the air knocked out of you as you swear you felt him in your diaphragm. You weren’t properly wet and it stung, Frankies neediness taking over forethought for your preparation… but you adjust. You hear Will chuckle above you.
“Look at her, Fish. She can barely take you, how’s she supposed to take me?”
Oh. What’s that supposed to mean?
Frankie’s thrusts were desperate, his body folding over you in a whine as he ruts into you like a dog, panting like one too. “F-fuck, so pretty, so tight… o-ohmygooood.”
“Fuck her good, Frank” Santi demanded at the bedside. “Stretch her out for Will, don’t fucking cum yet.” What did Santi know that you didn’t? Was Will bigger than Frankie? How was that possible, and how could that even fit? Will’s grip was bruising at your wrists, his hips shifting and you could feel the head of his cock rubbing against where your head lay against his lap.
“Mmmhmm” Frankie moans. “I dunno if I can hold on much longer, Pope… please”
“Fish” Sternly, Santi warns him. “Don’t you fucking dare.” His hand skims over Frankie’s sweaty, bare back.
“Pope, I ca- ooohhhhh ” With a pathetic whine, Frankie’s hips stuttered and stalled inside you, filling you up with his warmth.
“God fucking dammit Frankie!” Santi shouted in faux anger, yanking Frankie off you and shoving him to lay on the. “Lay their and get yourself hard again, you pathetic old man. Will, help me flip her. Frankie’s going to watch.” The pressure from your wrists was released, and before you knew it the pair had moved you to your hands and knee.
Santi slid in without any problems, Frankie having stretched you out good, and Santi wasn’t small by any means either. “Your poor stretched out little hole.” Santi shoved your face in between Will’s legs, forcing you to feel his hardness even though his pants as he pumped you full. “Where’s your husband now, little girl? He still gonna want you after find out you let 3 strange men fuck you?” Above you, you could hear a wet smacking… were Santi and Will… No, he wouldn’t. You hadn’t discussed Santi kissing or touching others… he wouldn't do that without talking to you.
Santi was more deliberate in his movements. As your husband, he knew just where you hit to make out cry out; the sounds muffled by Will, Will’s musk in your nose as he thrust his hips at you for stimulation.
“Desperate girl.” Will mocked you. “I can hear your wet pussy from here.”
Frankie groaned, and Santi turned to see him just where he left him, on his back on the bed with his cock fully hard again in his hand. Santi grabbed your hair, pulling you up. “Will, take off your pants. Frankie, you weren’t very nice, were you? Not making her cum. Come give her a kiss to say sorry.”
Santi was on the verge of making you cum, your wall tightening up quickly as Frankie’s unintentional edging. Frankie crawling over to where Santi had forced your face to turn as he fucked you and did as he was told, kissing you sloppily. He was a good kisser, no holds barred, exploring your mouth with his skilled tongue and it felt like he was trying to devour you. You soon realize Santi’s intentions. Santi always had a plan, you see, every move was deliberate, intentional. You feel a new hand replace Santi’s and open your eyes to see Will’s hand fisted into Frankie’s curls as well. He held you both together as he knelt naked in front of you in all his golden god-like glory, pressing his hard member two your two pairs of lips.
“Fuuuuck” Will groaned deeply. “Yeah, make it nice and wet.” You continued making out with Frankie around Will’s thrusting cock when you finally came.
Everyone could feel when you did, Santi from your pulsing cunt to Frankie and Will from the way your jaw went slack, cumming so hard you collapse onto the bed, leaving Frankie to take Will’s cock.
“FUCK!” Santi pulled out quickly when you came, gripping both your ass cheeks and smacking them as he breathed heavy, trying not to cum. He couldn’t very well cum when he had chided Frankie for doing so. Not when he had a plan. “Enough of that.” By your hair, Santi pulled you up right, sucking bruises into your neck with his still-hard cock nestled between your ass cheeks. “Frankie, get on the ground, on your knees.” He continued playing with your body as Frankie moved, Will taking his place next to Santi. “Such a pretty little captive.” Santi shoved you back down, telling Will to do what he liked and he climbed off the bed.
Santi fisted his hands in Frankie’s hair and soon a room was filled with the soft gluck gluck gluck of Frankie getting throated. “Good puppy.” He praised. What was happening? Since when had your husband been gay? Why was he doing all these things you hadn't agreed too? You would have said yes, of course… but why didn’t he just ask?
Will, however, was taking his time. Always a patient man, he went last for a reason. He took his time undressing you fully, his heavy cock twitching in anticipation. “Beautiful, beautiful….” he murmured in reverence, fingers trailing all the way down your naked body. “I’ll go slow, princess. I promise.” He did, but it was still a lot, even after Frankie. Despite the slow start, when you had managed to take him all in he quickly sped up his actions. Fuck, it hurt. It didn’t stop hurting, tears falling down your checks even after an orgasm painfully opened your body up more. Will’s hands were all over you, groping and slapping and kneading, and it was all becoming too much. You tried to hold off, tried to wait until Will was done, but Will wasn’t going to be done anytime soon, was he?
William Miller was a patient man, after all.
It was too much, as your pillow grew wet with tears of pain, you began to say the safe word as will thumbed them away. “Ap- mmph!” Will shoved his fingers in your mouth and continued thrusting harder. You tried to talk, tried to communicate that you wanted to stop, but Will just laughed. “Putting up suck a pretty fight”
The fight was a part of the scene. Saying no was a part of the scene. The safe word was supposed to break it. You look to your husband, but he’s so lost in Frankie’s mouth he doesn’t notice. Another orgasm breaks, your body betraying you to Will’s assault.
“That’s number three, boys, I think I made up for Frankie.” He continued fucking into you and Santi yanked his friend off his cock, Frankie chasing him even still. “C’mon, puppy boy, other side of the bed.” He tugged the other man up by the collar of his shirt, and by the way he way panting from the face fuck, the puppy nicknamed seemed fitting.
Frankie knelt on the other side of the bed while Santi stood on his side, Will still fucking you. “Everyone ready?”
“Yes” Will, who only now removed his fingers from you. There was no point in safewording now.
“Y-es” Frankie choked out.
Will pulled out of you to your relieved sobs, the pain slowly starting to subside as the three men jerk their dicks in front of you, a chorus of moans from the men surrounding you. Their hot, warm cum coated your body in stickiness, creating a canvas of their own release on your skin.
It took a while for anyone to move, everyone laying on the bed with you as your mind reeled from what just happened. Will couldn’t have heard you, right? He never would had stopped you from saying your safe word if he knew, right?
Eventually, Santi drew you a bath and when he left, Will began stroking your hair. “Did so good, princess. So fucking good for us.” You wanted to vomit.
While in the bath, Santi and Will get Frankie to bed in another room, Will going to sleep with Frankie in his arms. You wouldn’t know that part, of course.
Santi cleans you off of all the cum, drains the bath and dries you off before laying you down in the bed. It was a palace of safety, your marital bed and now it was violated. Maybe you could convince Santiago it was time for a new mattress.
He dressed you in the warmest clothes, making sure you drank more water before laying down with you in his arms, cuddling like you had before this all started. “How was everything, bebita?”
Do you tell him? Do you tell him the man he trusted with his life, the man he trusted with you, the man who had saved him and Benny and Frankie countless times in the battlefield had violated you? How would you prove it? Would Santi believe you? You couldn’t bare it if Santi doubted you… and what if you were wrong? Accusing Will of something like that? Will was a good man, wasn’t he?
And what if you were right? What if Will did it on purpose? What if Santi believed you? How could you ruin one of his closest friendships? For something you weren't even sure was intentional… just like him getting his dick sucked by Frankie… it just happened. Unintentional. Thats it.
“Good, Santi. I’m just tired.”
Santi smiled at you, tucking you into bed and kissing your cheek. “I bet. You get your rest, mi chica perfecta. I’ll be right here.”
It was going to be fine, everything would be okay. It was a mistake, that’s all. A mistake. And him and the guys… it was just tonight. There was nothing to worry about. It was the heat of the moment. You close your eyes, letting sleep take you with Santi’s arms closely around your middle. It had to be a mistake, because Santi would never let anyone hurt you, ever.
What you didn’t know was Will heard you. Frankie heard you.
Santi heard you.
But they couldn’t stop. Not with Will destroying your sweet little pussy. Not with Santi jamming his cock down Frankie’s eager throat like they’d both wanted to for decades. It was all too good. They needed to cum on you, to mix themselves together in that way; a goresque take on blood brothers. All those years, all the sexual tension, the almost kisses, the nights they fisted their cocks to the thought of their friends mouths… but they could never admit it. They could never admit to themselves what they were; they needed a vessel, an interject. Something to conduct it all together so it wasn’t so goddamn blatant.
They needed this.
You needed this.
They needed you.
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Thank you to the requester for this!!! and for your patience!!!
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Hello lovely. Can I request #36 and Frankie please?
Thank you thank you
Hey, babe!! So I did something a bit different since I had two requests with the same number, and ended up making Frankie a sub in this one! If it’s not your thing or you simply don’t like it, there are absolutely no hard feelings and I would be glad to rewrite it with a sub reader ❤️
Pairing: Sub!Frankie Morales x Dom!F!reader
Tags/warnings: toys (dildo, cockring), anal sex (m), piv sex, dom reader, orgasm denial, top reader, sweet nicknames, fluff, smut, degrading names (once), probably overstimulation, double penetration (not rly lol i just think im funny)
W/C: 1.6k
Summary: Frankie gives you control for the night and you make sure he gets the most out of it.
Needy
“Oh, what a good boy,” you coo as you walk into your bedroom, peeling off your coat as you go. The sight that greets you is indeed worthy of your praise.
Frankie is sitting naked on the bed, his chest flushed where he’s leaned up against the headboard. His cock is in one hand, red and swollen from the multiple orgasms you already know he’s denied himself of—just as you’d instructed in the text you sent him when you left your work an hour before. He’s even put a cock ring at the base to make sure he follows your rules.
You made sure to be specific. It’s not often that Frankie requests for you to be in charge, but when he does, it’s usually because he’s trying to get his mind off of something. So you always do the best you can to completely take on the part and distract him. You love it when he’s in the more dominant spot, but you also love getting to be in control every once in a while. And you know Frankie does, too.
You pass him without a second glance and walk to the desk to drape your coat over the chair. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
You huff a small laugh through your nose when you get no response. “You can talk, baby boy,” you tell him. You do take note of his good behavior, though. He waited for you to give him permission, just as he should have.
“Yes, I’m enjoying myself,” he breathes, and you can hear the eager truth in it.
You turn back around and smile at him. “I’m glad.” You start to strip out of your clothes, thinking about how you want tonight to go. A grin spreads across your face as you kick your shoes off, but you keep it out of sight of Frankie for now. “Go get one of your toys. Let’s make this even better,” you instruct.
Frankie tries to hide his own excited smile as he slips from the bed, but you see it. “What kind?” he asks.
“Any one you want, baby.”
You’re stripped down to your bra and panties by the time Frankie returns with a smallish dildo and a bottle of lube. He brings them both to you and you reach up to plant a small kiss to his lips. “Perfect. Go get back on the bed for me.”
He watches you for a moment, letting his gaze linger on yours for a moment before nodding and walking back to the bed. You swat his ass as he goes, which makes him shoot you a glare, and you raise an eyebrow in playful warning. You strip the rest of the way before you join him, toy in hand.
“Alright, show me,” you tell him as you climb onto the bed in front of him. His cheeks flush a bit, but he does as you say and parts his thighs, lifting them up and apart enough with his hands to reveal his asshole to you. You smile and lick your lips. He looks gorgeous, his weeping cock resting against the rolls of his stomach as it gets scrunched from his positioning.
“Ask me to open you up, sweetheart.”
His throat bobs before he indulges you. “P-please open me up,” he obeys quietly. His poor cock twitches as the words leave his mouth, betraying how aroused he is despite the sliver of embarrassment he’s showcasing.
“What’s that, honey?” you taunt. “Speak up for me.”
“Please open me up,” he looks into your eyes as he begs, letting you see the desperation there.
“Okay, I’ve got you, sweet boy.”
You pop open the bottle of lube, squeezing some onto your fingers before using your other hand to warm it. Frankie’s breathing picks up as you trail one hand down his cock and all the way down to his tight hole, where you insert your middle finger. He bites his lip at the intrusion, his face already contorting with the relief of having something inside of him. A few pumps, and you let a second one join, making him moan and squeeze around you.
“There we go,” you coo proudly. “Doing so good for me.”
He keens at your praise, eyebrows knotting together even as he does his best to keep his brown eyes open and pleading. You start to scissor your fingers, and his legs slip as his hips buck, trying to get you deeper. You laugh and slip him another finger.
“Needy boy.”
You finger him faster, crooking your fingers and finding that spot that makes him whine so prettily. You wait until he’s panting and starting to sweat before you remove your fingers, smiling wickedly as he protests. “N-no, please!”
“Just wait, honey, you’ll like this better,” you assure him as you reach behind you for the dildo. You coat it generously with lube and bring it to his hole, watching his eyes roll back as you start to slip it in. It’s not very big, but you know it’s his favorite because it always settles against his prostate and makes him see stars. He has bigger ones, but they just don’t hit the spot like this one does.
You slip it all the way to the base, listening to Frankie’s sweet moans tumble from his lips. When it’s in all the way, you don’t pull it out, but instead take your hands away and help him lay his legs back down comfortably. You can tell he’s questioning you, but he doesn’t voice it. You can see the exact moment it hits him right because he lets out a strangled yelp as his weight pulls him down on it.
He’s almost too distracted in trying not to drool to notice you taking his cockring off. You lean over him and set it on the nightstand, and then climb onto his lap and line the tip of his cock up with your already soaked cunt.
You love the way his eyes widen when he realizes what you’re doing, the panic that flashes through them as he realizes that he’s not going to be able to handle it all. You’re slipping down onto him before he can say anything, however, already moaning at the familiar stretch.
“Oh you feel soo good, Frankie,” you purr. Frankie just whines and grips the sheets, dueling his composure as he focuses on not coming the second you’re fully seated. Your toes curl at the feeling of him so deep inside of you, and you smirk upon knowing how he must feel right now.
You put your hands on his shoulders and use your knees to lift up slightly, and when you bounce back down, Frankie moans in a way that you swear should be fake. But it’s not. Because you know that as soon as you pushed back down, that toy he’s seated on slammed into his prostate.
It’s genius, honestly, and you’re not exactly sure how you haven’t thought of this before, keeping him sandwiched and forcing every thought from his pretty head. You moan when you look back down at his face. He looks thoroughly fucked, and you haven’t even started. His body is covered in sweat already, revealing his struggle.
You don’t show any mercy as you start to bounce atop him, focusing on getting his cockhead to slam into you just right. The sounds that he makes are filthy and unlike anything you’ve heard before. He’s whining and groaning and panting and moaning and you can’t get enough. Trapped between two sources of pleasure, you don’t think he can get enough, either.
“Oh, there you go, baby. You moan like such a pretty little whore for me,” you paint the words onto his lips, and he seals them with a sloppy kiss. You slip your tongue into his hot mouth, and you devour him as you start to feel your high approaching. His whines turn even more high pitched, and you know he’s there with you. Your fingers find your clit, and you start to rub tight circles to get you closer.
You quicken your pace, tightening that coil in your abdomen until it snaps and you squeeze like a vice around Frankie. His entire body jolts as he comes with you, moaning wildly and trembling the entire way through. His arms come up to wrap around you, his hips buck repeatedly—though you’re not sure whether he’s trying to get away from the senses, or get more.
You moan right along with him as you ride out your orgasm. Tears are streaming down his face, and you can’t help but lean forward and lick up one of the trails through your pleasured state. He feels so fucking good pulsing inside of you and filling you with his seed, even after you come down from your high.
You wait until his body stops shaking before you reluctantly slip off of him and scoot back to pull the dildo out. A string of warm lube comes with it, and the sight is almost enough to make you want to do it all over again. But you don’t, you instead toss the toy carelessly off the edge of the bed and lean forward again to gently kiss Frankie, who’s finally settling down a bit.
You’re glad the fan is on above you, cooling your bare skin as you lay down with Frankie, who has a massive, blissed-out grin on his face. You cuddle up with him, just as he likes to do right after sex.
“How was that, baby?” you ask, a little nervous since you went a bit harder this time.
“Fucking perfect,” he laughs quietly. “Thank you.” He moves over you and kisses you softly, cradling your cheek with one of his large palms. You smile into it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and basking in the bliss of simply holding him.
******
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Lions Ain't the Kind - Part One
Summary: Frankie hasn't dated in years, but now he knows what he's looking for. He's just not so good at asking for what he wants, and you're willing to help him work on it.
Word Count: 8,156
Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader
Rating: 18+ Explicit
Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom! reader, talks about gender non-conformity, sickening fluff, Frankie is way too cute and sweet for his own good, kissing, making out, handjob (m receiving), anal fingering (m receiving), dirty talk, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader
Beta: @perotovar (my angel ilysm)
A/N: Sorry for talking about this for a month straight without posting it lol! The title is from the song (Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear by Elvis Presley which I admittedly haven't listened to but I saw the lyrics and knew immediately it was my Frankie. I hope you enjoy, and I'm always open to criticism and thoughts and thots!
Frankie hasn’t dated in years. He hasn’t really had the time, between his first child being born and navigating co-parenting with his ex, along with healing some very deep trauma and getting and staying clean.
It just hasn’t been on his mind, if he’s honest. He’s been busy finding himself, as Pope calls it. And he’s not wrong. It’s taken a long while for him to be comfortable in his own skin, to come to terms with the things he’s done and the baggage he can now store in an overhead bin, rather than carry it around with him at all times.
But now, he’s ready. He knows himself, and as a result, he knows what he’s looking for.
Someone kind-hearted and down to earth. Someone who’s independent and established, but not just looking for a hookup. Someone with a sweet smile and a desire for enjoying the little things in life.
Someone like you.
He’d swiped right and left dozens of times on men and women alike, but as soon as he saw your profile on whatever dating app he’d downloaded, he was hooked.
You were gorgeous. He felt the heat from your smile through his phone screen, so happy and genuine and sweet.
You were funny, the answers to those weird icebreaker questions full of witty remarks.
You were smart, clearly, from your shoutout to your alma matter and the ‘boring’ job you mentioned in your profile.
He honestly figured he had no chance at all. His face is only getting more wrinkly, and his hair more gray, and he’s never been the sharpest or funniest guy in the room.
So when he swiped left and you matched, he was stunned. He was even more shocked when you messaged him before he could even think of what to say to you.
Hi cutie 🥰
Despite the fact that he was home alone on his couch, he had the sudden urge to look behind him, as if you’d be talking to someone else. The back of his neck got so warm, and your boldness only made him more into you.
So he messaged you back
Hi :) how are you?
I’m surprised we matched, honestly. Pleasantly surprised 😊
Same here :) Why the surprise though? I’m sure you match with everyone
Not at all, it’s hard to find people whose type I am on here. I usually use the queer dating apps but I opened this one out of boredom. What are the chances?
What are the chances, indeed, Frankie thinks, as he gives your profile another look over. Frankie doesn’t understand how you aren’t everyone’s type. He feels a little bit like he’s talking to a celebrity, looking at your pictures and just a snippet of who you are on this reductive dating app.
I like the odds :)
——
As your conversation continues normally over the next few days, Frankie learns a lot about you. He also learns a lot about himself.
It’s been so long since he’s played the field, so to speak, that he’s rusty as all hell and a bit awkward. He’s afraid to flirt too much, every message deleted and re-written at the risk of sounding too cheesy or too forward or too much.
You aren’t afraid to flirt. You send ‘good morning, handsome’ and ‘sweet dreams, pretty boy’ texts every day and night. You tell him your day would be better if you could cuddle someone, you tell him when you’re taking a relaxing bath that you wished he were there to join you.
And to say that Frankie likes it is a massive fucking understatement.
He adores it, he thinks about you constantly, all day long while he works without access to his phone, all evening long while he waits on your replies, all night long, when you’ve bid each other goodnight out of nothing but courtesy for each other’s sleep schedules.
You lead him along like a timid puppy on a leash, showing him new things with patience and care and it drives him insane. He wants to meet up with you so bad, or even just call you on the phone to hear your voice. He thinks about it, late at night, if it’s higher or lower in register, if it’s smooth or raspy. He wants to learn everything about you.
That being said, he’s not sure if he’s ever met someone who’s ‘non-binary/gender-fluid’ before. He doesn’t get out much, he hardly talks to anyone who he hasn’t known for years.
So he googles. It doesn’t really help. He understands what it means, but he doesn’t know what it means to you. He wants to ask you a million questions, but is afraid to bring up even one, and ruin the moment, or sound like an idiot.
You’re so kind though. So he bites the bullet.
Can I ask you a question?
Your response comes almost immediately, now that it’s evening time, both finished with dinner— his takeout vs. your leftover spaghetti.
Of course, pretty boy ❤️
He still flushes deep when you call him that, heat spreading all throughout his face and neck and chest.
How did you know you were non-binary/ gender-fluid?
He frets over the text a bunch before he sends it, making sure he worded it the same way you did in your profile. His heart pounds as he waits for your response.
I’ve always just kind of known I didn’t feel like a man or a woman. I used to think everyone felt somewhere in between, and it was just normal to not feel like I checked either box, but then I realized no one else around me felt the way I did. And then I learned all the terms and whatnot, later on, and knew that’s what I am. Just kinda in between, neither and both, sometimes one and sometimes the other. If that makes sense?
His smile splits his cheeks as he reads your in-depth response, eating up every bit of information you’re willing to give him.
That makes perfect sense to me. Thank you for sharing :)
It doesn’t scare you off?
Frankie scoffs, as if anything about you could scare him off. At this point, you could show up on his doorstep with a dead body in a bag, and he’d throw it in his trunk, dispose of it, and then ask if he could maybe kiss you.
Not at all. Nothing about you scares me :)
——
It’s a few more days before Frankie works up the courage to ask for your phone number. You tell him you were wondering when he was going to finally ask for it. It makes him itchy to think about you waiting for him to ask, making him be the one to do it. In a good way. In a way that kind of makes him stiffen up in his briefs if he thinks about it for too long.
But now, as he settles in from a long day at work, his grin splits his face from ear to ear as he reads your text.
Can I take you out tomorrow night?
He likes it… a lot. He feels so fucking new to all this, like a fumbling newborn calf taking its first steps, and how forward you are eases him so thoroughly.
I’d love that :)
Meet me here at 5 for dinner. Casual dress, but I’m sure you’ll be handsome in anything 😘
It’s the longest 22 hours of his life, and it’s the shortest, all at the same time. Texting you, making funny jokes like his bones aren’t about to creep right out from under his skin with all the nerves buzzing his body. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, one right after the other. When he wakes in the morning it’s like he didn’t get a wink of sleep, his anxiety drumming up a million different scenarios of how it could go right and wrong.
Calling Santi mid-morning on a Saturday when he knows he’s spending time with his family, because if he doesn’t talk to someone about this he may just float off into the ether.
“I’m so fucking nervous, Pope, what do I do? How do I act? Can you just stake out at the bar and feed me lines through an earpiece?”
“Pendejo, fucking— grow a pair man. You’re cute and funny, you’ve got this.”
Reading your texts with pupils shaped like hearts:
I can’t wait to see you tonight, cutie ❤️
and
I finally settled on an outfit
and
Is it weird that I’m not even nervous? I’m just excited to finally meet you
It is weird, Frankie thinks, but doesn’t dare tell you. It’s weird how he can’t even eat the plain toast he made for lunch without feeling bile rise in the back of his throat, and you’re just excited. It’s weird how he’s never, ever felt so gone over someone, and you haven’t even met yet.
It’s not weird, it’s sweet :) I’m excited too <3
It’s not a lie, but he’s omitting the truth a bit. He’s excited but he’s nervous, picking meticulously through his closet to find something casual but not too casual, something he likes the look of himself in, something he thinks you’ll like the look of.
It only gets worse as he stares at google maps. The restaurant is 2.6 miles away, 11 minutes from his house. It’s 4:30, and he wants to leave already, but thinks maybe it’s better to deal with the anxiety in the comfort of his home rather than the parking lot, in case you’re there early too, and you can see how much of a fucking wreck he is.
He watches the minutes tick up in the corner of his phone screen. At 4:36, he gets up, fusses in the mirror one last time, and leaves.
When he parks in the lot in front of the bar & grill, you’ve already texted him.
I’m here a little early, got all green lights. Saved us a table near the back. See you soon!
It’s 4:52.
He takes a deep breath through his nose, closes his eyes as he lets it out gently, counting just like his therapist taught him. And again. And one more time, and finally that anxious tingling in his fingertips is muted a bit and his heart rate is only slightly above normal.
4:54.
He pulls the key from the ignition, gets out of the car, and makes his way to the door.
He finds you instantly.
You’re looking at him, and you’re smiling, and getting up from your chair as he approaches you. He barely even hears you greet him with all his blood rushing in his ears.
“Hi, Frankie,” you say, and your arms stretch out to invite him in for a hug.
He melts into your arms, his strained “hi” muffled in the crook of your neck. You squeeze him tight to you, and he hears you chuckle next to his ear.
“Knew you’d be even cuter in person.”
He huffs out a laugh as you release him, and the tips of his ears burn. But you’re smiling so sweetly at him that it eases his nervous bones.
“You look— can I call you handsome?”
Fuck, he thinks, so fucking awkward.
But your grin gets even wider.
“Only if you mean it.”
“I do,” he sighs, “like straight out of the cologne ads I’d rip out of my older sister’s magazines.”
He holds his breath as you react, the flutter of your eyelashes and the quivering of your lips and your laugh, bubbly and bright and soothing.
And he isn’t lying, not even a little. You’re rugged but soft, romantic and alluring, and he can’t take his eyes off you.
Even as you take your seats across from each other, and the waiter comes to take your drink orders, and as your gorgeous eyes flit across the pages of the menu. He can’t stop looking, watching your mouth curve into a smile as you talk about your week and ask him about his.
It’s pathetic, really, when the waiter asks if you’re ready to order, and you ask if he knows what he wants, because he hasn’t taken a single glance at the menu himself. He just hopes to god the dim lighting of the bar hides his flushed face and tells you to order first while he skims the menu.
He ends up ordering exactly what you got, and floundering when your hand finds his on the tabletop. He watches your fingers trace his own from his nails to his knuckles, and flips his palm up for you to rest your hand in his.
“I’m glad you came out with me tonight,” you tell him.
His eyes flicker up from your joined hands to your smiling face, and his nerves completely melt away from the heat of your gaze.
“Thank you for asking me,” he says.
“Would you have asked me, if I hadn’t asked you?”
He bites the inside of his cheek, and there’s a teasing glint in your eyes.
“Eventually,” he nods, “I mean… probably.”
Your eyebrows turn up in question, and he realizes how that sounds, jumping to backtrack.
“Not like that! I just mean— You know… You’re uh… well, I feel like you’re way out of my league. And so maybe I’m a little… intimidated.”
You smile, then, and sigh, and squeeze his hand as you call him a sweet boy. It makes the room feel like it’s a hundred degrees warmer, like Frankie’s clothes are suddenly two sizes too small.
“You aren’t so good at asking for what you want, are you?”
He laughs then, and shakes his head.
“Not really, no.”
“We’ll have to work on that, then.”
He clears his throat, and tugs at his collar with his free hand, breaking his gaze away from your face as you chuckle. He looks to find a waiter, or maybe an HVAC guy that could crank the AC to sub-zero temps for the remainder of the date.
No luck.
The rest of the date goes well. Surprisingly well. Frankie was worried that he’d be so out of practice that he’d freeze up, or say something stupid, or do something stupid, like knock over a drink or get food stuck in his teeth.
But you’re just so easy to talk to, to click with. Of course, you’re the one who facilitates the conversation, asking him about his favorites— movies, TV shows, music, time of year.
But he likes to think that he keeps the ball rolling well enough, is aware enough to remember to ask for some of your favorites— holiday, food, cocktails.
By the time the check comes, he hardly realizes you’ve both had empty plates in front of you for a while, talking and laughing through your meals like you’re just catching up with an old friend.
He protests when you grab the check, because of course he does. You’ve given him this incredible night, your comfortable company, your sweet smiles, and he feels like his offerings pale in comparison.
“I asked you out, Francisco,” you tease him, having just learned his full name a mere 20 minutes ago.
And he can’t really protest anymore, what with the shiver that’s tingling his spine and the goosebumps he tries to hide by gripping the chair underneath him. So he lets you pay, and thanks the waiter, and feels a rush of sadness when they come back with the check to sign. He really doesn’t want this evening to end.
The apprehension falls second to the sensation of your hand on the small of his back, leading him out to the parking lot.
“Where’s your car? I’ll walk you there,” you say, your thumb pressing a soothing circle into the base of his spine.
So he walks to his truck, a little self-conscious about the out-of-dateness of it, and how he didn’t think to run it through a car wash before this. But mostly he’s just nervous about ending this date on a good note.
“This is me,” he says, barely above a whisper, stopping at his driver’s side door.
You smile at him when he turns to you.
“Thanks again for coming out with me. I really did have a great time.”
This makes him smile through the unease, even as your hand drops from the small of his back.
“I did too. Would you uh… wanna hang out again soon?”
Your face lights up, and Frankie wants to capture it in a bottle and take it home with him. Keep it at his bedside to use as a nightlight.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
He chuckles and looks down to his feet like maybe it’ll redirect the flush in his face. You grab his hand, hanging by his side, and luckily you don’t make him speak again because he doesn’t know if he’s even able.
“I’d love to. Really.”
He smiles when he looks back up at you, only briefly, because you drop his hand and take a half step back.
“Call me about it.”
“Wait!”
Your brow arches at him, because you weren’t really going anywhere, but Frankie’s mind is running a thousand miles a second. He thinks back to all the times you’ve goaded him into asking for what he wants, so far, and how it hasn’t bit him in the rear yet.
“Can we— I… Can I kiss you goodnight?”
Your smile softens, and you take that little half-step back closer to him, and he feels all the tension leak from his shoulders.
“Yes, you can. Thank you for asking.”
He huffs, and smiles at you, and you’re reaching out to cup his jaw and grab his hip, and Frankie closes his eyes far too early, but it’s okay, because he feels your body heat and then your lips.
He can’t hold back the hum that rumbles from deep in his chest, or the way that he goes a little boneless in your grasp. He finds your forearm and squeezes it, and your bicep too, anything to ground himself as your lips part and your tongue teases the seam of his lips.
But then you’re pulling back, and it’s over far too quickly, and Frankie is also acutely aware of how tight his jeans feel. His face feels like it could melt right off of his skull.
“Call me soon, Pretty Boy.”
He nods, speechless, and watches you disappear between the cars of the parking lot. On his way home, he’s already fretting over whether or not he should text you tonight, and what kind of date he should plan, and if his breath was okay when you let him kiss you.
——
Frankie is perfect.
You’re still not sure how you found this diamond in the rough that is Tinder. You thank every god you know the name of that you got bored and opened the app on auto-pilot that night.
First of all, he’s so cute. He’s handsome in such a boyish way, with his dimples and unruly curls and patchy beard.
But he’s also so kind, the way he talks to you like it’s a privilege, the way he asks careful and curious questions about you like he truly wants to know the parts of you that are deeper than what’s on the surface.
Every simple text from him makes you smile, the way he always tries to make you laugh or cheer you up when you’re overwhelmed with the demands of life, as you often are.
And meeting him in person solidified everything you thought about him.
He seems like the textbook definition of a golden retriever boyfriend, if you ever get to call him that much. You hope you do.
In fact, it seems like it’s moving quite quickly in that direction when Frankie asks if you’d be down for a movie night. Some blockbuster he missed in theaters is finally streaming, and he thinks you’ll like it.
You don’t tell him that you didn’t miss it in theaters, or that you thought it was just okay.
You do tell him you’d be down to watch it, only if he came to your place, where the walls are thin and your surrounding neighbors all know you and watch out for you. Just in case he’s really good at acting like a sweet, safe guy.
You find yourself giddy as the weekend approaches, daydreaming at work about how the night will turn out. You tell him to come in comfy clothes, because you’ll be damned if you wear jeans in your own home, even for this sweet man. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit, that’s my favorite kind of outfit :) is his cute response.
You get everything ready the day of; your coziest blankets hang off the arms of your sofa, your fridge is stocked with fresh fruits and your pantry with candy and microwave popcorn and chips (I’ll eat whatever you get :) his answer to your questioning of his favorite movie snacks, of course.)
And then you sit around and wait, excited nerves coaxing your body to straighten things up that have been straightened up a million times already. When Frankie texts you his ETA, you park yourself on the couch by the door and stare at it until there’s a knock on it.
You may count to ten before you get up to open it, just to hide how eager you’ve been to see him again.
Your throat does get a little dry when you answer it to find him in a dark blue t-shirt that hugs his arms and light gray joggers that hug… Other things.
“Hi handsome,” you smile, pushing down all the nerves and the less-than-PG thoughts.
“Hi. I um… I brought these. I noticed you ordered them on our uh– well, at the restaurant, and I didn’t want to show up empty handed.”
You watch a flush break out on his face, and his neck, and wonder how far under his collar it actually spreads.
He’s holding up a six pack of your favorite beers, and he’s smiling so shyly, and you have to crowd in closer to him to press a kiss to his heated cheek.
“That’s so thoughtful, thank you.”
He giggles— giggles, Jesus Christ— and you take them from his hand to let him come through the door.
You set the beers in your fridge to let them chill as he kicks off his shoes. You watch him from the kitchen as he takes in your place with his pretty brown eyes.
“It’s really cozy in here,” he tells you as he fiddles with his own hands.
“Snuggle up, get comfy, I’ll bring us some snacks.”
He nods, so obedient, and hovers by the couch before settling on the seat in the middle.
Sly move, you think, and you can’t hide your stupid grin as you gather some snacks.
When you turn off all but one lamp and deposit the junk food on the coffee table, you notice he’s inched himself closer to the arm of the couch, like he was second-guessing himself. That just won’t do, you think, as you settle in right next to him, so close that the length of your body is pressed against his.
He doesn’t look at you, just stares at the Roku City scrolling across your flat screen. For a second you think he might be uncomfortable, but the way his breathing is uneven clues you in on his nerves.
You reach over him to grab the blanket in the arm of the couch, and you feel his muscles tense up when you press against him.
“Frankie?”
“Huh? Sorry, yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head and sighs, heavy and long, before looking at you.
“I’m so nervous.”
He smiles in spite of it, lopsided, dimples so cute that your lips quiver with the urge to kiss them.
You smile back, and drape the blanket over both of you, patting his leg through it.
“Nothing to be nervous about, Francisco.”
It gets a laugh out of him, a huff through his nose, and his shoulders lower the tiniest bit. You slowly reach up to cradle his jaw in your palm, careful not to spook this little baby deer of a man, but his face leans into your touch.
“If it helps, I think it’s really sweet that you’re nervous.”
“Thank you… I think?”
You laugh at him, and watch as your reaction makes his eyes brighten. You want to kiss him. You want to smooch the absolute daylights out of him, but there’s still 3 hours of a pretentious movie to watch, and there will be plenty of time, if he’s amenable.
So you just pinch his cheek before you let go, and try not to look so smug at the heat that consumes his face as you get the movie up and running.
Fifteen or so minutes into the film, Frankie has relaxed into the couch, though he’s stock-still beside you with his arms glued to his own sides. You just want to cuddle, at least. You’ve been thinking about it for weeks— getting his warm, solid but soft body against your own.
You’re certain he won’t be the one to initiate it, but that’s all fine and dandy. You rearrange yourself a bit, and sling an arm over his shoulders. He looks away from the movie towards you, and you give him a smile that must be comforting.
He sinks lower on the couch, and leans against you, his messy curls pressed against your shoulder while his arm drapes over your lap. You think you hear his satisfied hum under the dialogue of the characters, and you let your head rest against his.
This is nice. Frankie’s so warm against you, the most comforting weight all lax against your side. Your hand creeps up from his shoulder to his head, and his hair is so silky when you finally work up the gall to run your fingers through it.
You can feel the way it affects him when he shivers and presses even closer into you. You watch the movie like that for a while, snacks untouched, fingertips stroking his scalp as his soft curls slip through your digits. Every once in a while his head tilts to look up at you, piercing brown, and each time you smile back down and ruffle his hair.
It’s just after the first big conflict of the film when you feel Frankie shift against you. His arm moves in your lap, and you watch his thick fingers grab your thigh over the blanket.
It shocks you how such a simple gesture makes your temperature rise. You hum and let your nails scratch more firmly against his head. You can hear him gasp, and feel him move impossibly closer, like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together. You glance down at him, past the curls you’ve lost yourself in, and his eyes are closed. Further, the curve of his nose and pout of his lips, his chest that’s heaving with his excited breaths, you notice a suspicious tent in the blanket, and you don’t want to assume, but the context clues are all there.
Frankie is hard.
You can’t blame him. You’ve been aroused since you pressed his body against yours, a slow simmering underneath the surface that’s made you feel so comfortably warm and relaxed.
You shift, and you swear you hear a barely-there whine leave his lips. You move just enough so you can press your free hand to his chest. Under your palm, you can feel his heart beating, a pace that’s concerningly higher than appropriate for sitting and watching dialogue in a movie.
His head turns toward you, his hair slipping through the grasp of your knuckles. He looks up at you with those puppy eyes and his pupils are so dilated that it makes you take a deep breath. He turns his body toward you next and there it is the hard line of his cock pressed against the outside of your thigh. You see him shudder at the friction, watch his eyes grow droopy as they flicker down to glance at your lips.
“Can I kiss you again?”
And he asks so sweetly, voice a little hoarse from the silence, that you couldn’t dream of denying him.
“Yes, Frankie.”
His lips tremble until they meet yours, so soft and chaste, a stark contrast to his scruffy beard and mustache. His breath hitches; you can hear it and feel it. His chest shudders under your palm and pushes air out to gust against your cheeks. You feel his prick, too, twitching against your thigh as your tongue peeks out to tease his pouty bottom lip.
He pulls back so much quicker than you want him to, but it’s also such a reward to look at him this close. His lips shiny, his cheeks flushed, his irises completely usurped by his pupils. His mouth hangs open and you can’t help yourself as you slide your hand from his chest to his jaw and pull him into you once again.
A surprised little noise works its way out of his throat, and his hips jerk forward, and then he’s groaning as his cock throbs against the outside of your thigh. The noise makes that feeling in your gut draw deeper, lower, and you make one of your own in response.
His hand rests dutifully still on your thigh, but you can feel his fingers twitching as your taste buds rub against his– a friction that has no right to be as delicious as it is. You want him to feel you up, to touch you all over, to give in to the desire that’s blatantly pressed against you. You want to hear these noises he seems to be holding back, the whimpers that just barely make it past his vocal chords before he cuts them off.
You pull away this time. Pride swells in your chest as you look at what you’ve already done to him. His curls are even messier now that you’ve run your fingers through them over and over. His eyes are all glassy when he looks at you, pouty lips slick and red.
He sits so still, aside from his heaving breaths, like he’s waiting for your command.
“Tell me what you want, Frankie.”
His eyes widen and christ, if they get any wider they’re going to suck you in like a supermassive black hole.
“I– I’m okay, I like this.”
You raise an eyebrow at him. He nods, trying to convince you, as he not-so-subtly pulls his erection free from its trap between his body and your thigh. His eyes cast downward, but you swiftly grab his chin in your hands to bring them back to you.
“Francisco,” you mumble, “ask for what you want.”
He gasps and bites his plush bottom lip, hard enough that there’s little indents when he opens his mouth. He shuts it again, and squirms against you, and finally opens it once more.
“I want you to touch me.”
His request comes out hardly above a whisper, all broken and breathy, and his gaze settles somewhere behind you.
“Is that all?”
He nods quickly, eyes snapping back to you.
“I swear– I just wanna feel your hands on me.”
Your smile widens as his face gets so serious, eyebrows knitting together.
“That’s good, that’s really good,” you mumble.
The shudder that visibly rolls through him is like a shockwave, sending every one of your nerve endings on-edge. You huff, an amazed little breath at this fucking guy in front of you, so responsive and timid and utterly fuckable.
“You like that? Like being good for me?”
He nods again, more apprehensive this time, but he can’t hold back his whine when his hips press against you. The possibilities of all the things you could do to this man stretch far and wide; it’s entirely overwhelming.
“Sweet boy,” you whisper, because he is, “c’mere.”
You pull the blanket off of you both, and Frankie reaches down to adjust himself so it isn’t so obvious, like you haven’t felt his cock twitching against you this entire time. It’s so endearing you think you could cry, but you’re much too turned on for sentiment at the moment. Instead, you guide him to straddle you, hands on his slender hips until his thighs cage your own.
For a moment you just watch as he sits patiently, obediently, waiting for your next words like his cock isn’t leaking a pretty little damp patch into his sweatpants. His chest heaves with every breath, and his tongue licks and bites at his swollen lips, and his eyes stay trained on your mouth in anticipation.
“So pretty,” you whisper.
His long eyelashes flutter at your compliment, and he turns his head to try and hide his reaction, but it doesn’t mask the way his prick twitches under gray fabric. Your hands find his waistband and tease the edge and you delight in the way he shivers.
You need to feel more, so you press your hands under his shirt and hum at what you find. A soft tummy and smooth skin that makes way for a small trail of wiry hairs. It’s all revealed to you a moment later when you hike his shirt higher, reach for pecs that are more solid than you imagined, and the smallest nipples you think you’ve ever had your hands on.
You look back up to his face for permission with a quirked brow, and he nods eagerly, grabbing the back of his collar to shed the material and bare himself and it’s so lovely. There’s so much tan skin, hardly any of it is obstructed by hair, just the errant freckle here or there. And you can’t help it, you have to lean forward and take one of his nipples into your mouth.
He gasps your name, but one of his hands finds the back of your head to keep you in place. You hum around the little nub, so small you have trouble getting your teeth to bite down on it, but you do and then he groans, his hips jerking in your hold on them.
“Is this how you wanted me to touch you?”
You lean your head back to look him in the eyes, to watch a pained expression flit over his face as he tries to come up with an answer he thinks you’ll like.
“I like this too,” he nods, “but I, um… fuck–”
He cuts himself off to hide his face in his hands. He is so cute and so sexy at the same time, it’s making your brain go haywire.
“Tell me, Frankie. Be good for me, Pretty Boy.”
He shifts on top of you as he looks up at your ceiling. You soothe your hands up and down his flanks and wait patiently for him to find the words.
He drops his hand from his face, fists clenching down by his sides, but he finally looks down at you and smiles, shy and sweet, just a hint of that dimple you adore rearing its head.
“Touch my cock? You got me so hard.”
You smile bright at his request, and nod, and press a kiss to his sternum.
“Anything you want,” you mumble, “just gotta ask. Just like that.”
He looks pretty proud of himself. There’s a twinkle in his eyes as you look up at him, and you take a playful bite of his skin and savor the gasp it coaxes out of him.
“Let’s get these off, yeah?”
Your fingers sneak under his waistband and his skin is so hot under there, searing. You only have a few moments to bask in the warmth before he stands up to remove his pants and briefs in one bashful move.
Jesus.
He’s so gorgeous, bare for you, vulnerable, excited. His foreskin is all pulled back, revealing a delicious looking string of pre-cum from his slit. You desperately want to lean forward and taste— but he didn’t ask for that, and you won’t give it to him unless he does.
Stunned a bit silent, you pat your lap, urging him to settle back over it. Much to your delight, he does, quick and obedient. An approving hum bubbles up out of your chest, and he preens as he sits on your thighs.
There’s a very wicked feeling in you as you stare at him, completely naked, while you haven’t shed a single layer of clothing. Control, and trust, and power. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes your lungs feel too inflated for your rib cage, to know you could take advantage of it, and to know you never ever would.
“Good boy,” you whisper, finally, testing those waters.
Frankie’s dick twitches between you two, and you huff and smile and wonder how something so perfect and precious has literally landed right in your lap.
He’s been more than good, and so with one hand you grab his hip to steady him, and the other takes his cock as gentle as ever. A sharp inhale inflates his chest as you stroke the smooth skin, a teasing, feather-light touch that makes his legs tense up in your lap. You watch him disappear and reappear through the loose circle of your hand, watch another clear droplet bead from his slit when you squeeze him tighter.
“Does this feel good?”
He’s watching your hand work when you look back up to his face. He nods, a jerky movement that seems to shake his entire body, and he’s so on-edge. You feel it in the way he shifts his weight on top of you.
“Words, Frankie,” you urge, a soft smile on your face.
“So good.”
You hum, taking in the way his eyes flutter open and closed, the way his adam’s apple pokes out when he leans his head back.
You reward him by speeding up your strokes. You squeeze his hip with your free hand, kneading at the soft flesh there, while you lean forward to press kisses into his virtually hairless chest. His skin is so hot it feels like it could burn you, flushed such a pretty color, just like you knew it would be.
He whines when you gather up more pre cum with your thumb and gently massage it into his frenulum. You look up to find him staring down at you with glassy eyes, bottom lip tucked tight between his teeth.
“Can we kiss more?”
His voice is breathy, and you nod, and a fresh wave of arousal flushed through your system when his lips eagerly meet yours.
It’s sloppier, this time. Noisier, too, as you tighten your grip on his cock and begin to properly work your hand up and down his length. You steal his breath and his noises straight from his lungs, feel every shudder he pushes out when you twist your wrist just right or squeeze tighter.
His hips start to meet your thrusts, rutting into your hand, such a desperate little thing on top of you, all for you. You want to encourage him to take his pleasure from you, and so you slip your hand back from his waist, find the perfectly pert globe of his ass with your palm.
“Haa— shit.”
His words muffle into your kiss as his hips stutter in rhythm and you lean forward to smirk into the bald patch of his beard.
“Yeah?”
A gasp wrecks through his heaving chest as he nods.
“Please, fuck— please.”
You hum into his jaw and squeeze his cock and his ass respectively.
“Please what, Pretty Boy?”
He leans back. You watch him squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head from left to right.
“Tell me what you want, Frankie. Know you can.”
A big gulp of air, and then he opens his eyes to look at you, then blinks them shut again as his head lolls back in his shoulders.
“Touch me there. I— I can’t—”
“Shhh,” you take mercy on him, bringing your hand up from his backside to cradle his jaw in your palm. He tilts his head into your touch and opens his eyes.
“I got you, sweet boy,” you remind him.
He nods in understanding, shifting to kiss the heel of your palm. You let him rest his lips there as he catches his breath, feel them quivering every other upstroke of your hand on his prick.
But as he makes to move, you hold his jaw steady in your hand. His eyes flicker back to your face, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel, if he can tell how beside yourself you really are.
Slowly, so he can pull away if he wants, you trace the pad of your middle finger along the seam of his lips. You’re awestruck at how they instantly fall open for you, greedy, something you’re definitely looking forward to exploring more later.
For now, you watch with hooded eyes as he takes it into his mouth, tongue curling and lapping at it. You briefly wonder if fingers are erogenous zones, beyond turned on at how warm and wet the inside of his mouth feels, how he suckles and releases, bobs his head over and over until you snap out of it.
“Good boy. Fucking perfect,” you sigh.
He gets a cocky little goofy grin on his face at the praise, but his prick twitches against your grasp. You squeeze it for good measure, and more of his pre-cum dribbles over your knuckles.
You lean into him again, and he leans into you, holding each other up. Your mouth finds his pebbled nipple once again as his prick drags across your shirt and saturates it. He hisses at the friction, then gasps when your hand grabs his ass cheek again.
You pull it as best as you can with one hand. It isn’t too difficult with how it fits so perfectly round in your palm. You squeeze it, massage it, note how the littlest hint of peach fuzz feels against your clammy hand. You wonder how it would feel under your tongue, too, how it would taste, how the fatty flesh would feel between your teeth.
His hips stutter forward when your finger, slick with his saliva, strokes the very top of his crack. And you don’t mean to tease too much, but his jerky movements and satisfied sounds when you do are like music to your ears.
Finally you find his hole, fluttering around nothing, so little and tight, all for you.
“Ohmygod.”
Frankie sounds pained, so much so that you look up from nuzzling his chest to watch his face. His brows are drawn tight with how his eyes are squeezed shut, and his mouth is hung open, slick with a little drool around the corners of his lips. Without context, maybe he would look pained, too, but the way his cock throbs and dribbles in your hand paints a completely different picture.
And what a pretty picture he is, gulping for air above you, thrusting his hips back into your finger and forward through your fist, like he’s so out of his mind that he can’t even make it up.
You apply more pressure to his impossibly tight pucker and sink your teeth into his skin at the way he whines for you. You do it again, and again, a patient little rhythm until it relaxes and the very tip of your finger slips into his warmth.
He groans, clenching tight around you.
“Okay, Frankie?”
He laughs, a little puff of air, and you feel it where you’re inside him.
“Gonna make me come,” he chokes.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, don’t— fuck— please don’t stop.”
You hum into his chest, squeeze your hand tighter around his prick as you speed up your strokes. He’s groaning now, deep and low and constant, like he couldn’t hold it back if he tried.
You wiggle your finger against his rim, tugging him open for you, toying with the elastic muscle. He’s so pliable everywhere, opening up to you, happily taking what you give him.
In a stiff moment you think he isn’t into it, because he freezes up and goes silent. You make to slip out of him, but his warmth just drags you in.
And then his cock jumps in your grasp, and his hole clamps around your finger as he gasps your name, and he’s coming.
He shakes with it as he soaks your shirt and drips over your hand. You stroke him through it and marvel at the way he feels in your grasp and around you, violent waves of pleasure that you can sense where you touch him.
You look up to watch him tremble through it and he’s gorgeous. Sweat drips from his messy curls at his temple and paints a glimmer down his neck, all pulled taught as his head hangs back. His chest tastes salty under your tongue where it heaves, you can’t get enough of the flavor, or the wicked beating of his heart under your lips.
And his noises, fucking delicious, wrung-out curses that just keep tumbling from his red lips. His stomach trembles with his shaky breaths, and he sounds so wrecked as the last bit of his orgasm tricked down the back of your hand.
His whispered chants of “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” slow to a stop just as his joints unlock and his muscles relax. You take it as a sign to loosen your grip on his spent cock and carefully slip your finger back out of him. It earns you one last whimper before he sags into you, a boneless little heap in your lap.
You unhand him to hold him against you, wipe your hand on the discarded blanket beside you so you can stroke his back with one hand and his fuzzy little buttcheek with the other.
You tell him how good he was for you, how pretty he is when he comes, how much you loved getting to do that to him.
It takes a while for him to catch his breath, and his huffs tickle that sensitive spot on your neck just below your ear.
“Holy shit,” he sighs.
You nod, because he’s correct. Holy shit, indeed.
His voice is a little hoarse, and you’re conflicted. You want to hold him as long as he’ll let you, but you know you should get him some water and at least a towel.
You shift under him and he whimpers, wraps his arms tighter around your shoulders.
There goes that idea.
You hold him closer, and smirk at the contented sigh that leaves him.
“I think… I think I just imprinted on you.”
It startles a laugh out of you, and he chuckles too, a tiny happy sound against your collar bone. You turn to kiss his heated cheek, and he lets you, before he turns his own head to fuse his lips to yours.
This kiss is lazy, unhurried, and the adrenaline from making him fall apart is slowly making way for more of that sticky-sweet arousal from earlier.
“I wanna make you come,” he mumbles against your lips.
You shake your head, but kiss him some more, as to not give him the wrong idea.
“Another night, Pretty Boy.”
He makes a disappointed sound, but continues to kiss you until you have to part for air. His brow is turned upward in question when you pull away.
“Did I do something wrong?”
You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his question.
“Not a single thing, Frankie. Just wanted to take care of you tonight.”
His shoulders relax at that, but his face is still confused. It’s a cute look on him, with his pouty lips and big brown eyes.
“You’d tell me right? If I made you uncomfortable? You can tell me. I don’t wanna upset you.”
And christ, you feel your heart melting and oozing through your rib cage at how earnest his voice is.
“I promise, I’ll tell you.”
That seems to quell his nerves, as he sinks back into you again with his sweaty curls pressed against your shoulder.
You’re sticky in more ways than one, and Frankie’s only getting heavier in your lap the sleepier he gets, but a giggle bubbles up out of you when you realize you’ve never been more comfortable than you are right now.
Frankie huffs in response, and you press him even tighter against you.
You don’t know where one-and-a-half dates and one sickeningly hot orgasm places the two of you. And maybe it’s greedy to think about with a handsome, sweet man in your arms, but you can’t push down the overwhelming feeling of wanting more.
next part
#x reader#sub! frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#nb reader#gender-fluid reader#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#frankie morales#frankie morales fanfiction#ppcu fanfiction#pedro pascal cinematic universe#frankie morales smut#triple frontier fanfiction
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Masterlist
What I write for
PLEASE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, REGLOG MY FICS IF YOU LIKE THEM!!
Also no spam liking, that gets me shadow banned.
Kinktober 2023
Joel Miller fics
Dio Morissey fics
Agent Whiskey fics
Tim Rockford fics
Frankie Morales fics
Javi Gutierrez fics
Pero Tovar fics
Silva fics
Javier Peña fics
Din Djarin fics
Dieter Bravo fics
Oberyn Martell fics
Marcus Moreno fics
Steve Murphy fics
Namor fics
Poe Dameron fics
Jim Hopper fics (and Santa Harbour)
Other characters
Miguel O'hara fics
Some drabbles I love
Multi character fics
#jim hopper#jim hopper x male reader#jim hopper smut#jim hopper fluff#jim hopper headcanons#agent whiskey#agent whiskey x male reader#agent whiskey x reader#sub agent whisky#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x male reader#pedro pascal x reader#javier peña#Javier Peña x male reader#javi gutierrez#javi gutierrez x male reader#pero tovar#pero tovar x male reader#frankie morales#frankie morales x male reader#dio morrissey#dio morissey x male reader#silva#silva x reader#silva x jake#odetodilfs
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Spy x Family ep 24
~
what a complicated expression
this anime is killing me with how they adapt from the manga, draw and animate all these little microexpressions
#spy x family#anya forger#franky franklin#¤#i should gif that little blink before anya answer too#like she's surprised by the question#anya: it's not obvious to scruffy that i love my parents?#edit: updated this post with the gif i said i should make!#not even gonna try to match the sub's font style and size lmfao#best uncle#how do you gif?
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I Hate How Much I Want You | Frankie Morales x Reader | Enemies to Lovers Part 2
This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.
Specific warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Food mention, weed and cigarettes mention/smoking, Frankie grovels, heavy petting, oral (F receiving), unprotected PiV (reader is on BC and trust around STI’s implied), Softdom!Reader, Switch Frankie, Use of “zorra(slut)” and general filthy mouth from Frankie, Florida Humidity.
Let me know if I missed anything!
[AO3 Link]
Thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta-ing this real quick. Thank you for the encouragement from @merz-8 @noxturnalpascal @covetyou @strang3lov3 @beefrobeefcal @medellintangerine and @speckledemerald for all your horny support <;3
Word count: 6k
Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3
You did it, you texted him back embarrassingly quickly. Slick fingers fumbling with your phone to pause your porn as his message came through. You had been seconds away from coming. You can’t believe he still wants to help after you ejected him so forcefully him from your home. You send him a text, just about managing with one hand as you continue to toy with your clit. Francisco Morales is not about to cock block your hard-earned orgasm.
You: Fine, I’m free all day.
You’re about to swipe back to your porn when you see him starting to type away immediately. You bite your lip, your spine tingles as you slowly build yourself back up to your peak.
Frankie: I’ll pick up the parts and some lunch, see you at 12.
You don’t respond, nor do you resume the video. Instead, you opt to think about Frankie as you increase the pressure on your clit. The way his muscles flexed under the dark tank top he wore, his salt and pepper waves that curl slightly at the ends. You imagine what it’d be like to have him pressed against your back, bending you over the counter as he fucked you from behind. You ache to feel his scruff scrape along your jaw as he whispers filth in your ear.
You’re coming hard in seconds, Frankie’s name on your lips as you feel your slick drip down the curve of your ass. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you tilt your head back, stretching out in post-orgasmic bliss. You eventually get up, making sure to pee and clean up before settling back down under your sheets.
You’ve never been so excited to see Frankie before, in fact, you often dread it.
It seems that there really is a first time for everything.
~*~
Frankie sits in his truck, parked down the street from your house. The clock on his dash reads 11:47.
He’s early.
Just like you, he’s way too excited to be back here. His fingertips itch as he tries to decide if he should just bite the bullet and leave his truck now. It wouldn’t be seen as over-eager, surely? He’s just making good on a promise to a friend.
Except you’re not his friend, he has made that pretty clear over the last few months. Anxiety churns in his stomach as he wishes he’d brought something to smoke with him. Even a cigarette would suffice. Instead, he’s chewing his lip, torn up over you and the way you looked so desperately hurt last night. He removes his ball cap with one hand before running his fingers through his damp waves, the Florida humidity doing a number on his hair.
He looks over to the plastic bag from the DIY store and his spare toolkit. He sighs as he sees not one, not two, but the three different faucets he had picked out for you. He tries to reason it that he’s just giving you options because it’s the nice thing to do. Really, he just wanted to please you, make amends for his shitty behaviour. Then he looks at the takeout bag in his lap and his stomach growls.
“Fuck it.”
He sighs to himself as he replaces his hat before grabbing the bag of faucets and his toolkit as he heads out of the cab.
He ignores the clock on the dash that reminds him it’s only 11:50.
~*~
The knock at your door startles you, before you grumble internally once again over the fact Frankie is spurning your perfectly good doorbell. But your annoyance is quickly muted by the smugness that comes with a sudden realisation.
He’s early.
You almost dance on the spot with morbid amusement at the fact that Frankie is already here. You don’t bother lingering this time, practically sprinting to the door to gloat. You pull the door open in one smooth motion and your witty remark dies on your lips.
It’s unfair how good he looks. There’s you, in your jean shorts and tank top, suffering from the extreme humidity. Your skin is sticky, your brow is beading with sweat, and you shift uncomfortably as you feel the wet heat pool in your core.
Then, there’s Frankie, a light sheen to his skin as his toolkit hangs off his shoulder, his hair sticks to his forehead and neck. His thick thighs fill his cargo shorts as his belly swells a little over his white tank top. No over-shirt today so you have an unhindered, front row seat to the way his tan skin flexes over his strong arms. Not to mention his neck, thick and freckled. Fuck, you need to stop staring.
His face is flushed, cheeks rosy as he looks you over. There’s a darkness to his gaze that makes you shiver. Clearly neither of you are being subtle.
“So, the sink?” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high-pitched as you turn away, your heart is hammering in your chest as you try and calm down.
“Sure, I got you a few different options to choose from,” Frankie explains as he trails behind you.
You can feel him, the heat rolling off him is palpable as he shadows your every move.
“You could have just gotten me the one, I’m not fussy,” you say without thinking as you lean against the counter next to the sink, you look up to see Frankie looking a little crest-fallen and you course correct, “But thank you, that was kind.”
“My pleasure,” Frankie says as he sets down the various bags on the kitchen table, “Don’t have to stick around, I promise not to fuck it up.”
“I’ve got nothing better to do,” you say with a shrug as you notice the takeout bag, it’s from your favourite burger place.
He remembered?
Frankie says nothing more as he resumes his place on the floor from last night. He gets to work, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrates. His hat rests next to him on the floor. It’s almost domestic, him fixing your sink as you watch.
You feel a twinge of remorse in your chest as you see the way he can’t keep your gaze. His eyes flit to you every few minutes, as if he can feel you staring. You head to the fridge and grab a pitcher of iced tea, grabbing two glasses from the cabinets. You set down one of the glasses next to Frankie’s cap on the floor.
“I’m real sorry about things went yesterday-,” Frankie starts just as you pipe up.
“About last night-,” you say but you both freeze, eyes locking across the small kitchen, and you can’t help but mirror the smirk that spreads across Frankie’s plush lips.
“Go on, you first,” you insist as you take a deliberate sip of your iced tea.
“I just want you to know I am sorry you heard that shit I said to Will and Alyssa,” Frankie says with a sigh as he rocks up onto his feet, “, I was in a real bad place.”
“That’s not a real apology, Morales,” you say with a smile, appreciating his honesty if nothing else, “Go on.”
“Right,” he nods as he rifles through the plastic bag with the faucets, “First up, which one?”
You cross the short distance and admire the three different options. All options are fairly modern looking, but you linger for a while, selfishly getting closer to Frankie as you pretend to contemplate the options seriously. In reality you don’t care, you just want a working sink. You also just want to be in Frankie’s orbit.
“I like this one,” you say softly, your voice a little husky. You place your hand on the plastic packaging lightly, fingertips lingering as you look up into Frankie’s dark eyes.
“Yeah, that was my first choice too,” he says as he picks up the package, his fingertips brush yours and you don’t pull away, letting the callouses on his hands scrape against the back of your hand. You see the way his neck tenses as you fawn up at him.
“Who knew you had good taste?” You tease as you step away.
“Full of surprises, me,” Frankie says with a low chuckle as he clears his throat.
“On that note,” you say with a coy smile as you lean back against the counter, “You were grovelling?”
There’s a brief flash of emotion on Frankie’s face as he picks up his hat, securing it on his head as he grabs his glass of iced tea. His jaw ticks to the side as he takes a long gulp of the sweet drink.
“Right,” he says as he sets the glass down, turning back to the faucet as he disconnects the old one, “I was an ass,” he says with a sigh as his thick fingers make easy work with the tools and various intricacies of the faucet, “I can’t take it back, but I do want to say I’m sorry, for how I made you feel, and for the things I said.”
“I appreciate that, thank you,” you say with a nod, “I didn’t mean to ambush you like that last night either, I’m sorry too, you were doing me a solid.”
“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says with a huff, “I had it coming.”
“Maybe,” you concede with a smile, “But I don’t think I was completely fair, you’ve had your own share of shit to deal with.”
“My addiction, and my recovery, are my burdens. No-one else’s,” Frankie says with a stern look on his face. You hate how the shift in his tone makes you squirm; you know he’s not telling you off, but it doesn’t feel any less authoritative.
“Understood,” you nod as you gesture vaguely with your hand, urging him to continue.
“But I don’t do well with change,” he says as he continues working, looking away from you, “And Santi brought you into the group without so much as a heads up. I got defensive, I fell into an ugly pattern of behaviours. I’m sorry.”
“That’s very big of you, thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do,” he says with a shrug as he stretches with a groan, “Looks like it’s good to go.”
You hover at his elbow as he tests the tap, the water flows freely and stops abruptly when Frankie flicks it off. The sound of running water halts and you’re left with your hip brushing Frankie’s thigh.
“I really appreciate you doing this, Frankie,” you say, nudging his side with your elbow as you look up to see his eyes already locked on you. He’s leaning his one arm on the counter as he towers over you, and you can’t help but clench your thighs.
“Like I said,” he mumbles as he turns his body towards you. His tongue glides across his lower lip and you can’t ignore the charged energy between you now, “Just helping out a friend.”
“It’s not just about the sink, Frankie,” you say as you tentatively brush your fingertips over his hand.
“Oh? What else is this about?” He asks and there’s a light dancing behind his eyes, a smugness that tells you he already knows but he wants you to say it.
“There’s another reason why I’ve been keeping my distance,” you admit softly as you inch closer to him.
“That right?” Frankie breathes, his voice shaky as he threads his fingers through yours. You can’t believe it, the shift in your dynamic is giving you whiplash.
“Despite everything, Morales,” you say as you bring your other hand up to rest on his sternum. The contact sends heat rippling through your body as Frankie hums deep in his chest, “I think you’re a good guy, and really fucking hot.”
“Yeah?” He rumbles, his free hand coming up to trail up your bicep the contact makes you shiver as you try to stifle a whine, “You think I’m hot?”
“I’m not saying it again,” you say with a little bite to your tone, “But I had to keep my distance, I didn’t want to get hurt.”
“I understand,” Frankie says with a subtle nod, his fingertips skimming your collarbone now, your cunt clenches in anticipation, “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Well, you did,” you say as you slide your hand up to cup his jaw, “But you can make it up to me, if you want?”
“Yeah?” Frankie rasps as he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.
“I want you to tell me what you want, Francisco,” you say softly as your fingertips move to the back of his head, threading through the damp hair there as you tug lightly, “If you want me so bad, I want you to beg.”
Frankie’s jaw falls slack as a strangled groan bubbles forth from the back of his throat. His half-hard cock stirs in his shorts as you close the gap between you both, pressing yourself against him. Your nipples harden as you feel the way his body shudders under your touch.
“I want to fuck you,” Frankie’s voice is a hushed rasp as he ghosts his fingertips along the angle of your jaw, “I want to make you scream,” he continues as the calloused pad of his thumb brushes against your lips, “I want to please you, querida.”
“Yeah?” You purse your lips against Frankie’s thumb, your lips tingling at the promise his touch brings, “You think you deserve to have me, Francisco? Do you think you can make good on your promises?”
“I will, or I’ll die trying,” his other hand tugs on your own, pulling you against him as he flattens his palm against the small of your back, “Let me try, please.”
You slowly open your mouth, tongue teasing against his thumb as you wrap your lips around the thick digit. A soft moan escapes you as you suck slowly, purposefully, as you maintain eye contact with Frankie. His eyes are glassy as he whines, brow furrowed as you release his thumb with a lewd pop.
“Bedroom, now.”
You order as you push back from Frankie, the sudden action jarring enough that you slip his grasp. A determined growl rumbles from behind you as you stride towards the stairs. You don’t bother looking back over your shoulder, you can hear his heavy footsteps gaining on you and there’s a primal thrill to it. You pick up the pace, practically jogging to your open bedroom door as adrenaline and arousal scorch through your veins.
You’re almost over the threshold when you feel the press of his palms on your waist as he pulls you back against him. You don’t have time to proffer a witty remark before Frankie’s mouth is on your throat. The rough scratch of his facial hair along the slope of your shoulder has you squirming as he nudges your head to the side with his strong nose.
“Going to make you feel so good,” Frankie says with a growl before sucking gently against the column of your neck. His one hand trails down your front and you gasp as he cups your sex through your shorts. His thick fingers tease at the denim where it covers your aching cunt; fingertips swirling over your clothed core, and you can’t help the desperate little sounds you make as pleasure rocks through you.
“Frankie, please.”
You yelp as his teeth nip at the shell of your ear and your panties cling to your cunt, you’re dripping for him.
“Call me Francisco, please,” he huffs into your ear as he walks you forward, “Sounds so good when you say my name.”
“Yeah? You like it when I beg you to fuck me, Francisco?” You ask as your knees hit the edge of the bed, but you stop yourself from falling forward just yet. You know that’s what Frankie wants, but you’re not about to give over control just yet. You feel him straining against you, not wanting to manhandle you aggressively it seems, but you can feel the need in the way his cock presses against your ass.
“I do,” he whispers in your ear, “Let me show you how sorry I am, querida.”
“Show me, Francisco, let’s see if you can make me scream your name,” you lean back as you speak, pressing your cheek against his.
His lips brush against yours as he angles his head down to you, it’s like being struck by lightning. You gasp as he kisses you, almost tenderly, before you let go completely. You kiss him back, pulling his lower lip between your teeth. You’re rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as his lips part for you. You lick into his mouth teasingly, asking for permission and he slots his mouth over yours in response.
His tongue slides into your mouth, dancing with your own as he tastes you. His groans rumbling through you as he delves deeper past your lips, mapping you out, claiming you. You’re pliable beneath his large hands as you feel him bending you at the hip. The hand cupping your sex increases the pressure. The heel of his palm grinds against your clothed clit as his fingertips knead at where your shorts are beginning to soak through.
“On your front,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
You do as he says, flopping forward onto the bed as gracefully as you can with his large hand still working at you through your shorts. It’s been a while since you last let someone take relative control in the bedroom. Often, you’re used to dictating the pace, your partners needing gentle encouragement – or sometimes a very firm hand – to ensure you got what you need from sex. But this is different, Frankie is different.
There’s a pause as Frankie removes his hand from your cunt, and you’re about to turn over and ask what the hold up is, when his hot palms spread you out. His fingers digging into the backs of your knees as he opens you up.
“Frankie, what are you-?”
You practically choke on your words as you feel him press his face into the apex of your thighs. He buries himself against the damp crotch of your shorts and inhales as he grinds his nose against your core.
“Fuck,” he hisses as you feel him mouth against your covered cunt, his hands travel up the backs of your thighs as he holds you open for him. You squirm at the depravity of his thick fingers pinning you down, his face pressed hard against such a sensitive spot. Being fully clothed only makes you wetter, like there’s something even more profane about the action while your shorts cling tight to your desperate pussy.
“Frankie please,” you whine, and you can’t stop yourself, you didn’t think you’d be begging so quickly, so easily for someone you were ready to kick to the curb only yesterday.
“What do you want?” Frankie asks as his fingertips slip under the hem of your shorts, trailing over the swell of your ass.
“I want your mouth on my cunt, take my shorts off,” you huff into the sheets as you feel the heat burn over your cheekbones.
“Yes ma’am,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to your inner thigh before his hands are on your hips, “Turn over for me.”
You carefully rotate your body, mindful not to kick Frankie in the face in your eagerness. You lie back and you clench around nothing at the way Frankie is looking at you. His eyes are glassy and blown out with desire, his face is pink in places where the denim of your shorts has irritated his skin. You lower your gaze to see the painfully obvious bulge in his shorts and you swallow around the lump in your throat.
He’s big.
“So pretty like this,” he says absently as he rakes his eyes over your body. You’re still fully clothed but you’ve never felt so bare in your life.
“Frankie-,” you’re about to beg again when he makes a face at you as he hisses between his teeth.
“Please, call me Francisco, I really like it when you do,” there’s a hint of a challenge in his voice and you nod slowly as you stare him down.
“Please, Francisco,” you say as you bring both hands up to grope your tits over your tank top, “Show me how good you are with that dirty mouth of yours,” you spread your legs wide for him as you speak, and the way Frankie’s nostrils flare makes you squirm.
Frankie settles himself down between your thighs as he throws his cap off to the side. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you aren’t focusing on the hat anymore. Frankie’s calloused hands trail up from your knees, scraping deliciously against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He dips his fingertips under the denim once more and you feel him shudder as they brush the outline of your lace panties.
“Don’t tell me you wore something nice for me?” He asks as he smirks up at you, his cheek resting on your right thigh as he waits for your response.
“No, Francisco, I wanted to wear lacey panties in the middle of summer in Florida, I like the way wet lace chafes just right.”
You’re taunting him and the way his cheek dimples, you know he’s loving it as much as you are.
“Poor baby,” he hums softly as he brings one hand up to pop the button of your shorts open, “Let me help you out. Let’s get rid of those wet panties, yeah?”
You don’t answer, the condescending tone of his voice makes your head fuzzy. You’re so used to being the one doing all the talking, it’s a blissful role reversal for you. You watch as Frankie slowly pulls on the zipper before you lift your ass for him to tug the oppressively tight fabric down. You keen upwards as you feel the humid air hit your slick panties.
“Fu-uck,” Frankie rasps as he drops your shorts to the side of the bed, his eyes firmly fixed on the slick, glistening lace just inches from his face, “I’d ask if this was all for me,” he says as he lowers his mouth to your lace-covered sex, “But I think we both know it is.”
You don’t have time to make a snide comment, nor do you think you could with how blissed out you are. Frankie’s lips latch onto your clothed clit and you cry out as his hot tongue swirls slow, lazy circles over the already drenched fabric.
“Francisco,” you cry out as he pressures your clit just right, you see stars behind your eyelids. You’re embarrassingly close already.
“So sensitive,” he hums as he teases a finger up and down the thin strip of lace covering your core, “So wet.”
You’re about to beg again when you feel the drag of his rough fingertips slide under the seam of your panties. You arch up, your head falling back against the sheets as you once again feel the warm air hit your slick cunt. You hiss a little as the fabric that clings to you peels away with a sharp pinch.
“S’okay, I got you,” Frankie whispers as he rolls your panties off your feet, you force your eyes open, looking down just as he swipes his tongue through your folds. It’s slow, deliberate, and makes your toes curl as the hot drag culminates with his plush lips kissing your clit. The press of his mouth on your most sensitive spot punches a strangled moan from your chest.
“Fuck yes,” you whimper, “Fuck yes, Francisco.”
He doesn’t answer verbally, instead he teases your clit in soft, barely-there flicks of his tongue as he sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth. The pleasure shoots through you as you writhe under him. He shifts slightly, draping your calves over his broad shoulders as he presses his whole face against your cunt.
“So fucking sweet,” he snarls as you feel him shake his head back and forth, lapping at your clit as he moves.
“Fra-,” you stutter, unable to form his full name, pleasure driving every conscious thought from your mind as you build to your peak.
“Go on, come for me,” he goads you as he holds you down with one of his strong arms. You feel the weight of it pin you down as you try and buck your hips. Your spine tingles with every flick of his tongue, every groan that vibrates through your clit.
“I’m-,” you cry out, loud and throaty as you clench around nothing, your gasping pleas filling the room as you come hard. You whine and scream as Frankie keeps going as your body is rocked with overstimulation.
“So pretty when you come querida,” he says softly as he eases off, peppering your slick folds and clit with gentle, teasing kisses, “Can you give me another?”
“Francisco,” you gasp as you feel two thick fingers tease at your entrance, “Want your dick, please.”
“So eager,” he chuckles softly as he eases the tips of his fingers inside you, teasing little pulses right at your entrance that have you arching your back as you whine in frustrated overstimulation, “Where is the fire from earlier? I thought you were in control querida?”
“Fuck you,” you hiss but there’s no bite in it, you know he’s right. You love that he’s right. It’s the kind of fuck you’ve been wanting for years, the kind where you can just let go, let him take what he needs from you while simultaneously giving you more than you’ve ever dreamed of.
“Like I said,” he smirks up at you as you struggle to keep your eyes open, “Come for me again and I will.”
“Stop teasing me and fuck me with your fingers, Morales,” you snap, wresting for some control of the situation.
“There she is, my little zorra,” Frankie hums in triumph as he eases his thick fingers inside you. You want to ask him what that means but you’re blinded by the way he sinks all the way down to the knuckle in one swift motion.
You moan at the way he doesn’t let you adjust, your slick walls already accommodating them with minimal effort. He curls them up as he drags them slowly in and out of you, pushing and pulling at that sensitive spot that makes your whole body twitch. Every time he hits it, he smirks, gauging your reaction as he works you right back to the blinding peak.
“God! Your pussy feels so good, squeezing my fingers so tight,” Frankie babbles, as if to himself before flicking the blunt tip of his tongue against your clit, “Come for me.”
You clamp down hard on his fingers as his verbal command sends you reeling. Your mouth is dry as you cry out soundlessly. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he fucks you through your orgasm. The languid pace careful, controlled, as he works you through it.
“There you go,” he says softly, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh as he slowly eases out of you, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
You want to say something, anything, but all you can do is gulp in deep breaths as you try and ground yourself. You stare up at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity before you feel the soothing touch of Frankie’s fingers tracing patterns on your thigh.
“Back in the room?” He asks you with a smirk as he lies there, his cheek pressed against your knee as he simply watches you.
“Yeah,” you nod with earnest, “That was just fucking amazing,” you chuckle, and you’re rewarded with a deep rumble of satisfaction from Frankie’s chest.
“Good,” he says airily as he nuzzles his nose against your sensitive skin, “Want to keep going?”
“Fuck yes,” you huff through your nose as you prop yourself up on your elbows, “Just needed to catch my breath.”
“You got condoms?” Frankie asks and you’re suddenly sobered at the request. You’re so caught up in the moment you didn’t even think about using one.
“I do,” you say but you raise an eyebrow at him, “Do you trust me, Francisco?”
“Yes,” he says with a questioning look on his face as he palms his cock through his shorts, “Why?”
“I’m on the pill,” you say as you retreat backwards up the bed, “C’mere,” you say with a curl of your index finger and Frankie moves without hesitation, still fully clothed as you spread your legs for him.
“You been checked recently, Francisco?” You ask as he kneels between your legs, leaning back on his calves as he looks at you with a wry expression on his lips.
“A few months ago, all clear,” he says cautiously as he runs his one hand through his slick hair, “Why, you want me to take you raw?”
You stifle a groan at the harsh language, you’re regaining control over the dynamic slowly. No way are you breaking stride now.
“No, Francisco,” you purr as you manoeuvre up onto your knees, meeting his gaze as you toy with the hem of his tank top, “I want to ride you raw.”
Frankie’s mouth drops open as you push up the edge of his tank top, forcing it up to his armpits as you lock and suck at the swell of his belly. He pulls it up and over his head as he watches you with wide eyes.
He’s sweaty and musky on your tongue as you follow the light curls of his happy trail. You press your nose against his belly as you unbutton his shorts. You whine at the sight of his grey boxer briefs, and the way the fabric darkens over the head of his cock.
“Look at you,” you coo as you palm his length, “Francisco, you’ve been holding out on me,” you say with a smirk as you look up into his lust-blown eyes. He stammers as you cup his balls through his briefs and press a kiss to the tip of his clothed dick. You know he won’t last long, but you can’t help but tease him a little.
“Strip for me,” you whisper against the side of his shaft as you squeeze his balls gently. He groans softly before you pull away, already stripping your tank top and bra as you watch him do as he’s told. His eyes are glassy, it’s as if a switch has flipped in his brain. The realisation hits you immediately.
Frankie likes this. He likes being told what to do.
He pulls his briefs down in one swift motion, letting his thick cock spring free and slapping wetly against his abdomen as he hurriedly pushes his briefs and shorts past his knees. He resumes his position on the bed, kneeling as he rests on his laurels. You salivate at the sight of him, his foreskin straining against the head of his cock.
“Good boy,” you breathe, stomach churning delightfully as you see the way Frankie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, “Legs out,” you gesture for him to straighten his legs and he obeys almost comically fast.
You crawl forward, hands sliding up over his shoulders. Immediately his hands fall to your hips, steadying you as you hover over his lap. It’s surely far too intimate – fucking like this – especially considering how you were at each other’s throats only yesterday. But there’s something about it all that just feels right. You press your forehead against Frankie’s, closing your eyes as his tip notches at your core.
“Oh fuck,” you hiss as you sink down onto his cock, your slick walls clamp down around the intrusion as you split yourself open with his dick. You whine as you reach the base, you’re so full, so snug around his cock.
“Fu-uck,” Frankie echoes as he curls his arms around you pinning you against him, keeping you so impossibly close. You drop your head to rest in the crook of Frankie’s neck. Your lips latching onto his slick skin as you clench hard around him.
“I’m going to move,” you whisper against Frankie’s neck, “Let me use you, Frankie, want to fuck myself on your cock.”
“Please,” he whispers, as you nip along his jaw, “Use me.”
You whimper as you begin to roll your hips forward, lifting up as you savour every inch of his cock raking through you. You catch yourself just before he slips out of you, lingering for a moment, then pushing yourself back down. You cry out at the abrupt stretch as discomfort cedes to pleasure. Frankie’s grip tightens on your waist as you repeat the action again and again.
Each time more and more pleasure rocks through you as you use Frankie’s cock. You know he’s close, his brow is furrowed, and his breaths come in ragged gasps. You’re griding his cock inside you as you lean down to whisper in his ear.
“Fuck me, Francisco,” you say, “Make me scream.”
He groans at the sudden permission to fuck you, body curling around you as he pitches you backwards. He stays buried deep as you’re pushed down into the pillows, your thighs pressed against your chest as Frankie gets you how he wants you.
“Fuck. I’ve wanted this for so long,” Frankie snarls in your ear as he starts to move, his pace picking up rapidly.
“Me too,” you moan as he nudges your g-spot over and over again. You’re whining at every snap of his hips as pleasure arcs through you. Your fingertips dig into his back muscles as you cling to him. He snaps his hips harder and harder until you can’t hold on any longer.
“Francisco!” you cry out as you come hard around his length, your slick walls clamping down hard as you feel him stutter beneath you. He fucks down into you a few more times before he lets out a tight groan as he empties himself inside you. His hips still, your chests pressed together as you grin at one another.
You lie there for a few moments as you both try and catch your breath. Neither of you can stop smiling as you feel Frankie ease his soft cock out of you.
“We need to clean up and we both need to pee,” you say lazily as you roll onto your side. Frankie flops down next to you, a soft oof escaping his lips as he hits the mattress.
“We do,” he agrees as he brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheekbone, “You, ok?”
“Yeah, I’m good, more than good,” you babble as Frankie smiles at you, cheek dimpling delightfully.
“Good,” he says with a soft nod.
There’s so much hanging in the air between you. More than you can worry about right now.
“Let’s get a shower and replace the burgers you brought,” you say as you force yourself up, heading to the bathroom.
“It’s not my fault they’re inedible now,” Frankie grumbles playfully and you smile at him over your shoulder.
“Whatever,” you stick your tongue out at him as you turn on the shower, “Come on, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“Alright, but I’m not the one telling Santi about us,” Frankie growls as he catches up to you, wrapping his arms around you as he nuzzles against the back of your head, “I’ll never live it down.”
“Fine,” you agree with a smirk playing across your lips, “That means you have to tell the Millers.”
The statement hangs heavy in the air before Frankie curses under his breath. He realises too late his mistake and you just smile, leaning back into your former arch-nemesis’ arms, wondering how you got here; and what here even is. But you are sure of one thing.
Now you’ve had a taste of Frankie Morales, you’re never letting him go.
Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3
#francisco catfish morales#francisco morales#frankie morales#frankie catfish morales#sub!frankie#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#fanfic#francisco morales x reader#frankie morales smut#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales x you#francisco morales smut#francisco morales fanfiction#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fic#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedrostories
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New Suit
frankie morales x reader [3.3k]
Frankie needs a confidence boost after trying on clothes {I’ve certainly been there). You’re more than happy to help.
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This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Frankie Morales of Triple Frontier. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.
Content Includes (but is not limited to):
pet names (baby, pup, etc)
body insecurity (Frankie, not reader)
f!dom
m!sub
teasing
lots of dirty talk
oral (m receiving)
Frankie pulls a brat card
hair pulling
hickeys/marking
stoplight system/scene check-in
thigh riding
saying nice things about your partner during sex (I guess this counts as praise?)
unprotected PIV sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)
riding (receiver on top) position
allusions to the elusive A-spot
aftercare (that goes both ways!)
Please read at your own discretion and remember to consume your fanfiction responsibly.
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“I look like an idiot!” Frankie calls from the bathroom, amongst a string of curses and odd noises you hope to god aren’t the destruction of anything too expensive.
“I know that’s not true. Do you want my help?” you start to rise from your spot on the bed but a quick, grumpy ‘no’ glues you to your spot.
Frankie Morales loves his friends. He’d do anything for them. Apparently, that includes wearing a suit, which is the one thing he’s been dreading like hell since Will asked him to be in the wedding party.
As curious as you are to see your diamond in the rough a little polished up, you haven’t enjoyed the anxiety the fitting process has caused him. It was Emily’s idea to use an online service, she knew there was no chance in hell to get all the guys in a tailor shop at one time.
“You can’t laugh, okay?” Frankie says from somewhere just his side of the door.
“Baby, I promise I won’t laugh.”
Frankie emerges from the bathroom looking like a kicked puppy, head hung low. It doesn’t match the sight before you.
A white button-down stretched across his chest serves as the perfect base for the dark blue suit that covers the rest of him. The crisp lines and structure of the jacket highlight all your favorite things about his physicality–the height, his broad shoulders, the little belly he despises that you absolutely love.
The pants are even better. While you can tell the waistband is a little snug, his thighs are skimmed just right in a way that makes you drool. You just know that if he turned a little you’d be treated to the sight of his ass draped in the same gorgeous fabric.
“How bad is it?”
Frankie’s question shocks you from your daze and you look at him like he’s grown a third head.
“Ex-fucking-scuse me, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you unfold yourself from the bed as your partner starts to protest. “You look fine. Better than fine, actually. Baby you look fine.
“I’m not…don’t say that just to make me feel better.”
Frankie doesn’t want your words? Fine. You’ll just show him how you feel.
He hasn’t met your eyes since he stepped out of the bathroom with that damned suit on. And he doesn’t. Until you take his jacket lapels in your fists and use the grip to pull his body against yours.
“Look at me, baby,” you purr, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He meets your gaze with a mix of confusion and self-loathing. “You look absolutely stunning in that suit. And if it wasn’t a rental, I’d tell you to leave it on for what I’m about to do next.”
You steer him back towards the bed, your favorite man instantly turned to putty in your hands.
“What are you going to do?”
A wicked smirk curls across your face as you sink to your knees in front of him. “I’m going to remind you just how fucking gorgeous you are.” You don’t miss the way his nostrils flare when your rub your nose along the line of his thigh, dangerously close to the growing bulge just a few inches away. “Is that okay with you?”
“Fuck, yes,” Frankie grunts above you, hands balled in fists at his side.
“The blue really suits you, Frankie. Pardon the pun.” Your fingers trace absent patterns from the sides of his thigh to the edge of his waistband where his tummy presses against the fabric. “Such a shame to take it off, but if you really hate this suit there’s no point in buying it.”
“Nope.” There’s a tension to his voice, and his knuckles have gone white at his side. The amount of power, the amount of restraint before you, it has you dripping into your jeans.
“Strip then,” you order, sitting back on your heels.
It’s an excellent view as he slides the jacket down his arms, tugging a little harder as it gets caught on his biceps. His deft fingers make quick work of the pants. He unbuttons and zips them and in one quick motion you nearly miss they’re in a crumpled pile in the corner of the room.
You’re torn on where to look. On one hand, Frankie’s impressive cock is just inches away from your face, barely contained by the charcoal gray boxer briefs that are sporting the tiniest spot of precum. But above you is the embodiment of delayed gratification. You watch as pearl colored buttons are undone one at a time by fingers so large yet so nimble. Each one reveals more and more of his broad chest. Until finally it falls open to the trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers.
He tugs on the sleeves a couple times each before tossing it in a ball to join the jacket and trousers. His thumbs just hook into the waistband of his underwear when you stop him, hands over his.
“Allow me, baby,” you grin, saccharine sweet and deadly.
Slowly, like you’re taking apart a bomb, you slip an index finger into each side of his waistband before hooking your fingers and tugging ever so gently. The hiss of breath above you is telling of Frankie’s patience, and you look up at him with your most innocent pout.
“Don’t want to damage the merchandise.”
Once his impressive cock springs free, you tug them the rest of the way down and pull gently until Frankie’s stepped out of them. They unceremoniously join the growing pile of clothes.
“Such a handsome cock,” you say to no one in particular. Your hand slips around the base of him and he lets out half a sigh.
You can feel his eyes on you as you lean in slow and kiss the tip. You kiss him again, and again. But that first lick, oh it gets him every time. Just a small thing right under the tip, but it has his head dropped back and his ears turning bright red.
There’s no hurry in the way you enjoy Frankie’s cock. Whenever he takes control, which is more often than you do, you don’t get to take your time with him like this. To really relish every little catch of breath and muffled curse coming from above you. Slowly you begin to work him into your mouth—taking part of him, and then more.
When you bottom out at the base of his cock, nose pressed to his pelvis, a strangled moan leaves his throat. Almost involuntarily his fingers begin to card through your hair, scratching at your scalp in the way that sends tingles down your spine. You pull off almost immediately, an obscene amount of saliva dripping down your chin and off his cock.
“Ah, ah,” your hands slip up over his wrists and tug them away from your head and pin them gently to the bed by his thighs. “Did I say you could touch?”
“You’re killing me, pup,” Franke grits his teeth above you.
Your voice and gaze are sharp, “Hands off or I stop. Tell me who runs this show, flyboy?” While you wait for his response, your hand returns to his throbbing cock where you stroke him almost absentmindedly, if it weren’t for the way you were absolutely torturing him. Meanwhile, your eyes stayed fixed on his, a teacher waiting on the answer of her pupil.
“You. Fuck, you’re in charge,” he snarls behind gritted teeth.
That earns him a smile. He’s being so good after all.
In bed, Frankie usually takes and gives what he wants, and you’re happy to let him. But in times like these, both of you know who needs to take the reigns.
“Sit back on the bed for me, Francisco.” Your hand slows to a stop and you stand from the floor. “I want to show you something.
He does as you ask without hesitation and watches enraptured as you strip off your saliva spotted t-shirt and shimmy out of your jeans. His cock stands proudly at attention, glistening in the early afternoon light as he takes in your lace clad form.
It’s not a fancy set, a cotton bralette and matching thong. However it just so happens to be his favorite. You had a feeling suit fitting would at least warrant a little treat.
But Frankie doesn’t get to enjoy it all yet.
“Do you want to see me cum?”
You’re facing the wall, and from the mirror in the corner you see the way his cock twitches at the thought. A low groan rumbles from his chest as he fights the urge to relieve himself in the slightest and instead answers with a breathy, “Yes.”
“Francisco, do you deserve to see me come?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
His words hit you like cold water, and you turn with fire in your eyes.
Slowly and deliberately you come to stand before him before straddling one of his thighs and lowering yourself down. Your eyes stay locked with his the entire time.
In a quick move--that you learned from him--your hand jets up his back to grab a fistful of luscious curls. Using the leverage you yank his head back, exposing the column of his neck and earning yourself a needy whine from the large man beneath you.
“No, you fucking don’t,” you whisper in his ear. And then you’re devouring him, holding him in place by the thinnest tether. Your lips and teeth move down the prominent muscles and tendons of his neck, memorizing every groan and whimper along the way until you’re nipping at his collarbone and you feel precum start to drip on your thigh.
When you finally pull away, the both of you are panting, and need wells deep within his eyes.
��Color?” you breathe, dropping the persona for just a moment and releasing your hold on his hair to sweep a stray curl away from his brow.
“Green.”
You give him a soft smile and a deeper kiss than you intended before pushing him away, hands flat on his chest. From there they travel, caressing down his arms until you find his wrists. From thumb to middle finger, your hand doesn’t even come close to reaching.
Frankie watches silently as you guide his wrists behind him, a stifled moan when your tits press against him. You settle them behind his ass.
“Leave them there or I’ll get the cuffs.”
You kiss him again, and allow yourself to get lost in the usual rhythm of Frankie. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as you begin to move your body against his, moving your clothed cunt against his thigh.
“Do you want to know how this is going to work, baby?” you croon lowly, just for the two of you to hear.
He nods silently, brow knit with the effort it’s taking him to keep his hands where they are without restraints.
“I’m going to hump your gorgeous fucking thigh here,” you giggle when he blushes ever so slightly, “And say all sorts of lovely things about you.”
“Yeah?”
The word is dripping in lust.
“Yes, baby. I’m gonna cum all over your thigh. And if you’re a good boy for me, I’m going to ride that pretty cock of yours until you fill me up, just like you like.”
“Shit.”
Despite the way you’re rocking your hips against him, you have to focus on your purpose with this exercise.
One of your hands slips its way back up into the base of Frankie’s thick hair. You run your fingers through his curls.
“I love these curls, you know. They drive me wild. You drive me wild, the way you’re always wearing that damn hat.”
His eyes are transfixed on the place where your core is rubbing against him, mouth parted as his breath comes in heavy pants.
“You’ve got this gray coming in, just here,” your other hand snakes up Frankie’s torso, cradling his tense jaw in your palm. “It makes you even sexier, you know. Eventually you’ll be my silver fox.”
Underneath you, Frankie harrumphs and looks away, but you’re quick to redirect his attention when you grab his chin.
“Uh-uh, baby, let me see those pretty eyes. I need you to hear me,” you tap the side of his face with your fingers, and grin wildly at the way he bares his teeth.
“God, this perfect fucking thigh. I could do this for ages. Get to watch you lose your mind while I use you like a toy.”
The hand around his back makes its way around to rest on the small swell of his belly. “This little belly you hate so much, I go feral for it. Love seeing you get soft for me. No one knows how deep you fuck me into the mattress at night.”
A familiar sensation is building at the base of your spine, and you bite back a moan that threatens to escape.
“Your friends are so lucky to have you. You’re brave, loyal, kind.” You nearly lose your rythm at the look of absolute anguish on Frankie’s face, but then your clit catches fabric and muscle just right, making your hips stutter as you cry out.
“You’re so strong and powerful and so fucking gentle,” you ramble, racing towards your high. “Fuck, Frankie. You can touch me. Hands on my hips, baby. I need to feel you.”
Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice. You can see the instant relief when his hands land on your heated skin, his forehead coming to press against yours.
“You-you’re a good man, Frankie. I mean that. You deserve so, so much,” you pant. When your eyes find his face again you notice a single tear has escaped down the side of his cheek.
“And I’m gonna cum for you.”
His hands help guide you through it, helping you stay balanced even as your toes curl and your fingernails dig into the meat of his shoulders. And when you’re finished, he waits for you to call the next move as you catch your breath.
“Good fucking boy,” you praise, reaching for his hand. Entwining your fingers, you bring his wrist to your mouth so you can kiss and bite at the pulse point there. “The best, my Francisco.”
WIth one last nip, you stand on shaky legs and push Frankie back onto the mattress. He knows what’s coming—and so does his cock. Poor thing is practically purple, dripping precum left and right.
He repositions himself up the bed, sitting up on his elbows to watch as you strip off your soaked thong and bralette. His tongue traces his lip and you know he’s just dying to get his mouth on your chest.
“You ready for me?” you ask as you swing your leg over him, settling over his delightfully plush belly. He doesn’t answer at first, too enamored by the swell of your breasts right in his line of sight. “You can touch ‘em once you’re inside me, sweetheart.” You chuckle at his distraction.
“Fuck, I’m ready.”
You lift yourself up and hover for a moment as you line his aching shaft up with your cunt. There’s plenty of slick leftover from your orgasm, but it’s still a tight fit as you sink on top of him. Twin moans fill the room as you’re slowly filled to the hilt.
“Shit, pup, you’re so tight,” his face is pinched in concentration as he tries not to rut into you right away.
“Shhhh, shhhh,” you rub a hand down his chest, chuckling only a little when he settles one hand on your tit and the other on your hip. “You’re doin’ so good for me, baby. That’s my boy.”
A few deep breaths in and out and you finally begin to roll your hips. Grinding at first until you find your rythm, then you start to really ride him, pushing yourself up and down on his aching shaft.
You’ll have bruises tomorrow the way Frankie’s gripping you, but you always do. Not that you’d ever mind. He sits up a little so he can suck a nipple into his mouth. Frankie’s always thorough, he takes his time lavishing each side with tongue and teeth. By the time he’s had his fill of your tits, both of you are so close to that carnal precipice you can nearly taste it.
You feel everything start to tighten with the promise of your orgasm and suddenly it’s a lot harder to keep a steady pace. Planting your hands firmly on Frankie’s chest, you lean down just the slightest bit and growl, “Why don’t you help me a little here, big boy?”
That’s all it takes. You’re still in control, but Frankie is eager to please and he knows exactly what you—and he—want. Finally allowed to chase his pleasure, and actively contribute to yours, you’re ready when he plants his heels on the bed and begins thrusting up into you so hard you’re bouncing from the force of it alone.
He’s practically incoherent beneath you. Declarations of love and strings of endearment are cut off by primal sounds as he determinedly fucks you to your high. At this angle, the friction of his skin against your clit is just enough to push you over that edge, and when he hits a spot you’ve never felt before you think you’re going to explode with pleasure.
“Fuck, Frankie, don’t stop! Right there!” Your eyes are screwed tight and you’re not hardly recovered from your second orgasm when he finds the spot again. And again and again. Until you collapse sobbing onto Frankie’s chest in one of the most intense orgasms of your life as he ruts up into you two, three more times before he cums deep and hot inside of you.
“Shit, pup, are you alright?” He’s careful as he sits up, unsure of what just happened other than that you’ve gone completely boneless on top of him.
You’re trying to move but it’s like your nervous system is still rebooting.
“I’m fine, just need a sec,” you try to laugh but it comes out more of a breathy chuckle. It’s not too long before you can sit up again. When you do, Frankie’s eyes are studying you with deep concern.
“You good?”
“I’m good, Frankie. I think you just learned a new trick.”
The two of you soon realize that the bed is wet. Your eyes meet Frankie’s and the two of you dissolve into a fit of giggles.
“Go start the shower,” you kiss him deeply, “I’ll change the sheets.”
He holds you long enough to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. As chaste as a kiss can be when his half-hard cock is still inside you.
You part from him with a groan and begin your task--not without sneaking a peak at his wide, tight ass--as Frankie struts off to the bathroom.
-
You hold him from behind, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades as the water cascades down the front of him.
“How was it?” you murmur into the cool skin of his back.
“Mi tesoro, it was everything. Thank you.”
“I didn’t go too far?”
Frankie breaks free of your hold and turns to face you, one hand falling to rub a familiar pattern on your hip, the other cradling your jaw.
“Never, pup. I loved every minute of it. And you.” He seals his words with a kiss that has your hands slipping up to hook around his neck, afraid he’ll pull away before you’re properly drunk on him.
You’re breathless when he breaks away, tugging at your lower lip between his teeth as you part. A wicked smirk pulls at his lips.
“And I’m keeping the suit.”
#frankie morales#francisco morales#francisco “catfish” morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x reader smut#sub!frankie morales#switch!frankie morales#dom!reader#sub!frankie morales x dom!reader#triple frontier#pedro pascal boys
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ok but the one piece dub really does have some hilarious moments, like in thriller bark
after luffy shoves the 'severely injured old man' back into the ground the zombie pops back up and yells "DON'T SHOVE ME BACK INTO THE GROUND, JACKASS"
sanji goes missing in the manor and zoro sighs and goes "goodbye, sanji... rest in peace"
and in the 'in the next ep' bit the exchange between nami and chopper is basically “hey chopper, this might seem kind of random, but how do you feel about putting animals in zoos?” “are you kidding? i’m a reindeer! i think animals should run free!” “oh me too but what if those animals were zombies and they were trying to kill you?” “ohyeahlockemup.”
#tragically zoro's 'i wish i was never born' hollow is like. something about he is less that dog food? or something#also luffy knocks on the front door to the mansion and goes 'hello?nobody'stherei'mgoingin'#zoro says 'rip sanji' and franky's just 'that's not cool'#this is something else#i love comparing the dub & sub sometimes because the dub is hilarious BUT doesn't always deliver the same punch for some emotional scenes#kate watches op#thriller bark
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oooh noo….my clothes….they’re ✨gone✨
looks like I need a 6ft tall closeted gay governor with black and grey hair to help me 🥺
#joan ferguson#wentworth#i’m going feral#you can’t tell me she’s not gay#her and vera give dom/sub vibes#she’s always staring at franky and kim making out
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Symptom of Being Human (A Room's on Fire FishBen Bonus Chapter)
Francisco Morales x Benjamin Miller
Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist
Spotify playlist
Summery: Frankie and Ben share in intimacy
Warnings and Content: Read warnings for the full fic, but for this bonus chapter, repressed queer love, mentions and references of forced breeding and brainwashing Madonna. Poor communication. Deluuuuuusions!
Song fic to Symptom of Being Human by Shinedown, a song found on the spotify playlist for the fic.
***************
I can still remember me and Miss November Rain
Beautiful and strange
Always so inclined, coloring outside the lines
Yeah, you were never on time
Francisco slammed his dresser drawer closed after yanking some pyjamas out. Maybe he kicked it a little, he wasn't sure.
He could sense the moment Ben walked in through the door even if he hadn't heard him. Ben was good at sneaking around.
"Why are you so pissy today."
It was the glib in his voice that irked Francisco the most, the stpring in his step as he padded over to where Francisco was braced over the dresser.
"I'm not pissy." But even still, he stiffened to Ben's touch as he wrapped his arms around his lovers middle.
Benjamin kissed Francisco's neck in an attempt to relax him, closing his eyes to his scent, but Francisco rolled his shoulders and jerked himself out of Ben's grasp, taking two steps away. He hated this, he hated caring so much, he hated it being a secret, he hated having to sneak around when Pope could just have them whenever and however he wanted. It wasn't fair.
Ben's arms dropped to his side. "Hey. What's wrong?" He asked, genuine, but Francisco was still irritated. "C'mon, baby, talk to me..."
The older man scoffs. "You're surprised I don't wanna suck your dick when it's gonna taste like her?"
You've always been slightly awkward, kinda weird
Upside down and not all here
What's wrong with me and you is crystal clear
Benny's laugh was sardonic. "Oh, is that what the issue is?"
"Yes, that's what the issue is, Ben!"
He wanted to scoff at him, but sensed Francisco wasn't in the mood to be teased for his jealousy. "Frankie, baby," Benny placed a careful hand on Franciscos shoulder, turning him. Frankie faced him, but his head was hanging and not making eye contact. "Baby please look at me." He cupped the patchy beard and coaxed Franciscos face up to look at him.
"You were late..." Frankie mutters, eyes ever-avoidant. "You were late to be with me because you wanted her."
"Frankie..." Ben places a soft kiss on his lips. "I'm sorry, okay? But it's not any different than you and Santi-"
"Yes it is!!!" Frankie steps back, but the bed was right there so he stumbles. Ben reaches for him, both of them falling onto the bed but sitting upright.
Benny's hand is on Francisco's chest. "Easy now..." He kissed the mans cheeks, then the corner of his mouth, then his lips. "I'm doing this for us, okay? The sooner she's pregnant, so sooner we can be together."
Sometimes I'm in a room where I don't belong
And the house is on fire and there's no alarm
And the walls are melting too
How 'bout you?
Francisco was hesitant to believe him, but the way Benny looked at him, adoring blue eyes and his face framed in shaggy, dirty blonde hair... it was hard not to fall into his promises. "What do you mean..."
His eyes lit up, knowing that Francisco was listening. Ben smiled. "Once Madonna has the savior, everything will change, don't you understand?" He grabbed Frank's hand, pulling it to his chest as he scooted closer. "Pope will be so busy, his only focus will be raising the savior with Madonna, fullfiling the prophesy... he'll be too preoccupied with her to want you like that, it can just be us."
Shaking his head, Frank was not convinced. Pope wasn't like that. Pope was obsessive, possessive, he needed everyone and everything to belong to him. "Benjamin, that... I don't think that's what's gonna happen."
"But I do!" Ben was practically bouncing on the bed with excitement; his evergy never ceased to amaze Francisco, constantly animated by the next new exciting thing, but always coming back to Francisco. "Once the savior is born, well, the world will change, Frankie! Things will finally be allowed to be good." He kissed his lovers knuckles. "And what can be more good than us being together?"
Frankie didn't believe any of this for a second. He didn't believe there was a savior, or that they were gods... Ben did, and Benjamin Joseph Miller was an unstoppable force... but Santiago was an immoveable object. Still, as Ben began kissing his lips, his tongue sliding into his mouth, Francisco was, in fact, a moveable object. To Santiago, he was a stoppable force. Franisco felt like the rope in a game of tug of war, and push and pull between the two men in a covert battle.
Ben would never ever outwardly disrespect Pope. Pope was what Ben wanted to be. He admired Pope in a way he used to admire his older brother, long before jealousy and anger and drugs tore them apart. Benjamin would do anything for Santi's approval, and the look on his face when Ben was under him always made Frank jealous... then he had to remind himself that was a rare occurence compared to how often Ben was the voyer in those situations, and how much harder it much be for him knowing how often it happened behind closed doors.
He never even spoke badly about Pope in these intimate moments, Frank learning quickly to not say anything negative about their leader or even hint at disloyalty, because it always turned into a fight. Ben defended their friend to the death. What Ben couldn't understand, however, was that Frankie loved Pope too. Santiago was a good leader, he kept things prosperous in their community and he was like a brother to Frankie. He'd never known a life outside of Pope... but he was not perfect, and he wished Ben could see that. Unfortunately, to Ben, questioning Santi at all meant questioning his infallibility as a God, and if he questioned that... Ben's entire reality fell.
I've never been the favorite, thought I'd seen it all
'Til I got my invitation to the lunatic ball
And my friends are coming too
How 'bout you?
Don't worry, it's all just a symptom of being human
"Benjamin..." Frank moaned into the boys mouth and he palmed him over his jeans.
"Fuck, love when you say my full name."
He knew he was irresistible, he know he was attractive in both looks and charm when he wanted to turn it all, that's why he spent so much time between the legs of women in their commune, on top of Frankie or under Santi. Everyone wanted him, and those that didn't... well, they got him either way.
"Off." Ben ordered, unzipping Frankie's pants and tugging them down when he lifted his hips up. Francisco soon found himself laying down on his bed in his boxers with Ben grinding into him. His pants were still on, the rough material adding to the pressure of their cocks grinding together.
Their hands explored each other's bodies as if this was a new landscape, as it they weren't intimately familiar already. Ben squeezed the soft of his sides as Frankie felt the hard of his chest. It didn't matter how different they were, quiet and loud. Fire, and a gentle flower waiting to be scorched like the earth around it. The flower simply basked in the warmth of the sun, unaware it was withering away.
Unpack all your baggage, hide it in the attic where
You hope it disappears
This all seems so familiar, but it doesn't feel like home
It's just another unknown
Nothing mattered in these moments; Benjamin was the only thing that would calm his racing mind.
Ben sat up, still straddling Francisco and pulled his shirt over his head. Francisco was always mesmerized by this view, the way Benjamin's muscles flexed and moved, the dim light of the shitty lamp casting shadows across his chest. Taught and strong, lean muscles gave way further down to the jutting of his hipbones and golden tan skin. Right at the ends of his abs was a trail of brown hair, much darker than that on his head and face, cut off just barely before his pubic hair by his low-slung jeans.
Frankie couldn't help but gaze up at the sun god... in moments like this, with this view... Francisco could fool himself into believing the god-hood of his paramour. If God was real, Benjamin was his divine gift. Nights alone with him were the closest to heaven that he'd ever be, considering all Francisco had done in his lifetime.
"You're beautiful..." he murmured up him.
Ben's wide grin softened, folding back over Ben to pepper kisses all over Frankie's aged face. "Not as beautiful as you, darl'n"
You've always been slightly awkward, kinda weird
Upside down and not all here
Right or wrong, it's all so crystal clear
Francisco was not an open person. He didn't let his emotions show, good or bad. Not the way Will expressed his pain or his love, the way Pope expressed his rage, or how Ben expressed his joy. Nothing like that came easy to him. He was aware of the way Madonna watched him pensively, probably wondering why he didn't talk to her, why he didn't fuck her outside of when Pope dragged them together for a threesome...
With Benjamin, he was laid bare, naked and venerable, allowing Benjamin inside him physically and emotionally into the deepest reaches. They were as connected as two people could be, and no one saw Frankie's heart the way Ben did. No one could fill him the way Ben did.
"Perfect, fucking perfect." Ben grunted into Frank's ear as he fucked into his hole, spreading him open. Francisco laid back on the bed, his knees bent and pressed up against his stomach where Ben held there, squeezing his aching member between himself.
Frankie whispers, a contrast to Ben's loud noise, "I love you, Benjamin."
"I love you too, Francisco, don't you ever forget that" Ben moved to his mouth, kissing him and only stopping to mumble against his lips. "She can't compare to you, okay? She doesn't matter. No pussy can compare to you, got it?"
"Got it." He did. Later, when Ben left before daylight and Francisco was there alone in bad, reaching over to Ben's side just to feel the bit of his body heat left behind, doubt would creep in. When he heard Ben bragging to Will about the latest girl he railed over a fence post or against a wall, he would wonder why he wasn't enough for Ben. When he saw his handsome lover trying to fuck a baby into Madonna or kissing Santiago, he'd be reminded that the sex they shared was not unique to Benny, he didn't need him for that.
But as Ben spread his legs, jerking Frankie's weeping cock and thrusting into him, never stopping kissing him, not even long enough for them to breath. He felt like he was Ben's entire world.
The dizzying orgasm made Francisco feel like maybe, just maybe things could be different. Maybe, if Madonna got pregnant, Pope would lose interest in Francisco; what use is someone who couldn't give him children?
Maybe then, him and Ben could hold hands out in the open.
We're all just passing through
Passengers on a ship of fools
We're all just passing through
Passengers on a ship of fools
********************
Not gonna lie, friends in my phone, I teared up writing this.
I write some FishBen on my main, and it's always a lil angsty but happy ending bc they love each other. Deeply. Even when I don't write them romantic, they are very very close, Like in Leather and Lace Universe.
Here, though.... :( they can't be out, they are just angsty and love
Anyway Im obsessed with this song and listened to it for an hour on my drive planning this fic.
Up next, Steve x reader x javi for toxi <3
Please interact with the story in one way or another, im reaching the limit of tags per post so i may be removing people from the tag list if you dont interact at all. I should recognize your name.
How to keep up with the story!
Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)
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@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock @neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows @hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile @rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado @mjnomaryjane @incorrectclassicbookquotes @axshadows @ghostslillady @movievillainess721 @justagalwhowrites @charethcutestory02 @gogh-with-the-flow @justafandomgvrl @katw474 @loveable-liar @arrozconpepitoria @minigirl87 @runa-falls @pedge-page @angel-of-the-moons @beefrobeefcal @pixielou5 @miraclesabound @oliveksmoked @mjnomaryjane @bubble-pop-eclectic @corazondebeskar-reads @charethcutestory02 @pedroshotwifey
If I forgot someone or you'd like to be added/removed LMK!
#fishben#francisco morale#dark francisco morales#dark frankie morales#sub frankie morales#frankie morales x benjamin miller#francisco morales x benjamin miller#Ben miller x francisco morales#triple frontier#m/m romance#gay fanfiction#dark ben miller#ben miller#benny miller#benjamin miller#dark benjamin miller#benjamin miller x frankie morales#smut#triple frontier smut
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Imagine reverse harem au with sub! triple frontier boys.
You are sitting, Santi is kneeling in front of your left leg and kisses your inner thigh. Benny rests his head on your lap, and kisses your waist. Frankie stands behind you and kisses and sucks your neck on your left side. Your fingers gripping the back of his head, as you lean back into him. And Will holds your right hand, and leaves a trail of delicate kisses on your right arm and the under side of your wrist, sending shivers down your spine.
But they hold back waiting for your command—their Mistress, even though they desparately want to devour you.
Imagine them impatiently waiting, willingly and obediently, bending at your will, eager to please you, and burning to hear praises for them fall out of your pretty lips. To hear you gently coo and tell them how good they are being for you. To hear you call them yours. To hear you taunting, teasing and marking them as your own-
#i'll stop before i get too carried away 🥱#but seriously them 🥵#santiago garcia#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia imagine#sub santiago garcia x reader#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales imagine#sub frankie morales x reader#benny miller x reader#benny miller imagine#sub benny miller x reader#william ironhead miller#william miller x reader#william miller imagine#will miller x reader#sub will miller#triple frontier boys x reader#triple frontier boys#sub triple frontier boys#triple frontier boys imagine#triple frontier
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no one asked for this but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
a snippet from a one-shot i have coming in a few days 😁
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Lions Ain't the Kind - Part Two
Summary: You and Frankie can't get each other off your minds'. He asks you on a third date. It's a success.
Word Count: 5,741
Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader
Rating: 18+ Explicit
Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom!reader, a few brief mentions of alcohol, talks about gender non-conformity, talks about gender dysphoria as it relates to sex, amab terminology for afab genitalia, kissing, making out, oral (afab receiving), dirty talk, premature ejaculation, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader
A/N: Special shoutout to @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar for letting me bother them about this part while I was writing, love you both dearly <3
Frankie calls you later that night.
You helped him clean up after, popped some popcorn, and rewound the movie. He snuggled sleepily into your side; the orgasm apparently settled his nerves from before. You both joked about how not-so-great the movie was over a few beers, and then you sent him off with a buttery goodnight kiss.
But your phone rings as you’re settling into bed for the night, and you think maybe something is wrong, like his car broke down, or he left something at your place.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. I just made it home.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, no, everything’s fine. I just— I wanted to thank you.”
You laugh. Sweet boy, calling to thank you for getting him off.
“Was it that good?” You joke.
“No— I mean yes, yes it was. That’s not what I meant though. I’ve never been… Well, you know, I’m not so good at this stuff. And I’ve never felt like… this. And I like it. And I like you. So… thank you.”
Your face burns at his words, at the thought you could give this man something he needs, this man that you’re quickly developing a habit for.
“That’s sweet, Frankie. I like you too. A lot.”
You hear him huff through your tinny phone speakers and in a moment of pure weakness you wish you would’ve asked him to stay over.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, yes. I really do.”
He laughs, and you can imagine it in your head, what his dimple looks like, the way his curls would look as he shakes his head.
“That’s awesome.”
——
Frankie’s a busy guy, you come to find out. He works fairly long hours at his mechanic shop, and he has custody of his daughter every other week, and he also attends community events, he calls them, every Wednesday.
Your business is relegated to the eight hours a day you spend in your office, and maybe a few hours here or there when you need to take work home with you.
And you’re not blaming Frankie for it, but the distance makes you want him so much more. He texts you all day long, staggered back and forth when you both have the time. He’ll call you some nights, when his daughter goes to bed early, just to talk about your days. But it isn’t enough.
It’s not enough because you can’t stop thinking about how he looks in your lap, and how desperate his sounds are, and how his skin feels under your palms.
It’s driving you mad, replaying that night over and over and craving even more from him.
It really isn’t just about the sex, though, either. You find yourself thinking of him at the grocery store, wondering if he likes the scent of your favorite deodorant or if you should pick something new. You see an old Ford Ranger as you’re driving to work and wonder if Frankie’s inside. You find a new show on Netflix to watch but pause it after the first five minutes because you think Frankie would like to watch it too, with you.
And Frankie’s just as bad, if not worse off than you are.
His days are long and busy but occupied with thoughts of you, even as he’s changing brake pads and tinkering elbow-deep in the hood of another car.
When he picks up his daughter from school and asks how her day was, he sends off a quick text to ask you about your day, too.
And after he gets her to bed, and finishes laundry and the dishes and brushing his teeth, he crawls under the covers only to feel like his queen sized mattress is way too big, way too empty.
That’s when he texts you, Saturday night, heart beating just a bit too fast and feeling a tad heavier than normal.
I miss you. Are you free tomorrow?
I miss you too, sweet boy. I’ve got nothing going on all day.
Can I pick you up for brunch after I drop off the kiddo? Around noon?
Sounds perfect, can’t wait 😘
And he hardly sleeps because of the anticipation, wondering if this whole thing has just been a fluke. One whole week of not seeing you has his insecurities skyrocketing, despite the texts and phone calls.
The clock on his bedside table reads 5:36am and he can’t for the life of him tamper down the feelings to fall back to sleep. So he trims up his facial hair, and showers for longer than he usually likes to. He makes a big breakfast for his daughter, and dresses in his nicest jeans and a collared shirt while she giggles at some Sunday morning cartoon.
It isn’t until he’s halfway to her mom’s house that he realizes he’s a dead giveaway. He winces when she answers the door with her eyebrow raised, greeting cut-off halfway through.
“Are you going to church now?”
He laughs and rolls his eyes as she waves him into the foyer.
“Not quite. I think church usually starts earlier than noon, though.”
“So… court?”
“Oh my god, is it that unbelievable that I have a date?”
“At noon?”
“Brunch date,” he shrugs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
“You haven’t dated since we broke up.”
He shrugs again, and can feel the heat beginning to rise to his cheeks.
“Is this new? Where’d you guys meet?”
He huffs at the interrogation, though he knows there’s no malice behind it.
“Um… Tinder… couple weeks ago now.”
An amused look spreads across his ex’s face, and he wants to die.
“Interesting. You’ve met in person, then?”
“Yeah, twice already. Last week.”
“Well, sounds like it’s going good then, yeah?”
He takes a deep breath in, and nods, and then shrugs.
“I hope so. Like… I really hope so.”
Her face softens, and she smiles a sweet smile that lets him know he looks even more vulnerable than he feels, which must be a feat.
“Then I hope so, too.”
——
When Frankie knocks on your door a little past 12, he surprises you. Gone is that apprehensive look you’ve grown so used to seeing on him. Instead, he’s beaming, a precious and pearly smile splitting his face when you open the door.
“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath, like he may have ran up the stairs at a less than leisurely pace.
“Hey, smiley.”
He huffs when you tease him, but his smile doesn’t falter.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Looks good on you.”
Everything looks good on him, actually. His shirt hugs his chest and his tummy, and his jeans are sucked tight to his thighs, and his hair is that perfect mess of haphazard curls that makes your fingers tingle with the urge to touch.
“You ready to go?”
He shifts in his spot on your doorway, and you bite your lip as you admire the view.
“Not yet.”
His mouth opens to respond, but the words don’t get a chance to leave his lips because you’re pressing your own to them.
Warm, soft, minty.
His hand finds your waist and yours cups his neatly groomed jaw, and the simple touches make the wires in your system short-circuit.
Simmer down, you remind yourself, you have to at least get through brunch.
His smile is still wide when you pull apart, softer now, but no less giddy. He gives you a once-over, taking in one of your favorite outfits you picked out of your closet just for today.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers.
“So are you.”
He shrugs, and you let your hand fall from his face to rest on his collar, and then farther down, where his top button lays open to reveal his smooth chest.
“Brunch?”
He squeezes your hip when he asks, and you try and fail to hold back a heaved sigh at the prospect of having to be decent in public with this man.
“Yep. Brunch.”
He chuckles, kisses the corner of your mouth as soft as ever.
“Back here for dessert?”
It shocks you, but it delights you.
“Francisco, you dirty dog.”
He backs away with his hands up as you make your way outside, letting you lock up.
“I’m just trying to ask for what I want,” he mumbles.
He looks sheepish when you turn back to face him, but also proud. You think he should be.
“I know. You’re being a very good boy for me.”
You smirk all the way to his truck at the way he tugs at his collar and clears his throat, and how his hand feels sweaty in yours.
——
He takes you to brunch by the river, a place you’ve heard about but you’ve never been to. He’s really sweet, opening doors for you and asking if the table on the patio is alright and turning his entire attention toward you while you wait for your food to come.
Though you’re both quite handsy, linking your calves together under the table and playing with each others’ fingers on top of it, you really don’t want to go home by the time the check comes.
He pays this time, of course, and when you’re standing up to leave you suggest taking a walk along the river. His enthusiasm for your suggestion makes your insides feel all sticky and hot, that you’re both on the same page, that even something so little can excite him like it does you.
The thing is, you don’t do this often. Okay, maybe you’ve had many dates that end up exactly like this, walking off a meal and chatting. But it’s very very rare that you get to do it with someone you click with, someone who gets you, someone who makes you feel comfortable in your own skin.
Frankie does just that, has since day one when you spent hours talking on that godforsaken dating app. And especially now, as he slinks one arm through the loop of your own and uses the other to caress where your sleeve rides up your bicep. His body is warm where it presses into you, only adding to that fuzzy feeling from the couple of mimosas you drank with brunch.
And when you turn to face him, the happy look on his face is everything. You get tripped up in the sunlight glistening in his brown eyes, the hints of ochre sparkling as his head shifts, before you determine you need to tell him.
“I like the way I feel with you,” you say earnestly, though the champagne has surely given you a bit of a push.
“What way is that?”
His pace slows on the little pebbled pathway, like he really doesn’t want to miss what you say next.
“Like I can just… turn my brain off and be.”
He chuckles, squeezes your arm.
“I feel the same. Like I don’t have to pretend to impress you or anything. Like I don’t need to impress you.”
You hum as you let the words sink in, and lean a little heavier into him as you walk.
“You do impress me though,” you tell him.
His breath hitches, you can feel it where he’s pressing into you from chest to hip.
“You impress me too. I uh— I think you’re probably the most impressive person I’ve ever met.”
“Weren’t you like, in the military?”
He laughs, then, full, you can feel it shaking his tummy against your arm.
“That doesn’t really count. Besides, my military buddies’ skills are limited to the field. I don’t think between the three of them they have more than a handful of civilian brain cells.”
“Harsh,” you laugh, pinching his side between your knuckles.
“I say it with love, of course. They’re good guys, you’d like ‘em. In a way you might like an annoying sibling.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I’d like you to meet them sometime. Maybe soon. If you’d feel comfortable.”
You don’t know much about this infamous group of guys Frankie’s bonded to, just that they’re his only real friends, and that they’ve all been through a lot. Another gooey feeling spreads through your guts at his proposal.
“I’d like that. Sometime soon.”
It does worry you a bit. You don’t know much about the military, but you’re aware of the stereotypes. Surely if Frankie’s friends with them, then they aren’t bad guys.
Frankie must see the fleck of apprehension in you,
Because he stops walking and releases your arm so he can face you squarely.
“I’m out to them. They’re cool with it. Pope— Santiago— he’s queer too. We’ve been to pride together, all of us. No bad vibes.”
You wonder if they’ve ever met someone like you. You wonder if Frankie’s told them about you yet. You wonder a lot of things in such a tiny amount of time that you sway a bit on your feet and Frankie reaches out to steady you.
“Shit— Are you okay??”
“I’m fine,” you’re quick to assure him, “just… I dunno. What if they don’t like me?”
Frankie scoffs.
“There’s no way they won’t like you. You’re you, you’re kind and funny and smart. What’s not to like?”
“Are you purposefully ignoring the elephant in the room?”
It isn’t heated, the way you ask it, but you’re genuinely curious. Is he beating around the bush, or is he naive, or is it really not a big deal to him?
“Cariño, it’s not an elephant. It’s a— I dunno. A neat… plant,” he shrugs.
You squint at him, and tilt your head at his explanation.
“You know what I mean? An elephant in a room is a giant pain in the ass. It’s much more like a cool plant. Maybe one some people aren’t familiar with, but it’s not— you’re not an elephant, is my point.”
You stare at him for a beat longer than you mean to, but once your giggle involuntarily bubbles up out of you, Frankie’s serious face is cracking into a goofy smile.
“You’re cute,” you tell him, “Jesus Christ.”
Your laughter mellows, and Frankie looks sheepish at your compliments, but he grabs you by the elbows anyway, leans in close to you so that you can smell the way the sun warms his curls and his skin.
“I mean it though,” he says, “I like you. Exactly how you are. The guys will too.”
Your eyes dart around to your surroundings as Frankie’s lips find your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Without anyone ogling, you shift your head just that much more to let his lips press against yours.
He hums, leaning harder into you, pulling you closer with his hands at your back. You melt, pliant and lax in his arms, until he huffs and pulls away.
“Frankie,” you whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I want you to take me home.”
His pupils grow comically large at your request, and this time he’s wobbling on weary legs.
“Anything you want, mi planta.”
Your walk back to his truck is… brisk. You’re not sure who’s leading who by the time
Frankie unlocks the doors, both too giggly to really worry about it. He kisses you breathless across the center console before he turns the key in the ignition, and you roll the flavor of him around in your mouth while he pulls out into traffic.
Frankie’s promise of ‘I like you exactly the way you are’ is rattling around in your head like a pinball in a faulty machine. You’re not sure he can even say that. If he even knows you exactly the way you are. It’s been two dates and a handful of weeks texting back and forth.
Granted, one of those dates had him shaking and crumbling on top of you, but still. He told you he’s never met someone like you. He said that, and now you have to pull the ‘Ol Talk out of your dusty little hat and you aren’t sure how he’s going to react. He’s given you no reason to believe it’ll be negative, but still. Sometimes it just makes you uncomfortable, to have to explain things that don’t often need explaining.
Instead of boiling over with nerves the closer you get, though, the anxiety simmers below the surface as you watch Frankie navigate back to your apartment. His side profile is criminal, with his wide eyes and strong nose and stubbly jaw, that dimple that just won’t seem to go away. His curls tickle the nape of his neck and whisp around his temple and you must twirl them between your fingers. So you do, and his answering hum has you squirming in the passenger seat.
The walk up your apartment stairs is when the nerves start to get the best of you. It takes you two tries to get your door unlocked, and you know Frankie is aware by the way he looks at you when you usher him through the door.
“Are you okay?”
It’s funny how just a week before you were asking him the same question, and now you’re the one who’s a bundle of frayed nerves when you’d only ever been so cool and calm and collected.
“I am, I just— Things are different… with me.”
His concerned brows turn back up when he smiles at you, the softness in his eyes working wonders to ease your anxiety.
“I like different. Different’s fun.”
You huff. He’s so sweet. It’s hotter than it should be.
“Really. I wanna learn you. Let me, cariño. Please?”
And god… those are gonna be a big, big problem, his wide, watery puppy eyes framed by long eyelashes that he breaks out like it’s no big deal. Like you wouldn’t murder someone for him if he made those eyes at you and asked nicely.
You sigh, and nod, and that gets him to drop the eyes at least, replace them with a toothy smile instead.
“Let me get us some waters, if you wanna get comfy on the couch.”
It gives you a second to breathe and gather your thoughts as you meander into the kitchen.
“I missed this couch,” he muses, wistful, and you laugh.
“I’m sure you did, Pretty Boy.”
You barely hear his huff over the trickle of your Brita filter, but then he speaks up.
“I love it when you call me that. Drives me crazy.”
Frankie’s full of this energy you didn’t expect from him, so much more forward now. You suppose the walls have been broken down a bit, ever since your last night together.
He’s sprawled out on the couch when you return with two glasses, leaning back against the corner of it, and his cock is straining at his jeans. You don’t pretend not to notice, and he doesn’t pretend that he can’t see your eyes tracing the shape of its outline in his dark denim. You place your waters on the coffee table, even as you feel your mouth go dry.
“Told you, drives me crazy. You drive me crazy.”
The way he looks up at you makes him look so small. Your pulse jumps about it, the way it makes you feel just minutely more comfortable with the conversation you’re about to have.
And it’s one that you want to have, no matter how un-sexy it feels, or annoying. Because in your experience, when you forgo the conversation until after, they always take it personally when you tell them what you didn’t like. And even though you know it’s bullshit, you can’t stand the thought of Frankie feeling defensive toward you, even if it’s unfounded.
So you curl up next to him, let his arm that’s slung over the couch rest across your shoulders. You bring your knees up to your chest and plant one hand high on his thigh. You’re so nervous that you almost miss the way it twitches under your palm.
“What’s on your mind?”
His thumb rubs tiny loops against your shoulder. Yours mirrors it on his jeans, and it soothes you enough to start speaking.
“Sometimes I don’t like… certain things. During sex. And sometimes I do. It just depends on my mood,” you start.
“Yeah, same. I think that’s everyone, right? Normal?”
You roll your eyes at yourself, because you know he has a point. But yours are a little different.
“Yeah but… You know how I said sometimes I’m both, and sometimes I’m neither, and sometimes I’m one or the other?”
“Yeah, ‘course I do.”
“Welll when I’m… y’know. Sometimes certain words just… turn me off. Make me feel weird, and get in my head and stuff, and then it’s not fun anymore.”
Frankie nods.
“And not like… What I mean is sometimes I like one word, and then another time I won’t like the same word. It’s always different. Depending on what I’m feeling.”
“Guapo, look at me.”
It’s then, when Frankie’s deep voice cuts like a searing hot knife, that you realize your eyes have been darting around everywhere but him.
He’s got a serious look on his face when you finally gaze back, but it’s soft, and it’s comforting, and for a second you think might cry.
“I think it’s my turn to make you ask for what you want.”
He smirks when he says it, and it’s so uneasy and so not at the same time.
You take a deep breath. Release it. Feel the squeeze of your heart unclench a bit.
“I want you to suck my cock. Today. And tomorrow maybe I’ll want you to eat my pussy. Okay?”
“Jesus Fuck—“
“I’m sorry—“
“Shut up, you’re so fucking hot.”
His words steal the breath from your lungs and make your face feel like it’s on fire. Even more so when his free hand presses against his erection over his jeans. It spreads, a dangerous flame that curls around your insides, high in your chest and low in your gut, and you tilt your head so you can taste the little whimper that falls from his lips.
Your hand finds his chest again, like it did that night, and something about his racing heartbeat eases you so much. That he’s just as nervous as you are, even if he’s a bit better at hiding it this time.
He cradles you when he kisses you back, one big, warm hand on the back of your head and his other on your back, wrapped around you, safe. And he’s gentle as he leads you to lie back, even as he growls and nips at your bottom lip.
Safe.
His thighs bracket one of yours as he holds himself above you by an elbow on the cushions. You feel his cock, hot and hard, pressed tight against you, throbbing when he shifts his hips for friction.
You let a noise sneak past your vocal chords, a deeper sigh, and instantly you feel even more vulnerable.
But Frankie just returns it, grip tightening on the back of your head. He pulls his mouth from yours and instead finds your pulse with it.
You gasp, and he curses. His hips jerk against you, and you know you’re about to soak through your briefs. His teeth find skin underneath your collar and you egg him on by lifting your thigh to press even tighter against his prick.
His muttered curse feels hot against your skin, but it quickly runs ice cold when Frankie’s hand sneaks under the hem of your shirt. You grab it quickly, separated by the material, and shake your head back and forth quickly.
“Not right now,” you whisper, “sorry.”
He looks up from his toothy assault on your skin to meet your gaze, hand slipping back out from under your shirt, and smiles.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, hand finding the crook of your thigh instead, “never for that. Always tell me what you need.”
Your breath stutters as he shifts back up to kiss your lips again, his thigh pressing just right between yours as his tongue tastes the roof of your mouth. You grind just like that, and he does too, a hot and damp rustling of fabric as he takes your mouth and whines into it at the friction.
Your hands get with the program, reach around to squeeze his ass and encourage his thrusts against your thigh. Sparks of arousal shoot through you every time you feel his cock pulse against you. It becomes not enough extremely quickly, especially with the noises you’re coaxing out of him and the way his tongue is sloppy and greedy inside your mouth.
“I need your mouth,” you gasp, your slick lips moving against his own as you speak.
He groans, licks at your bottom lip one last time.
“Anything you want.”
You’re hot, flustered and aching when he finally works on unfastening your pants. All the while his wide doe eyes peer up at you, waiting for any direction.
He shuffles a bit, settling between your open legs and huffing when he misses the pressure of your thigh against his prick. You thread your fingers through his curls as consolation, and smirk when he shudders and his eyelids droop.
He gets a hand under your pants, and both of your mouths drop open at the contact to the warmth between your thighs.
“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he sighs, “please let me taste you.”
His voice is gravelly, sends a wave of tingles up your spine as you grind down into his hand and tighten your grip on his hair. His fingers twitch against you as he gasps and pulls against your hold on his locks, and it’s fucking wicked.
Your curse and tug him by the hair to bury his face between your legs. You feel his nose squish against you first, then his lips, a hot breath of air released against you. He groans into you, inhales a deep breath, and you see his hips work frantically against the couch cushion underneath him.
“Frankie.”
He opens his eyes, but doesn’t dare pull his face away from your center.
“Take ‘em off,” you order.
He nods, face still pressed against you, like he’s nuzzling your package, and you have to tug his hair to urge him to get a move on.
“Sorry, sorry. Fuck— can’t help it.”
His fingers tremble, just barely, but noticeable nonetheless, as he hooks them under your briefs. One last look up at you, and you nod and tug at his curls, and then he finally pulls the damned things down your legs and off.
At this point, you don’t have enough wits about you to be shy. You spread your legs, one against the back of the couch, the other dangling off at the knee so your foot touches the floor. The air in your apartment is cool where you’re wet and slick, and your hips wiggle in anticipation.
All the while, Frankie stares at your center, just inches above you, so close you can feel his ragged breaths with every heave of his chest. He’s a fucking vision like this, between your legs, needy and ready to do what you tell him.
“Can I—?”
“Suck my cock, Frankie. Wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around it.”
A stilted breath escapes him as he opens his mouth to press against you. Your hips jolt at the first touch of his tongue through your folds, hot and wet and perfect. He wastes no time following your direction, though, tongue flicking over your cock before he gets it into his mouth and suckles.
Fuck.
It’s so fucking good, he’s so fucking good. Your grip on his hair only gets tighter as you watch his hips grind against the couch in a frantic rhythm. He whines and sucks harder, just shy of too much, tongue circling around your dick in between delicious pulses of suction.
You want to close your eyes and succumb to the pleasure, but you don’t want to miss a moment of this. The way his brow is creased in concentration, his silky curls bobbing up and down in your lap, the fucking noises he makes. The slurps and the grunts and the hums, like he’s getting just as much out of it as you are.
You suppose he is, the way he’s humping the sofa like he’s in heat.
His eyes flicker up to you, a silent question.
Is this doing it for you?
“So fucking good, Frankie. Just like that,” you tell him, fingers dragging through his hair, nails scraping at his scalp.
His eyes close as he hums around you, and yours do too, then, overwhelmed by the feeling. Your hips rock up into his face, fucking it, using him. His grip tightens on your thighs, and your body rocks from the from the way he’s grinding against the couch.
His tongue is wicked and precise, circling your cock, flicking it, circling then flicking, again and again and it makes your whole body buzz, has you out of your fucking mind.
And you suppose that’s why the words just fall from your lips; there’s no filter left, just raw, overwhelmed senses and adrenaline.
“Fuck, good boy Frankie. Letting me fuck your face, like the perfect little toy.”
“Hah— shit,” he whines, hips stuttering between your legs just for a moment as his lips lose their grasp on your dick.
“Prettiest mouth, all for me, right?”
You watch him as he looks up at you and nods, mouth hung open, his tongue sliding up and down your slit at the quick motion. He looks a mess, with his mustache glistening and his pupils huge and dark and his hair sticking up every which way. His eyelids droop and his brows draw up tight and he looks so so perfect between your legs.
With another pathetic noise, he sucks your cock between his lips again. You take mercy on his hair, let your hand find the back of his neck and cradle, massage the tense muscles under your fingertips. You feel him shudder against you, watch as his hips speed up in time with the bobbing of his head between your thighs.
And it’s building, blazing through your system, fiery static that has you breathing quicker, arching your back as your muscles tense.
Frankie’s noises only press you closer and closer to the edge, the way they’re muffled around your prick in his mouth, the way he’s clutching onto your hip and fucking your couch cushion as he slurps and suckles. It’s soaking wet and hot and much better than you’ve felt in a very long time.
“So close, don’t stop,” you beg.
Frankie’s answering noise is strung-out and his grip is bruising on your hip. You lift your hips into his mouth and your hand finds his hair again. You tug and encourage him to suck you off faster, just a bit, just enough.
You cry out his name as you shake. You hope the grip you’ve taken on his hair isn’t too tight, but none of your movements are your own until all the tension leaves your body. He works you through it as his breath puffs faster and heavier against your mound, gradually suckling softer, bobbing his head slower and slower while he groans around you.
Slowly, your muscles relax and your tendons unclench and your eyes open just in time to watch Frankie press a kiss to your swollen, twitching bud.
“Jesus,” you manage through a breath.
His grin is shy as he rests his cheek on your thigh. He strokes you through your comedown, quiet and calm, his fingertips soothing your thigh and your hip.
“How was that?”
You laugh at his question, and he hides his own chuckles in the crease of your hip.
“Incredible.”
He hums, and you ruffle his hair when his gaze turns sheepish.
“What do you need, Pretty Boy?”
He’s flushed, and his curls are a little damp at his temples as he shakes his head.
“I don’t need anything, Guapo.”
You try to muster up as stern a look as you can with your brain still fuzzy and your muscles still lax and gooey. His big brown eyes look up at you, pleading, and his shy look turns embarrassed.
Instead of speaking, he grunts as he sits back on his knees. You take note of the way his teeth scrape his bottom lip before you follow his eyeline, down his still heaving chest and belly.
You try not to let your eyes widen when you see the substantial damp patch soaked through his denim, but you must not have been subtle, because he makes a high, cut-off noise from the back of his throat.
“Sorry,” he says with a grimace.
“Shut up, you’re so fucking hot,” you chirp.
Those little dimples you’ve come to adore rear their heads even as he shakes his.
You sit up to press a kiss to one, then the other, and then his lips. You savor the heady taste of yourself on them, hum happily into his mouth as his trembling fingers stroke your skin.
You both change into comfier clothes. The sight of him wrapped up in your things has a whirlwind of emotions wreaking havoc in your chest. Something primal and something domestic all at the same time, and you have to tug him close in your grasp to tamper it all down to a manageable level.
His body weight tucked half into your side, half on top of you works wonders to calm you, especially as your hand finds his silky curls once more and you feel each strand slip through your fingers.
Frankie sighs, big and heavy, and it tickles your neck.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
He chuckles and nuzzles his nose into the sensitive skin behind your ear.
“Thinking it’s kinda crazy, being so into someone I met a month ago.”
Your pulse jumps at his words. You wonder if he can feel it where he’s pressed against you.
“Yeah, kinda crazy,” you agree.
“Feels stupid.”
His curls brush against your face when he shakes his head, huffs again, but you hear the smile in his voice.
“Life’s kinda stupid.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
You chuckle at him as you watch his fingers tap an incoherent rhythm on your stomach.
“Seems fair, doesn’t it? To lean into the stupid when you get the chance?”
He turns to you then, a soft smile crinkling the edges of his wide eyes.
“Sounds fair to me,” he mumbles.
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