#frankie x female reader

[juletheghoul]

The Party

AN: No thoughts, only thots about meeting Frankie at a party you were reluctant to go to in the first place. There's infidelity here - so if that's not your jam no worries! Enjoy!

Pairing; Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings; Infidelity, (18+ no minors) piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, unhappy marriage - mentions of divorce.

Word count; 2k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

--

Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes dilated and her pulse was almost visible on the delicate skin of her neck and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

My wife hasn’t looked at me like that in years.

“Sorry? I didn’t quite catch your name.” He instantly likes her voice and tries to imagine what she’d sound like in bed and for the first time in god knows how long he isn’t ashamed of himself. 

“It’s Francisco - you can call me Frankie.” He shakes her hand, holds onto it probably longer than he should and he knows his dimple is staring her in the face with the way he's smiling. “How do you know James?” He gives her a once over, almost subtly and he’s happy to see her fluster a tiny bit. 

“Oh um - ha I actually don’t - I came with a friend. Maureen - do you know her?” She fiddles with her dress, smoothing it down with her plump lower lip between her teeth. It’s endearing and he wants nothing more than to pull her close - to nuzzle at the hollow of her throat but she looks at his hand when he takes a sip of his beer and the spell is broken. She sees it, he knows she does and there’s nothing he can say. 

Fuck. 

“Oh, I’m sorry - I didn’t realize.” She frowns a little staring at his wedding ring, more flustered than before but now it’s out of embarrassment and he feels cruel, like he’d led her on in some way. 

“Yeah, that’s - sorry that’s-” He doesn’t know what to say to this lovely thing in front of him. 

Technically, yes I’m married but my wife has been cheating on me for years, I just got the proof I needed a couple of days ago and I’m going to divorce her ass. Wanna fuck?

“There you are, have you seen my purse?” His wife came in right on cue and then he was alone with her, a swirl of a skirt left in the pretty woman’s wake - he sighed loudly, not that his wife commented on it - or even noticed for that matter. “There it is - oh look - your buddies are here! Why don’t you catch up with them?” She didn’t look at him as she said it - too busy fixing her lipstick and he knew then that her side piece was here.

He felt nothing. 

“Sure honey.” He spoke the words to her back as she walked away from him - he couldn’t even remember when he stopped watching her go. 

-

The heat was crawling up your body, warming the apples of your cheeks with embarrassment and your legs couldn’t carry you away fast enough. You moved through the crowd of people you didn’t know, winding through the little groups of them while scanning for Maureen, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red shirt she’d been wearing - relief washing over you when you finally saw her.

“Hey- where’d you get to?” She smiled big, looking for the drinks you were supposed to grab. “No drinks?”

“Sorry- There were a bunch of people waiting so I came back.” You did your best to smile through the lie. “I’ll try again in a few.”

If he’s not still standing there.

Your stomach dropped at the thought of running into him again, a groan threatening to claw its way out of your throat. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did he have to be exactly your type? Tall and broad, with that cute dimple and those soft waves- married waves. 

Why did you flirt back?

This question annoyed you a bit, it burned brightly in the back of your mind while you tried - genuinely tried to listen to Maureen chatting about - well whatever the hell she was chatting about. 

You saw his wife walk past the two of you then, a very pretty woman with gorgeously thick hair and Ruby red lips lost in conversation with a burly blond man, if he’d told her that you’d flirted then it would only make sense that she’d glance at you but mercifully she didn’t. Thank christ.

Maureen laughed and pulled you away from your thoughts, introducing you to a few of her friends from college and you busied yourself trying to remember their names, muddling through polite conversation while also counting the hours until she’d be ready to go. It wasn’t so bad though- they weren’t so bad. Her friends, while maybe a bit pretentious, were all in all nice enough and it wasn’t hard to find common interests with a few while she made her rounds until your bladder pulled you towards the bathroom. 

The door to the powder room on the bottom floor was locked, in use. Goddamn it-

“There’s a bathroom just up the stairs and to the left-” One of the hosts saw you standing there and came to the rescue “-please feel free.” With a polite thank you, you climbed up further and further until the door was opening before you. The scene inside froze you in your tracks, it was the blond burly man and Francisco's wife in the middle of a hook-up. 

Your mouth gaped open for half a second before you shut the door - unsure if they’d heard you, unsure if they even cared. 

Couldn’t even be bothered to lock the door???

You ran down the stairs as quickly as you could, almost crashing into the person just coming out of the powder room and after a nervous shuffle from both of you, you were safely tucked away in the enclosed space. After relieving yourself, and splashing your face with cool water came the time to rejoin the fray - maybe if you could make eye contact with Maureen, she would see the discomfort on your face but that was a dead end - she was nowhere to be found. 

I need a cigarette. 

-

He was standing alone on the porch of the house, taking in the cool night air and it seemed as though the Gods or the fates or whoever was responsible for the day was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort. 

“Oh - hi.” He smiled his dimpled smile and it was almost too much - you didn’t know this man, you had no idea what was happening in their marriage but what you did know for sure was how fucking disrespectful it was of this woman to fuck another man while her husband was here. “You okay?” His head tilted, concerned, beautiful. 

“Yeah. Sorry um - you wouldn’t happen to have a smoke would you?” Fingers crossed he’d say yes.

“No sorry - I quit a long time ago.” 

Fuck me sideways, seriously.

“No worries.” You stood there, gawping at him as he leaned his hip against one side of the railings. His smile faded and a neutral realization took its place. 

“Was it with a blond man?” His words were stones in your stomach, boulders being dropped from a great height. 

“What?” You hoped against hope that he wouldn’t make you do this. 

I shouldn’t have fucking come out here.

“It’s okay - it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s funny - I didn’t want to divorce her until I had the proof and I got it a couple of days ago.” He sighed big but it didn’t seem sad or heartbroken. “I’m not naive, it’s nothing new.”

“I’m sorry - I don’t know what to say. Are you going to confront them?” The idea of him storming upstairs and pulling them out of the bathroom for everyone to see made your skin crawl with anxiety. 

“Oh no, nothing so dramatic as that, I don’t care to - haven’t cared in a long time.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just please don’t look at me like that.” You frowned.

“Like what?” It was your head that tilted now.

“Like you pity me - I’m okay, in a couple of days I’ll serve her with the papers and it’ll be done. For now I’d much rather you looked at me the way you did before you knew I was married.” He straightened as he spoke - taking a few slow steps towards you. 

“And how did I look at you before?” He was so tall, so broad and handsome. 

“You looked at me, like you wanted me.” He watched your mouth, licking his bottom lip as he spoke and suddenly it was too hot - your skin was too warm and your tongue followed the example set by him and swiping along your bottom lip. 

-

His grip is almost bruising, but his hands are so much softer than you would have thought and after a harder thrust one of them is sliding under your bra to hold the weight of your breast. 

“You feel so fucking good.” His voice is hoarse, the words clipped as he groans them into your ear. The plush swell of your ass is pressed up tight against his groin, his cock punching up into you in the back of his truck. 

I am letting a married man fuck me in the back of his truck, in a suburban neighbourhood.

The thought bleeds out of your brain with every snap of his hips, with every swirl of his fingers on your swollen clit. Your slick is dripping out around him, soaking the panties he roughly pulled down to fill your aching cunt. His cock sliding in so easily with how aroused you are and it takes everything not to scream out from how good it feels. 

“Feel how fucking hard you made me baby.” He picks up speed, pushing the air out of your lungs with the force of it - your eyes roll back - mouth a wordless ‘O’ as he steals the thoughts out of your head with the slip of his cock and the swirl of his fingers. “Talk to me baby- tell me it feels good.” He pulls you up, his hand moving up to cradle your jaw and bring you towards him in a misaligned kiss. All tongues and pants as he doubles down on his efforts to pull you apart. 

“It’s good - god it’s so fucking good.” Your words are almost slurred and he lets out a breathless laugh before he bites at your ear. 

You’re racing towards your orgasm, the tingle of it spreading from your center out through your limbs and when he pinches your clit between his two wet fingers you fall off the cliff. Euphoria burns through your veins, cunt clenching around him hard enough to make him groan from deep in his throat. 

“Where do you want it?” He grits it out through mashed teeth and you pull away, bending forward as best you can. 

“On my ass.” You pull your dress up past your hips, displaying yourself for him shamelessly. 

“Fuck-” He sounds pained and you can’t help but look back as best you can, the pain in your neck is worth the vision of him, his eyes down watching as he pumps his cock against your ass. One of his hands gripping you and with a shuddering moan he paints you in himself. “Jesus baby- fuck that’s pretty.” He rubs the sensitive tip through the mess on your skin before finally finding a tissue and wiping most of it away. 

The cab is steamy when you exit, your hair a mess, his shirt untucked but both of you giddy with post orgasmic bliss - wordlessly parting to join the party but not before saving your number in his phone.

After the blood has cooled and it’s time to go, he catches your eye at the door with a wink and a promise and as you walk out with Maureen you hope he’ll call soon. 

-

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#frankie morales/reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales fanfic #francisco morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie x female reader #frankie x f!reader

[gracie7209]

Amaryllis Chapter 6

Pairing: Frankie x f!Reader

WC: 9.2K

Rating: E

Warnings: Here we GO! We’ve made it to approximately the halfway point and the overall E rating for this story so minors DNI! I know some of this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea so heed the warnings… the beginning isn’t smutty and is definitely important so if you’d rather skip the smut just read for a bit and you’ll know when things shift— Also, Reader is hispanic (no physical description aside from accent and growing pregnant belly) and we dive a little deeper into her history— Fluff, smut, fingering, oral (m & f) receiving, pregnancy, pregnant sex, unprotected PIV (be safe y’all), normal bodily functions when pregnant i.e. lactation, reader’s horror at the realization, but Frankie doesn’t mind, lactation kink? Kind of? If you squint? Praise, dirty talk? They honestly don’t realize what they’re saying lol ummm I think that’s all, but please let me know if I missed something!

Summary: You see Frankie for the first time in two months. Emotions run high as he lays out his plan to deal with Tom.

A/N: I’m so nervous and excited to get this out…. We definitely still have a lot of story left to cover, but here is 9.2k worth of some much needed reprieve for these two. I’m sure there are mistakes aplenty, and I own them all. Everything started running together so before I just deleted the whole thing, I decided to say fuck it and post what I had. There’s also a good chance that I overused … and — but 🤷🏼‍♀️

Anywho, let me know what you think and as always thank you so much for reading!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

When you walk in, you know exactly what is waiting for you. But seeing him, actually seeing him hits you harder than you anticipated.

He’s sitting in a chair set off to the side of the room. There’s a coffee table between his and another chair to match, but pushed back so it’s not in the way. There’s also a computer desk set up in the corner, to accommodate working guests. The kitchenette is small, but there’s a fridge, microwave, sink and even a full stove. The King size bed set to the back of the room is neatly made. Untouched, so you know Frankie hasn’t been here long. You know he lives in the City, so he must’ve booked the room for the sole purpose of your meeting. You look over and his eyes are trained on your form, looking at you from underneath his hat.

Frankie knew from your letter that you had agreed to meet with him, but he couldn’t help the intake of breath at seeing you. You’ve always been beautiful, so he’s not sure if it’s just the length of time since he’s seen you last or what it is completely, and even as cheesy as it sounds to himself, he feels his breathing basically stop. If only for a moment, but there’s been very few things in his life that have left him that way.

—Two months is a long time for anyone, but generally people don’t change very much physically in that amount of time. In this instance though, you are much further along than when he last saw you and he can’t help but think how absolutely perfect you are.

You make your way to the chair opposite him and sit down. He’s shifted now so that he is leaning toward you, but neither of you say a word.

He slowly reaches for your left hand. Asking permission without breaking the silent spell that’s cast itself upon you both. You graciously accept and he takes your small hand between both of his. His thumb lightly tracing over your knuckles. He’s looking at your hands now. The giant eye sore on your ring finger, his focus. He twists it around your finger absentmindedly. You both know how little meaning it truly has. At least any meaning that was worth something. A burden. A chain - tethering you to someone you’ve never held even the slightest bit of affection for, or received for that matter.

He spins it around until the face is no longer visible. Neither of you have spoken, but the silence is deafening; containing every single thing you both wish you could say.

You notice a small piece of hair falling over his eyes - still downcast on your hand in his. Without thinking, you swipe the hair to the side.

He stills at the contact—

Slowly he lets go of you entirely. You’ve touched him like this before, so surely he’s not upset?

He sits back and puts his right hand against his face; his palm almost covering his mouth and chin and his fingers rest near his jaw. His other hand is resting under his elbow… He rocks back, then forward slightly and his eyes find yours.

What is there to say? He knows the situation you’re in. He asked you to come here because he thinks he has a plan, but you know that nothing can be done in this situation. This situation that you thought of as a selfless act to protect you mother. How very childish of you..

But you had been. A child that is..

18 years old - a “legal adult.” Definitely not ready to be thrown into this world, evidenced by your idiotic decision to agree to this “deal” that has done nothing but hurt you. Not that you really had much choice in the matter at all. And Frankie… Oh Lord, Frankie knows most of the details, but you didn’t tell him everything. You worry that the look he’s giving you now will be replaced by that of pity or worse, disgust. That he won’t look at you like you’re everything— like he is now.

You are broken out of your thoughts by Frankie as he abruptly stands in front of you. You look up at him… A silent question on your face - ‘What do we do?’ ‘How do we fix this?’

He is looking down at you now… his breathing picking up slightly.

In this entire span of time, not one word has been uttered between you. He’s still looking down at you and you’re caught in his gaze. You don’t look away from him. Everything you want is right in front of you, but has never seemed further away. Being ignorant to a situation or just simply being unsure can make you sad and unhappy; this is true. But it’s nothing like knowing exactly what you want and also knowing that you can’t have it. There’s always hope that eventually you can change your mind or make a decision when you have a choice…. But this? It’s like being in a room surrounded by unbreakable glass with no doors. You see everything—everything you could possibly want, with absolutely no way to obtain it.

He shuffles around, turning away, then back again before finally resuming his place in the chair opposite you. His elbows are on his knees with his hands hanging loose between them.

After a moment, you take a deep breath and you stand up. He raises his eyes to you as you slowly make your way to stand directly in front of him.

You’ve got his full attention now. There’s maybe a few inches of space between his face and your much larger belly, that has grown significantly since you last saw him, and his focus is drawn to it. You take this opportunity to slowly brush your fingers along the side of his head… His eyes close as you push his hat back enough to card through his hair. You think to yourself how soft his hair is and how good it feels between your fingers. Both of his arms reach up and lightly brush your sides where they hover there. He won’t attempt to touch you in any way without your say so. He looks up at you now and your barely perceptible nod is all he needs before his hands lightly grasp your waist and he pulls you closer. He buries his face against your middle - Your belly getting in the way, but he pulls back slightly, and lays his right hand flush against it.

You feel like you are frozen… Not with fear, but with a feeling you can’t even begin to describe. All you know is that it is so good and so intense, that you never want it to end.

It’s at this moment, he leans forward and closes his eyes, whispering a kiss just above your belly button. The moment his lips touch the soft fabric of your shirt, you start to cry. Your tears are flowing unbidden down your cheeks, lightly splashing onto Frankie’s hair. He looks up and once he sees your tears, he stands and grabs both of your hands. He begins shushing you quietly. Whispering softly, “Shhh, shhh… It’s ok…. It’s ok….” as he pulls you in and wraps his arm around your head - bringing you to his chest while his other arm pulls you into his embrace. You reach up and place your hand on his chest, your face buried in his neck. Your other hand is against his back and you both just stay like that. You breathe each other in and let yourselves feel the warmth of the other. The sound of his heartbeat is a soothing rhythm to your racing mind. You reach your hand up to his neck and he is so warm. You hadn’t realized that after years without a loving touch, you are completely starved. Your hand continues moving up until you’re covering his cheek with your palm and you finally decide to look up. His eyes have been on you the entire time. Just waiting to see what you would do. He would hold you like this as long as you needed him to and he would cherish every second of feeling you against him.

He reaches up to cup your cheek. His thumb barely brushing your bottom lip and your lips part at the feeling. His thumb stops and just rests there as his fingers grasp your chin, tilting your head just a little higher. His eyes are still searching yours— Asking you, pleading with you to do something. Your hand moves to the back of his head, playing with the hair that lightly curls there.

He tilts his head down and closes his eyes as his forehead touches yours. You close your eyes and your breath hitches as the sheer intimacy of the situation hits you… It’s not just a sexual tension, although it’s there, sparking like a live wire ready to catch flame - But, no… This, right now, is more soul encompassing. Safe and Warm.

—

After what seems like no time at all, the anxious part of your mind remembers what brought you here… other than just being able to see him again. —“Frankie?” Your soft voice a question, barely perceptible over the sound of his heart.

“Hmm?” He breathes the sound into your hair.. not ready to separate just yet.

“What’s your plan?”

—Frankie’s eyes open at that, but he still doesn’t want to move. You hear him sigh, and he very reluctantly pulls away, not far, but enough so he can look down at you. His arms are still wrapped around you lightly. You’re angled to the left slightly to make room for your belly…

“I don’t know how much time we have.”

—“Don't worry about that querida. Pope has Tom all the way in the City and he’s going to keep me updated on how everything goes. That’s why I wanted to be here in town in case things went south, so you would be close to home and could get there quickly if needed.”

‘Home.’ You flinch at the word. You don’t even know what a home feels like anymore.

“Ok.”

After a moment, Frankie steps back and motions back over to the chairs he was sitting in when you got there — For this part he wants you to be sitting. He knows that you’re not going to be happy about it, but after talking to the guys, well Santi and Benny anyway. Besides Will, the only people who know Tom better than even he does, it seemed like the most plausible option that could get through to him. If anything or anyone could, it would be in an environment that Tom knew. In a situation and setting that he was normally in control of.

“So, Pope has this job that he’s been begging all of us to help him with for the last few months.”

“Who’s us?”

“Our old team. Aside from Pope, there’s me, Will and Benny, and our fearless leader, Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis. It’s not on the books as a normal job, but kind of a free will mission.”

The confusion is evident in your face, but you don’t question it. He’s got a plan, so you just have to let him get it out.

—“This is, uh, well… I don’t think you’re going to like it, but I’ve thought about it. Enough to think that there’s a chance anyway. I’ve talked to the guys about it also, sparing details of course. But I talked to the people who know Tom the best. Santi and Will have known him longer than even I have and Santi agrees that this is the best way to try and get Tom to ‘see the light’, if you will.”

-You’re still confused. You don’t want to interrupt him, so you keep looking at him. Hoping it will start to make sense to you.

—“This job…. It would uh, require all of us working together as a team. Maybe as a team, we can also convince him that what’s been happening is wrong.”

You’re not sure what you expected, but talking to Tom? That was his plan??

“No. No, no, no, no, no…. Frankie, just talking to him isn’t going to solve anything. Tom may be your Leader out there,” you point toward the window. “But here?” There are tears running down your cheeks now. You told Frankie about your situation, but you didn’t tell him how deep it goes. He doesn’t understand that talking is pointless. Your emotions get the best of you and the floodgates open.

“Here, Frankie…. Here, Tom owns me. I’m essentially property. Sold to the highest bidder, who would pledge to keep me safe. My Abuelo…” you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

You breathe in, then out…. “My Abuelo promised me to him. After my Papá passed away, we went to live with him. I was young and the last thing I did was promise my Father that I would keep my Mamá safe and taken care of. I was an only child and she has always had problems with her health.”

—Frankie has been standing this whole time, so he slowly shifts to the chair and sits down. His face shows no emotion… he’s just taking in everything you have to say. You stumble a bit but eventually you work up enough courage to just spit it out.

“It was an arranged marriage, Frankie. Simply put, divorce is not an option. Especially now, being divorced and a single mother would be a disgrace to my family. My Abuelo knew Tom through family friends, Tom offered…. And so it just was….”

You look at Frankie and he is still stone faced. You continue despite the shame you feel at what happened next…

“Tom was handsome, had money, and was looking for someone to come home to when he was on deployments… You, well you know the rest.”

Your Abuelo had made it sound as though it was the perfect opportunity for you.

Frankie seems to take a moment to digest your words…

—“So what are you saying? That the only way out of this is ‘Til death do you part?’”

All you do is nod.

“But.. and please don’t think I’m being insensitive here, I’m just trying to understand.”

“Ok…”

“You don’t live in Cuba anymore. Things are different here. You’re allowed to marry and divorce as many times as you want! Hell, in some states you can marry multiple people at once!”

He’s breathing heavily. He doesn’t understand and can’t imagine why you would be such a stickler on this. Arranged marriages aren’t actually a thing here. Are they? Did you really not think you could leave a situation for any other reason than just not being happy??

“I don’t think you’re being insensitive. I know it sounds crazy.. It IS crazy. But Tom has done nothing but threaten to send her back to Cuba if I ever tried to leave. I could never let her go on her own. She needs me… and in Cuba, I would be divorced and now”— you motion to your pregnant belly, — “a single mother. I would be a disgrace to my family and I can’t do that to her. There has to be another way, but I don’t know what to do.”

—Frankie is thinking. There would be nothing to stop Tom. They could try to get him to have a change of heart. That was the plan… but for someone to be ok with the things he’s done and be complacent in it?

He had no idea that arranged marriages were even a thing. Some of the guys in their division would joke about mail order brides…. Women who (they claimed) would do just about anything for a Green Card, including marry a complete stranger with the promise of a cushy lifestyle. Frankie always thought it was pathetic how other men could be so shameless…

Not surprisingly though, he can recall Tom being in on those jokes… Imagining having someone sweet to warm his bed and cook his meals etc

He never dreamed that Tom would be capable of actually doing something like that. Not that those situations even remotely resembled what your life with Tom was like…. Just the fact that he treated you like property. That someone could feel about a person as though they were merely a possession to be used at their will rather than a living breathing human being.

No— Tom was a monster. And Frankie felt like a fool.

You were right. Talking wasn’t going to change anything.

So maybe they go on this mission and just… leave him there? What if? No… No Frankie wouldn’t think that way. There had to be a way to get you out of this.

—You see him thinking. His brow is furrowed and his hand is rubbing the bottom half of his jaw and the patchy scruff there… His eyes are focused on the coffee table. There was no way out of this. You knew it and Frankie was figuring it out too. He had been so sure in his plan. Santi and Benny had hyped him up that they could get through to Tom. The realization makes him feel sick.

Then suddenly he looks up at you.

His gaze is absolutely piercing as he stares you down. “So what then? There’s nothing we can do? You’re just stuck with this piece of shit you don’t even care about? Stuck with a man who treats you like garbage?”

—You’re looking at the floor now. Tracing the diamond pattern of the carpet to give yourself something to think about.

“I don’t know Frankie. Sometimes life isn’t fair. Sometimes we are forced to do things we really don’t want to do because not everything can be fixed. Not every story has a happy ending.”

“What’s your happy ending?” He says it so quickly and quietly that you almost miss it. When he says your name at the end you look up. “What? What did you say?”

“I asked, well I’m asking you, what would be your happy ending? If you could do things the way you wanted to, what would you do?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it because it was never a possibility.”

“And if it were? A possibility I mean? What would you do if you didn’t have to worry about Tom.?”

You have no idea honestly…. So you spout off with the first things that pop in your mind, aside from ‘You, you, you!!’ “Um, maybe, travel? Go see the world… make some friends? Maybe get a cat?”

Frankie chuckles at that… he knows Tom’s not a fan of animals in general. Really, he was the fucking worst. His stomach clenches at how this has taken such a shitty turn..

“What about right now? If you could do anything, what would you do?”

You think you know where Frankie’s taking this. At this moment, there is no bright side to your situation. No exit strategy, no get out of jail free card, no nothing. The future looks bleak, options are null and there’s only one thing that you want that you know you’ll never get…. And that’s Frankie.

You look over at him and smile. There could be no future with him. Tom would never allow it. And the thought crushes you. You’ve never been asked what you wanted for yourself if you had the choice and the answer is screaming at you Frankie! Frankie! Frankie!!

You’ve always sacrificed your wants and needs for someone else. You made a promise to take care of your mother and you would do everything you could to keep that promise. But that didn’t mean that you couldn’t have tonight. One little taste of something you’ll never be able to have again.. And tonight, Tom was taken care of.

He was out of town, probably already drunk and you know he fucks whatever he wants to when he feels like it. You’ve known for a long time now. You weren’t the type of person to cheat. You believed in the sanctity of marriage and what your vows meant. You didn’t love Tom, but you were stuck with him. But right now, for the first time in your life, you make the decision to be selfish.

Frankie is still looking at you and his expression is hard to read. He looks lost. The unfairness of the situation is making him angry, but he’s also soft. He wants you. He wants to do everything he’s not supposed to and everything he won’t be able to do again.

You both stand at the same time, and he comes to you. His hands find your cheeks and he asks “what do you want?” in a register of voice you’ve never heard from him before. It sounds desperate. His eyes are on yours and he asks again, softer, “what do you want??”

Your answer is immediate—

“You. Frankie…. I want you.”

“You already have me. You’ve had me since that first day at the diner. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Tom won’t let me see you. Who knows when we will get to see each other again?

“I don’t care. I’ll figure out a way. I got you here tonight didn’t I?”

“Yes but it’s been two months Frankie… in another two months I’ll be a mother and we won’t be able to sneak away like this. This isn’t fair!!”

He pulls you forward and puts his lips to your forehead. You lift your head and find his eyes. Your eyes move down slightly and you find his lips and you suck in a breath. He’s so close, you can feel his breath on your cheeks. He smells like a light soap and a very distinct smell that is just his. The slight tang of gasoline mixed with the vanilla from his truck.

His hand makes its way to your chin and he lifts you to his mouth slowly. His lips are soft, and light just like last time, but he quickly pours himself into you and they become bruising. He breathes you in and immediately starts moving his hands across your arms….

Tears are running down your cheeks and you decide that you’re done fighting this.

Frankie’s mouth opens to speak and you stop him as you forcefully pull his lips back to yours. You begin peppering his mouth with kisses, like you can’t get enough…. Frankie has your hand and is playing lightly with your fingers as he pushes you back slightly. His tongue finds yours in what has turned into a flurry of movements and neither one of you knows where to go with this so you each just kiss every bit of skin you can find on the other. Frankie’s kissing the side of your head as you kiss the patch in his beard that never can fill in completely.

You run your fingers through his hair, knocking his hat onto the floor as he begins to kiss down your neck, and your entire body is on fire.

Hormones or not, the man knows how to use his mouth and every bit of skin he’s touched is illuminated and tingling and you want him everywhere all at once.

Your hands start to grab for his jacket… pulling at his shirt and running your hands up and down his stomach. You’re completely buzzing for him.

You can’t remember there ever being a time that you’ve felt this way. Tom having been your one and only, because, up until now, you held true to your vows even though it was a sham….. Even though you didn’t love him, he was your husband and you tried to make it work in the beginning. Tom was the one who couldn’t care less.

It angers you even more that you really did put so much into your marriage. You did everything you could to be the wife he wanted. You thought that things would change, and that maybe one day you could love him. Instead, he used you and never once

Frankie made you feel Wanted. He wanted you. He wanted you and not just for selfish reasons. He never made you do anything you didn’t want to. He never made you feel guilty, or inadequate, or like you didn’t matter. You always mattered to Frankie. He respected you and respected your choices in all things. If you were to stop, right now, and tell him you didn’t want to do this anymore, he would simply stop. No questions asked. He would never force you, or make you feel like your opinion was stupid. That realization hits you with such intensity that you’re drunk with it knowing that Frankie would always give you that power. Because it was yours.

You stop your movement, while still clinging to frankies’ shirt. You look up to him and your eyes are pleading. His brown eyes are blown wide and he nods - slowly pushing you backward toward the bed. His eyes never leave yours as the back of your legs make contact with the bed and you sit down. Frankie kneels before you… His hands are on your thighs, lightly rubbing up and down the soft material of your leggings. Your hands grab his cheeks and you pull him back to your lips— Tasting him again before you run your hands down his neck and inside the top of his t-shirt. You lightly graze his collar bone and he growls, his hands leaving your thighs to start shrugging off his jacket. Your hands find their way back to his hair and you pull slightly, bringing him forward so he is eye level with your heaving chest —something that has also increased in size since you last saw each other. You’re wearing a thin long sleeve charcoal gray top that has a scooped neckline that covers your growing bust, but would be very easy to move aside.

He leans forward and is kissing your neck again. Going slow, but very obviously making his way down your chest to the top of your shirt, he looks up at you and gives a greedy smile before turning his attention back down. His right hand has also been slowly making its way higher. Fingertips lighting a fire up your side until his large palm is lightly groping your breast —testing the weight in his hand… “God your tits are perfect,” almost to himself, but you heard him loud and clear.

“Frankie!!” You shriek in surprise at his choice of words… You’ve never heard him talk like that before and you feel your cheeks heat while something else churns in your lower tummy. “Sorry! Sorry, It’s uh, been awhile since I’ve.. been with someone. I don’t always think before I talk, especially with you. So, if I say or do anything you’re uncomfortable with, just tell me. Ok?”

“It’s ok,” you giggle at him. You’re not upset in the slightest. “I’m just not used to this. Besides Tom, you’re the only person I will have, um… been with like this.” You’re not sure why, but you can’t stop yourself before saying,

“But you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted like this.”

Frankie gulps and nods, before surging back up and capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. Everything in it tells you that he is going to take care of you. He slowly stands up and leans over you. Prompting you to scoot backward until he can kneel on the bed… His arms are on either side of your head, and you reach up and start running your hands up and down his forearm.

“Look at me,” he says your name and you meet his eyes. “If I do anything you don’t like…. Anything at all, please tell me.”

-“I will Frankie. I trust you.”

At the word trust, he silently loses his mind just a little. He gently caresses your face and pulls you in for another kiss, trailing his hand down your side before following the curve of your belly and resting his palm on top. “It’s not gonna, um, we’re not….” He sighs, not finding the right words. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or the baby.”

“You won’t hurt me Frankie. The baby is perfectly fine. At this stage, sex is completely safe.” You know that Frankie would never hurt you. You needed him to know that it was going to be ok.

“Ok. I’ve never uh, been with someone who was pregnant before.” His face flushes a deep red. “Me neither,” you say. His eyebrows almost reach his hairline and you have no idea where this sudden tenacity is coming from, but you couldn’t help it but to tease him.

“Frankie, it’s ok. I promise. It looks like this is just going to be a first for both of us then.” You smirk at him and he captures your lips again.

His hand starts teasing at the hem of your shirt until slowly going underneath. His hand is so warm and his rough palm feels amazing against your sensitive skin. He reaches up again, grasping your breast and squeezing it lightly, “This ok hermosa?,” Your eyes are closed so you just nod. The feeling is… overwhelming. He continues to massage your tender flesh until he his hand out and tugs down the top of your shirt, revealing your cleavage to his waiting mouth. He kisses the tops of your breasts and drags the fabric down further to expose your bra. It’s nothing special, but it’s functional while also providing comfort. He puts his hand inside, pulling you out completely… exposing your nipple to the cool air, but it is quickly replaced by a damp heat as his mouth completely engulfs the tightening bud.

“Oh my God, Frankie…” Your hands are back in his hair, holding him to you. His tongue starts lapping at you slowly, circling around your now hardened peak. The sensation is so intense, that you feel your arousal gather between your legs, and you shift slightly. Moving your legs together to give yourself some relief.

Frankie takes your movement as a good sign so he pulls you completely into his mouth and sucks, hard. Hard enough that your eyes go up into your head and you moan—the noise coming from you unrecognizable. Frankie just smiles around your nipple, sucking lightly while he takes in your reactions.

After a moment, he feels a little spurt of something in his mouth. He releases your nipple and looks down and you’re leaking. A thin opaque fluid dripping off of your nipple and onto your shirt. You look down when you feel his mouth leave you and you are absolutely horrified to see him staring at your leaking breast. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry…..” You go to sit up, but Frankie stops you.

“What are you sorry for Bonita?”

-“This! I, I didn’t even think about it….” the embarrassment makes you frantically attempt to cover yourself.

“Hey, stop. Stop. it’s ok.. It was just a surprise is all. It’s actually kind of sweet.” He smiles at you as he dips his head back down to taste you again.

Your brain completely short circuits at that so you just let your head fall back and savor the feeling.

Frankie moves to the other side and you are actually whimpering from the feeling of his mouth alone. His hand goes back to work and tweaks the nipple of your now neglected breast while his tongue wraps around the other. He can’t get enough of the noises you’re making and he has to shift his lower body to take some pressure off of his rapidly growing erection that is currently pressed tightly against the front of his jeans.

You bring your hand up to card through his hair. Watching him work you over with his tongue. The sight is probably the most erotic thing you’ve ever seen up until this point and you feel another gush between your legs.

Frankie starts to shift his attention lower to just under your breast and makes his way down, kissing your belly with a look of pure joy on his face. His hand makes its way to the top of your leggings. His fingers play with the waistband before dipping underneath slightly. He looks up to you at this. Another question on his face asking if you’re still ok.

You nod quickly and he keeps his eyes on you as his fingers slowly reach underneath the thin fabric. His fingers lightly move across your hip bone, moving inward. He’s still looking at you when his fingers reach your center only to find your underwear completely soaked through. He has yet to touch you skin to skin, but you’re squirming and desperate for him to add even just a hint more pressure to your aching center. Your hand reaches down on top of his, adding to the pressure you so desperately need. “Shhhhhhh… shhhhhhhh… I’ve got you….”

-“Frankie??” You’re pleading with him to touch you as he moves his face back up to yours. He’s still looking at you as his touch increases, gauging your reaction. The more pressure he adds, the more his mouth opens, ready to swallow your moans as soon as they leave you.

You cry out when he finally pushes his middle finger up against your clothed clit and rubs lightly. Fuck, Tom never gave a shit about your needs when it came to sex. Maybe in the beginning, but rarely. You were always left to take care of it yourself after he passed out. Most of the time you wouldn’t even bother. But this is Frankie… so you let the thought of Tom fall away from your mind and focus solely on him and how he is making you feel.

You’re breathing increases and Frankie removes his hand to caress your cheek again. He laughs lightly at your frustration, your pleas— “No no no… Frankie please, please don’t stop…” make him smile up at you.

He takes his finger and pushes it up against your lips to shush you. “Let me take care of you bonita. I’ve got you ok? Just let me know if I need to stop.”

And at that, Frankie shifts to his knees and makes his way down your body. Kissing down between your breasts, over your shirt to your stomach, to just above the waistband of your leggings. Looking back up as he hooks his fingers into them and pulls down. He leaves your underwear in place —the light pink cotton darkened by your arousal. He rolls the thin material down and slowly takes off your shoes one by one as he removes your leggings completely.

Once your legs are free, he wedges himself between them, kissing up the inside of your thighs starting at your knee. He slowly makes his way up from your right leg, across the top of your underwear and then back down your left. Every touch of his lips on your skin has your hips arching up of their own accord.

“So impatient, Querida.” He tsks. “Trust me, I’m going to savor every bit of you.” You’re dizzy with his words so you just nod and lay back. You do trust him, so you let him take control and try to slow your breathing.

Frankie reaches up and laces his fingers with yours, holding you in place as he finally, buries his face between your legs. He breathes in deeply, and lets out a shaking moan. “God, you smell so fucking good….” the last word ending with a whine. He still holds your hand, but uses his other to gently pull your underwear up between his fingers. Pulling it tightly up against your swollen clit a few times, before moving it completely to the side, exposing you to his hungry mouth.

Frankie said he was going to savor you and he meant it. He is going so painfully slowly, when all you want is for him to put your clit in his mouth. Instead, he is breathing you in, rubbing the scruff of his cheeks against you. The feeling of his facial hair against your over-sensitive skin makes you almost growl.

He’s teasing you, but only to add to the anticipation of what is to come.

Finally, finally his tongue peeks out of his mouth and lightly runs up your soaked seam, from your dripping entrance to your clit. “Oh my GOD….Frankie???” Your pleas turn into whispered praises.. “Francisco, oh… mierda. Si…”

You let out a string of nonsense in English and Spanish and Frankie just chuckles to himself as he continues. Your accent becomes thicker as you lose yourself, that you honestly don’t even realize you’re saying anything. Flattening out his tongue, he gently lays it on your clit and starts moving his head in a circular motion. Dipping down every so often, bringing more of your arousal up to your peak.

Your pussy has him feeling drunk. Your sweet musky taste, like water to his parched mouth. He drinks you in, your pussy already so fucking wet, his head spins with it. He can’t believe he’s getting to taste you like this. He’s known how he’s felt about you for a long time, but to actually be here? With your fucking pussy in his mouth? Fuck, he thinks he could come just from the thought.

Frankie kisses up your seam slowly, kissing every inch and finally leaving a kiss on your clit before sitting back and looking up at your face. You look every bit the mess that you sounded like… Your forehead is damp, your hair sticking to the side of your face. You’re looking at him now with a confused look… Why did you stop? sitting on your lips. —He just smiles and brings himself forward, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. He pulls away quickly and moves back down, hooking his fingers under the band of your underwear and ripping them down your legs.

He takes your right leg and pushes it up, bending your knee so your foot is flat on the bed.

He then takes your other leg and hitches it over his shoulder. You settle your foot on his back, pulling him closer to you. He immediately takes his fingers and makes a V shape, running it from your clit all the way down, squishing your lips together and back up again. He takes a moment and sucks your clit into his mouth at the top of the V of his fingers. You could almost cry at how good it feels.

“More Frankie, please, please…..” You need to feel something inside you… This entire time, Frankie hasn’t breached your entrance, even with his tongue and you’re getting desperate.

He knows what he’s doing, but he wants to hear you tell him. “What do you need, querida? Tell me what you need.”

“Need to feel you. Need you inside me, Frankie please.

“Yes ma’am..” And at that you feel him drag his index finger from the top of your clit, down, down, down until gently pushing into your weeping sex.

“Oh, oh fuck.” Your words come out in a gasp as he resumes his place at your clit, wrapping his lips around it while slowly pushing in and out of you. You are wrapped so tightly around his finger, that he’s hesitant to add another, but your moans of more, more have him lightly testing the addition of another.

The feeling of his mouth on you while simultaneously fucking his fingers into your throbbing core has you almost flailing on the bed. Your hands spread wide on either side of you, your leg wrapping around Frankie’s head, you worry that you're going to hurt him, but he’s humming encouragingly into your pussy so you take it as a sign he’s ok. Finding his head with your hands, you grip his hair and slowly move him up and down. Frankie is just as affected by the action as you are.. “Fuck yes baby, use me,” comes his garbled reply.

If you weren’t so close to going over the edge, his words would have you blushing like a virgin. But if anything, right now it only spurs you on and you shudder against him.

Frankie can tell you’re close, just by your whimpers and how you’re practically grinding his face into you. He curls his fingers up and focuses on the little spongy area there, while sucking your clit into his mouth again, using the flat of his tongue to rub side to side. Your grip on his hair tightens to the point of actual pain, but he loves it - loves knowing that it's his mouth and his fingers that are doing this to you. You arch up and your orgasm hits you hard… Flooding Frankie’s mouth with your slick and almost crying at the intense feeling. Frankie works you through it. Slowly moving his fingers in and out as you come down. His tongue is barely there, but still lapping at you, the feeling adding to the aftershocks and you are shaking with it.

When the clenching slows, he slowly withdraws his fingers. He holds them up above you so you can see your slick dripping as he spreads them in the air. Then he brings his fingers to his mouth and moans as he sucks them clean.

Frankie scoots up, coming to your side and running his hand over your belly lightly. You turn to him and he’s looking down at you, “that ok hermosa? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You laugh at that, because you’re sure you may have actually ripped out some of his hair. “No Frankie, you didn’t hurt me. That was… mmmmm..” He kisses you and you hum lightly into his mouth. You’re completely sated for the moment, but his kisses are quickly becoming more frantic.

The heat in your lower belly begins to stir and your hands start to wander. Reaching down you just barely lift his shirt, grazing the soft skin of his stomach. You’re still technically clothed from the waist up, but so far the only thing Frankie has taken off is his jacket. You grab the hem and lift up. Frankie helps you by sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head. His chest is bare, save for a little patch of hair in the center of his chest and a line of hair leading underneath his navel down to his jeans. He leans back down and kisses you again, his tongue begging for entrance to your mouth and you let it.

Frankie’s hand trails up and down your sides, reaching down and grabbing a handful of your ass as he pulls you toward him and brings your leg over his hip. He starts to walk his fingers down the back of your thigh, then brings it back up to play with the swollen lips of your pussy from behind.

He swallows your gasp and moans into your mouth, still toying with your puffy lips.

You start to kiss down his cheek, down to his jaw and behind his ear, nibbling on his earlobe a little bit, which gets you a growl of pleasure out of him. He leaves your backside, opting to grip your thigh for leverage as he lets you take control. You slowly move down his throat until you reach the juncture between his neck and shoulder where you lightly suck, leaving behind a couple of bright red spots that you secretly hope he’s able to see tomorrow.

You run your lips down to his collarbone and you take your time there. Licking up and around, before kissing down the hollow of his throat. Frankie is still gripping your leg, tightening his hold and squeezing fingerprints into your thigh with every pass of your tongue. His breathing has increased and when you look up at him, his eyes are on you. His pupils are blown wide and his cock is throbbing, but he wants to see you like this. He wants to see you navigate his body and see what you do with it, without interference.

You take a moment to reach up and kiss his mouth again. His eyes close immediately and he just breathes you in. Your scent is everywhere. In the air, in his nose, on his tongue and subsequently yours. He nips your bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth, before you pull away and tap his nose with the tip of your finger… He tries to bite it, but you quickly pull away only to slowly move it down to his chest. You toy with the soft patch of hair there before lightly drawing lines across him, moving to circle a nipple, then the other. Now that gets a reaction, and his whole body shudders as goosebumps cover his chest. You lightly scrape your nail across his sensitive skin, back to his left nipple before replacing your finger with your mouth, flicking it with your tongue and Frankie groans “fuck, beautiful…. You’re killing me..”

—You just wink at him before blowing slightly, making the pebbled flesh tighten to a hard peak. Frankie huffs a shaky breath, and you are enjoying his reactions just as much as performing the acts themselves. You want to see what else you can pull out of him, so you kiss across his chest and pull his other nipple into your mouth, giving it the same attention as the first. Slowly circling with your tongue and giving it a quick kiss at the tip. His hands move to your hair and lightly comb through it with his fingers. He loves feeling you like this — knowing you’re in control and he’s just along for the ride.

You continue to kiss down his abdomen, his tummy soft, and you start rubbing your nose through the light dusting of hair there before you follow the trail down to the top of his jeans. Your hands have also started their own exploration; running up and down his thighs, moving up to his side and watching his abdomen shake with how sensitive the skin there is. You make a mental note to see how ticklish he is, should you get the chance to be this close to him again. For now though, you want to make him feel as good as he made you feel. You scoot down slightly, and begin trying to work the button of his jeans with your fingers before his hands stop you. Confusion showing on your face as you look up to him; “you don’t have to do this querida..”

—You quickly reach up and put your finger to his lips, “Frankie, shhhhhhh…. I want to do this. I want to make you feel good”. -You were going to kill him with just your words alone. You had no idea how they affected him.

“I want to taste you. Will you let me Frankie? Can I taste you?” — He’s a fucking goner… Frankie is sure he just fucking died and went to Heaven and you hadn’t even touched him yet.

All he does is nod with his mouth slack jawed and his cock begging for attention just underneath your hands.

You slowly start working the button of his jeans, lightly fingering the line of his zipper with your index finger all the way down between his legs —teasing him, purposely trying to torture him, but in the best possible way.

You walk your fingers back up the now very prominent outline of his length, to get to the zipper and slowly unzip him the rest of the way. You do to him what he did to you and you pull his jeans down just a little bit, running your hand over his boxers, but just barely. Lightly running your fingertips from the base of his clothed cock, up to the tip, you scratch the head ever so gently and Frankie actually gasps for air at the feeling. “Oh fuck!”

You feel wetness at the tip and see a small wet spot. Without thinking about it, you reach over and flick your tongue over the top, tasting the salty precum and moaning at the warmth radiating through his boxers.

—Almost instantly Frankie’s hands are in your hair, pulling it back slightly and tucking a stray piece behind your ear as your tongue continues to lick at him. Your saliva only adding to the growing wet patch in the fabric. His breathing quickens and his body is almost shaking.. you finally decide to show him some mercy by ripping down the waistband of his boxers and jeans and enveloping his cock in your wet mouth without warning.

“Ohhhh shit.”

“Shit. shit!! Oh my God baby, fuck… your mouth… fuck, you’re so pretty. Pretty fucking mouth….” — He’s sputtering complete nonsense… half sentences full of praise and absolute filth.. You love it—

You slowly lap at the underside of his cock, making your way down to the base and back up again. There’s another drop of precum at the tip and you want to taste it, but instead you grip him in hand and rub the tip with your thumb— the slick making your swipes smooth back and forth. Now you come up and taste him. His musky scent has your mouth watering, saliva pooling under your tongue. You let it drip from your tongue onto his tip and stroke up and down with your hand. “Holy shit….” comes Frankie’s gravelly voice, unaware that he was still watching you. But you basically spitting on his cock has Frankie looking absolutely feral.. His pupils are black yet again and you think ‘how many times can they do that before they pop out of his head??’

“Was that alright?”

All he does is nod and you smirk up at him before slowly diving back down onto his cock -keeping eye contact the entire time. His mouth drops open, but his eyes never leave yours, his cock like steel in your hand.

You keep up the pace, bobbing up and down slowly, stopping occasionally and licking at the sensitive spot on the underside of his cock that makes his eyes squeeze shut and he moans out curses in Spanish almost every time.

—Your left hand trails up his leg and reaches inward, grazing over the soft skin of his inner thigh before reaching his balls, your touch pulling a hoarse groan and more curses from Frankie. Your right hand is now pumping the base of him that you can’t fit into your mouth while you continue sucking and kissing at his tip.. The words coming out him now make you hum to spur him on. No real train of thought, just praises and whatever is coming into his head at the moment;

—“Fuck…. Fuck baby… Could live with your mouth on me, God…. can’t fucking wait to feel you. Fuck… Want you to ride me… wanna watch your perfect tits bounce while I fuck you…” The words leave his mouth in such a rush, that you’re not sure if he’s truly talking to you or if he’s just thinking out loud. His eyes are still closed and his breathing has increased. You could probably finish him with not much more effort, but you’ve been aching to feel his cock inside of you, so you slow your movements.

Frankie checks in at the sudden shift in speed. You pull your mouth off of him and nod slowly. You lean forward and kiss him, continuing to pump him with your hand. You slowly maneuver your body over him —as easily as you can with your belly at its current size anyway— and position yourself above his cock. The tip red and swollen, weeping precum from how close you had gotten him with your mouth. Frankie finally realizes what’s happening and his eyes shoot open and find your face. “I… are you sure?”

“I’m sure Frankie. I want to feel you.”

—“Come ‘ere…” Frankie surges up and captures your lips. You use the movement to help steady you as you line him up with your entrance. You breathe out slowly into his mouth and you both moan loudly as you sink yourself down onto him. You go slow, to allow yourself time to adjust to his size. Tom hadn’t been small, but Frankie is definitely thicker and you want to savor the feeling of being stretched out by him.

Frankie’s hands are on your waist now, eyes closed and just feeling you as you slowly pull him in all the way until you feel his coarse hairs against your clit. “Oh my… Oh my God Frankie…. Oh…. Fuck.” You start to move, rocking your hips slowly in a circular motion.

—“Yes, fuck, you feel so good. I’m, I'm not gonna last…. fuck..”

Your hips move faster, finding a back and forth rhythm as your hands land on Frankie’s chest… nails scraping down, grabbing for purchase to try to keep your body upright.

His hands on your waist are almost bruising now with how tightly he’s gripping you… moving you, grinding himself into you….

His right hand winds around to your back and he almost sits up, burying his face in your breasts. Your back is damp with sweat, but he holds tightly… putting his right hand behind him on the bed to prop himself up. You hold his head to you and kiss his forehead, wrapping your arms around his neck and moving with him. This angle has him hitting so deep inside you, your breathing is coming in broken moans and your toes are curling. You’re coming almost instantly when you feel him reach between you, finding your clit and rubbing in smooth circles with his fingers. His hips stuttering, trying to find his own release, but wanting you to come again first. There are tears running down your cheeks from the sheer intensity and you cry out. Your walls are contracting around him so hard that it’s only seconds before he’s following you… painting the inside of your pussy with his warm come and panting nonsense into your mouth as you both try to even out your breathing. He’s kissing you again, but slowly… toying with your tongue languidly as he comes back down to earth. His cock softens inside you, and you just stay. Neither one of you ready to pull apart just yet.

—Frankie starts to rub his face against your breasts, pausing to kiss between them. He takes a nipple into his mouth and just holds it there.. his tongue slowly lapping up what you’re sure has been leaking since you started earlier.

You run your fingers through his damp hair, trailing to the back of his neck and scratching lightly at his scalp. His eyes stay closed and he hums, enjoying the feeling. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so relaxed in his life… never more at peace than just holding you like this.

—He never wants to let go.

Before long though, you feel him start to tense slightly, but he’s made no move to break apart from you. You think the high has begun to wear off and the gravity of your situation is hitting him…. As it is you.

Where do you go from here? There’s no plan in place… There’s no straight path from here, that brings you back together again. You know that once you leave this space, leave Him, that there’s no telling when or if you’ll get to see him again. You pull him tighter to your chest as the realization yet again washes over you. New tears fall freely down your cheeks and you just hold onto him. Frankie… who has done so much for you, who has made you feel more like a real person in the short months you’ve known him than you’ve felt in your entire life.

—You pray for an answer, a solution that you desperately hope ends with you being free to be with the other.

You feel Frankie lean down and kiss the top of your belly. The act so endearing to you; What you miss though, is Frankie whispering a prayer of his own. A prayer to keep you safe and a promise that he would find a way to be with you again. Both of you.

—

Taglist: @boliv-jenta @heythere-mel @hnt-escape @harriedandharassed @just-here-for-the-moment @something-tofightfor @readingiskeepingmegoing @bitchwitch1981 @sunnysidekit @littlemisspascal @queridopascal-main @dashavau @imaswellkid @quica-quica-quica @mymo-n @wildemaven @pastelnap @tanzthompson @jb2856

A/N: There are definitely some flow issues with this one, but I kept getting stuck. Hopefully it wasn’t too awful to get through, but I appreciate any and all feedback, just be kind. I also wouldn’t mind an extra beta if anyone is interested, on top of my girl @just-here-for-the-moment who’s been with me through this since the beginning. Thank you all!

#frankie x reader #frankie x you #frankie x female reader #frankie x f!reader #frankie morales/reader #frankie morales imagine #frankie 'catfish' morales #francisco catfish morales x f reader #francisco morales #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier #triple frontier au #triple frontier fic #frankie morales fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #amaryllis #amaryllis chapter 6

[jb2856]

Hands

Uhhhhh smut? Just a little sexy bluuurbbbb - A person admires their partners big strong hands. Imagine whoever you like ya know? Lol*cough cough*im.partialtojoelmiller

18+ ONLYYYY pls thk uuuuu

Fem!reader x male!partner

Ok bye enjoy

I often think of his hands, the way they caress and hold me reverently.

Long, thick worn fingers that give way to wide, warm palms. I like to suck on his fingers after he teases them inside me. I like when I find myself on my knees, my watery eyes glancing up at him hazily, my shaky hands gripping the meat of his wiry thighs. His hands often end up in my messy hair, gripping tightly, but he holds back as he fucks himself into my mouth, afraid to let go. But I want it, I yearn for the display of his strength. I want to see him let go and lose control, to thoroughly enjoy it.

And I gasp for air as he pulls away, his hands always end up somewhere on me. They soothe, they search, and they adore. His thick thumb and forefinger will tuck themselves under my chin and tilt my head up purposefully so our eyes can meet.

“Fuck baby girl,” He would tell me, his fucked out voice, seductively deep. Enticing.

His piercing eyes would have a shining glint of admiration in their gaze, my own staring back blearily, a tear wet on my cheek. His thumb would gently brush it away, his fingers lowering, splaying out and cupping my throat gently.

“You’re so pretty when you cry.”

Oh, fuck. This man and his hands.

#Joel Miller #Joel #joel millers hands #joel x female reader #joel x oc #pedro pascal character fic #maybe Frankie? #frankie x female reader #francisco morales #ooooo def mando #mando x reader #smut #one shot

[supernaturalgirl20]

Char’s 2K follower celebration 🍾

Thank you so much for all the love and support you’ve all given me, it never goes unnoticed. I do try to write back to those who comment on my writing but if I’ve missed you, I’m sorry 😊 (it’s not intentional).

I love you all 🥰🥰🍾🍾

To celebrate, I’m once again opening up my asks for all characters that I write for. It will ONLY be open until Wednesday 15th of February. Any requests sent in after will not be accepted.

Some rules;

You must be 18+. If you don’t have your age in your bio your request will be deleted and you will be blocked.

Give as much detail as you can. What idea you have, what character you want, if you want fluff, angst, smut etc. One word req will not help me and will be deleted.

Please please please have manners. We are all adults here so be nice. 😊 please and thank you costs nothing.

Sometimes I don’t vibe with what you are requesting and If that happens I simply won’t write it. Nothing personal 🥰

I do have a good few requests at the minute that are almost done and ready to go so if you’re waiting, it’s coming I promise.

I’m also compiling a fic recommendation list which will drop tomorrow will all the blogs that I adore. I want to spread the love 💕

#pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #marcus pike x reader #frankie x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #dave york x reader

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Cramps

Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.

Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes

A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u

Bitchy. 

You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate. 

You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also  warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for. 

What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period. 

 Your cycle had  been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag. 

Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military. 

Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it. 

So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response. 

“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood. 

“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration. 

“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.” 

For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man. 

Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work. 

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband. 

“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending. 

“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee 

Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.  

You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie. 

“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!” 

At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath. 

“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-” 

“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.” 

“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door. 

“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway. 

But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it. 

You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood. 

Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.

Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear. 

Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants. 

Your period had come.  

In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie. 

“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ” 

It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply. 

“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.” 

Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first. 

“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.” 

You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply. 

“Thank you. You’re the best.” 

“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘” 

“Oh shut up, meanie.” 

“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙

“Love you too. 🤍” 

Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way. 

Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch. 

As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband. 

“Frankie? Babe, are you home?” 

Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest. 

You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace. 

“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you. 

“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-” 

“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse. 

“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem. 

“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.” 

“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.” 

“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”   

“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.

“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him. 

As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you. 

As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you. 

“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza. 

“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-” 

Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?” 

“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?” 

“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.” 

“I think I can make that happen.” 

About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest. 

“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy. 

Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth. 

“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you. 

“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core. 

“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you. 

“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices. 

Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period. 

But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man. 

“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths. 

“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.” 

Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds. 

With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt. 

“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot. 

Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool. 

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over. 

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue. 

Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name. 

“Frankie, holy fuck.” 

“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could. 

“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.” 

Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt. 

“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace. 

“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over. 

Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him. 

Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity. 

Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him. 

“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate. 

“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word. 

“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.” 

Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there. 

“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did. 

“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.” 

You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in. 

“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.” 

That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high. 

With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.  

“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss. 

“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss. 

“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight. 

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.” 

“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”

“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Taglist:

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[joelscurls]

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n:  thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out. 

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do. 

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter. 

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that— 

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right. 

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship? 

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating. 

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend. 

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds. 

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool. 

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash. 

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down. 

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking. 

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie.  His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him. 

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need. 

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically. 

“Ah — that’s alright.” 

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him? 

But then you think of Frankie inside  — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly. 

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too. 

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff. 

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?” 

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes. 

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks. 

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone. 

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink. 

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline. 

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers. 

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again. 

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke. 

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver. 

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion. 

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all. 

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs. 

“Fine. I’m fine.” 

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming. 

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans. 

“Hey,” you announce. 

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm. 

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other. 

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement. 

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…” 

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades. 

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of. 

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod. 

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively. 

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers. 

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct. 

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it. 

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.  

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally. 

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed. 

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh. 

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway. 

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker. 

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss. 

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past. 

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.” 

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis. 

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat. 

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies. 

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you. 

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton. 

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand. 

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you. 

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest. 

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want. 

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?” 

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls. 

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium. 

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below. 

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again. 

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

 “So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.” 

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away. 

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky. 

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin. 

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact. 

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.” 

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right. 

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist. 

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.” 

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales fic #Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fic #Triple Frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

[ilovepedro]

just married | frankie morales x f!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2k

Summary: You and Frankie just tied the knot. Half way through the reception, your insatiable husband whisks you away for some much needed privacy.

Warnings: fluff, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism (sex in a private bathroom), unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), creampie, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: happy frankie friday! this is based off this post, i could not for the life of me shake this from my head. literally wrote this in an hour, i’m telling y’all i’m actually going insane. the brain rot is actually concerning. FRANKIE NATION RISE! 🫡 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! 🫶🏼 i loveeee me some frankie 🫠 not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika

“Come on, hermosa,” Frankie rasps in your ear, moving his hands from your hips and grabbing your hand, a small smirk playing on his lips. Music booms from the DJ’s speakers, the dance floor lively and vibrant.

“Where are we going, baby?” You ask, your gown flowing freely as your new husband swiftly maneuvers you through the crowd. “You’ll see,” he shouts over the thrumming music. Your body buzzing with excitement and a smile, so big it hurts, adorns your face.

Leading you out into the hall and racing up the stairs, giggling like a couple of school children. Frankie drags you to the bathroom at the end of the hall, flinging the door open and guiding you inside.

He grips your hips and crashes his lips onto yours, swallowing your dissipating giggles as he presses you up against the door and locks it. You whimper softly as his hands begin to roam your body.

His hands roam your backside, making his way down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Frankie!” You squeal, breathlessly, laughter bubbling over your lips as you pull back for a bit of air.

A toothy grin breaks out into his face. “I’ve missed you, hermosa,” he pants, the both of you breathless from running and desperately kissing each other.

“I’ve missed you too, baby.” Not having had a moment to yourselves this whole day, you two bask in this brief moment of privacy.

He brings you in for another insatiable kiss. Your hands tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan into you. Snaking his hands down your waist, he cups your mound in one hand. You moan into him as your brows scrunch in pleasure, grinding against his hand.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day, baby,” he groans, guiding you to the sink, pressing your backside up against it as he peppers kisses to the column of your throat. “You look so fucking gorgeous, baby, this goddamn dress is driving me crazy,” he whispers, nipping your neck. 

“You’re driving me crazy, Frankie,” you gasp. “Look so fucking sexy in that tux, baby.” He smiles into your skin, working his way back up to draw you in for another kiss. You moan into his mouth as he slips his tongue inside, arousal pooling in your panties and sticking to your sex. Swallowing every moan that pours into his mouth, he pulls back, your lipgloss staining his lips. 

Crouching to his knees, he bunches your gown up over his head and moans at the sight of your lacy panties paired with your garter. 

“Fuck, baby. So fucking wet for me all fucking the time,” he whispers huskily as his large, warm hands run along your thighs. He slides your garter down your leg, tucking it into his back pocket. 

Propping you up onto the sink, he spreads your legs and presses a kiss to your sex. You moan at the feeling, aching for more. One of his thick fingers prods at your entrance, parting your lips and allowing your husband a view of your glistening pussy.

“Please, Frankie,” you plead breathlessly, tossing your head back. 

“Yeah? My pretty little wife wants me to eat her pussy? Huh, mi esposa?” You moan, eagerly nodding as you clench around nothing. Frankie doesn’t miss the way your thighs squeeze together.

“What my wife wants, my wife gets.”

Without warning, Frankie dives in and licks broad stripes up your folds, gasping as you bite back a moan with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, attempting to be quiet. 

“No no, baby. I wanna hear you. They can’t even hear us with the music, it’s just us, baby - just me and you,” he says before diving back in and licking through your folds, his strong nose nudging your clit and your eyes flying open.

“Oh fuck, Frankie!” You moan loudly, eyes squeezed shut as you toss your head back, caution blown to the wind. You snake a hand into Frankie’s curls, tugging at them and eliciting a groan from your husband. The vibrations against your cunt send a new wave of arousal seeping from you, Frankie lapping up every drop as he drowns in your slick.

His tongue prods your entrance, fucking into you. He groans at the way you clench around him, chest rumbling in satisfaction. 

It’s sloppy, and hungry the way he laves at your weeping cunt. His tongue circles your clit relentlessly, your cries filling the air. His lips wrap around your swollen bud as his grip on your thighs tightens. Your hips involuntarily buck up into his face. He snakes his left hand up to your stomach, ring-adorned hand pushing you down and holding you in place. 

“So f-fucking good, F-Frankie, oh my god,” you keen above him, legs wrapping around his back as you try to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. His relentless pace creates a cloud of stars in your eyes. 

“I’m close, Frankie! So close, don’t stop! Please don’t stop, baby,” you yelp, tears of pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes as the coil in your belly tightens.

A sudden intrusion pulls a sharp gasp from you. Two of his thick, long fingers crook into that spongy spot with every stroke as he sucks on your clit. 

His fingers, his mouth, the ring on the hand which pins you down overwhelms you - he’s all-consuming. 

Your vision flashes hot white as the coil in your belly snaps, cumming all over your husband’s face and his fingers. Frankie laps at your juices as you grind your cunt into his face, thighs trembling while riding out your high. He groans as he slurps you up like the sweetest nectar, not wasting a single drop. Your whines fill the air along with a squelching sound as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. 

He pulls back and rises to his feet, his patchy beard glistening with your slick. Slamming his lips onto yours, the two of you moan into each other. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes your head spin.

Frankie ruts his hips into yours, his clothed cock brushing against your exposed cunt and a loud cry pouring from your lips at the sensitivity. Wrapping your arms around his neck to draw him closer, you buck your hips against his, seeking more stimulation.

“Lean back for me, baby.” he rasps as he pulls back, gently pushing you back against the mirror. He makes quick work unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants to his ankles. You suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, mouth watering at the sight of your husband’s angry, leaking cock. Unable to resist, you palm him in your hands, smearing the dribbles of precum along his throbbing length. Frankie stifles a moan, moving your hand away and lines up his cock at your dripping hole.

Swirling small circles around your entrance, gathering the new wave slick that pours from your cunt on his length.

“Frankieeee,” you keen. “No teasing, please, amor,” you huff, on the verge of tears as your desperation grows.

“I got you, amor, don’t worry,” he whispers in your ear. He slides in slowly, but smoothly in one go, your slippery folds allowing him easy access. Both of you moan in tandem, Frankie’s brows pinched together and your lips parted.

You’re so full, relishing in the dull sting as he stuffs your wet heat to the brim. “Move, baby. Please move, mi amor,” you plead, breathless and desperate, seeking some relief.

“Shh shh, it’s okay, baby. I’m gonna take care of you, I always will,”  He says, voice hushed and husky, placing a kiss to your forehead. 

You know his words run deeper than just the matter at hand, having promised to love you eternally just hours ago.

He slowly drags out of you ever so slightly before snapping his hips into yours, his tip punching your g-spot. His hands rest on your waist as he picks up his pace. The room sounds pornographic - filled with the sounds of your squelching pussy, skin-on-skin, moans, and pants.

“I’m the lu-luckiest man ever. Got the prettiest girl ever to m-marry me. Knew you’d make a beautiful bride, hermosa. Most beautiful f-fuckin’ bride in the world, my pretty little wife. Get to, shit, get to love you and fuck this tight little pussy every goddamn day for the rest of our lives. Fuck,” he rambles, hips canting into yours.

Clenching around him at his words, more slick drips from your weeping cunt and onto the counter. An endless string of moans tumble from you and into the air.

“S-so fucking good to m-me, baby. So l-lucky to be your wife,” you keen, pressing your forehead against his. He hungrily captures your lips in a ferocious kiss, teeth clashing together as neither of you care how messy you two will look after.

“My wife. You’re mine, baby, you’re mine forever,” he moans as his tip kisses your cervix. Your walls flutter around him, your second orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Come on, baby, come on, baby. Let go, hermosa. I know you’re close. Let me feel you, I got you, baby,” he babbles almost incoherently. You wail as your orgasm washes over you, convulsing under his grasp, twitching uncontrollably as slick endlessly streams from your cunt. “There we go, baby. Good girl. So fucking good, hermosa. Always feel so fucking good,” Frankie groans against your lips, his thrust growing sloppy as your slippery cunt sucks him in.

“Love you so much, Frankie,” you gasp. “Love you too, hermosa,” he grunts. You can feel him throb inside of you.

“Cum, Frankie. Fill me up, please, baby,” you beg, still riding out the high of your climax.

“Yeah baby? Want my cum? Want me to stuff you full and walk around our wedding with my cum dripping out of your tight little pussy?" 

A high-pitched moan escaping your lips, you squeeze tightly around him. “Yes, Frankie! Wanna feel it dripping down my legs under my dress,” you squeal, overstimulation starting to sink in.

"My dirty fucking girl,” he rasps, punctuating his words with every thrust as he shoots warm ropes of cum into your cunt, coating your walls with his seed. A guttural groan rumbles from deep within his chest. Slowing his pace, you whimper as he fucks his cum into your used hole.

He rests his clammy forehead against yours, breath fanning each other's faces. Post-coital bliss settling amongst you two, the faint humming of the music from the reception rings in the air.

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone?” You ask, panting. A deep chuckle rattles his chest, making you laugh. “I’m pretty sure they have, hermosa.” You pull him in by his tie, kissing him languidly. He pulls back and presses a playful tap to your thigh.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go before the guys start talking shit,” he says, helping you to your feet, and wiping his spend from your mound and in between your legs. He settles your gown into place as you fix your makeup in the mirror. He fixes his hair while you adjust his suit and tie back into place. You beam as you lock eyes with his, love shimmering in the corners of them. He entwines his fingers with yours as he leads you out the door and back downstairs to the reception.

It seems nobody has noticed you two were gone, or just don’t question your absence, as you two mingle your way back into the crowd.

“Hey! Where the hell were you two?! It’s time for the bouquet toss!" You best friend, and maid-of-honor, screeches.

"And the garter toss!” Santiago, the best man, chimes in. They drag you both to the dance floor. Women crowd the dance floor as you toss your bouquet over your shoulder, your best friend catching it and eyeing her partner. 

Music blares as Frankie leads you to a chair in the middle of the dance floor. He teasingly lifts your dress to remove your garter, to be met with nothing. Your eyes bug out of your head, heat coursing through your veins.

“Where’s my garter?” You ask him. Santiago appears behind Frankie, taking something out of his back pocket and holding it out to Frankie. “Here it is!”

Laughter erupts amongst your guests as you hide your face in your hands, an embarrassed smile plastered on Frankie’s lips, meekly waving to the crowd. He pries your hands from your face, playfully rolling his eyes as he brushes off the embarrassment while helping you to your feet. Cheering and whooping fills the hall as you smile apologetically to the crowd as they roar, Frankie cupping your face and pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

Frankie is rotting my brain today obvi. this one's for all my Frankie girlies out there, shout out to y’all 🩷

thank you for reading! 🫶🏼

tag list: @undrthelights @gracieheartspedro @jenispunk @amanitacowboy @bastardmandennis @nostalxgic @tinygarbage @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @harriedandharassed

#happy frankie friday #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales

[thetriumphantpanda]

driving home for christmas | frankie morales

Summary | With a long drive ahead of you to reach your parents for Christmas, there's only one thing to do to pass the time.

Word Count | 2k

Pairing | Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings | This is basically porn without plot. Mentions of family Christmas, oral sex (M), allusions to oral sex (f), road head (pls be safe y'all), smattering of cock worship, lil bit of competency kink, dirty talk (y'all this man has hell of a mouth), a little bit of cumplay if you squint.

Authors Note | I don't even have anything to say other than, I love this man and this has made me realise I need to write him more. Enjoy!

Divider by the amazing @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

There’s something that always happens to you when you sit in the car alongside Frankie. The way he can effortlessly drive with one hand on the wheel, his fingers tapping along to the sounds of the radio, the way his free hand only leaves the top of your thigh to turn the wheel when it’s needed or to change gears and the way he always put his hand on the back of your seat when he’s reversing – it all makes you feel hot, watching his competency in action. It makes you want to fuck him.

But you’re already running late. Overslept this morning, Frankie’s fault for spending so long between your thighs the night before. Your parents, waiting at the other end of the journey to celebrate Christmas together for the first time, a text from your mother suggesting she’s slightly perturbed at your delay – her Christmas Eve meal pushed back a few hours, the bottles of champagne chilling but unopened until you arrive.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer, hermosa.” Frankie chuckles, catching your eyes trained on him, specifically the way his arms bulge when he shifts lanes on the highway.

“I don’t need one,” You shrug, “You’re always right here.”

He smiles lightly, watching as you pull your hands from your lap, set it on his knee and start slowly dragging your fingers up his jean-clad thigh. Frankie looks at you through the side of his eye, smirk splaying over his mouth as your hand moves higher.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?”

You shrug, “You shouldn’t be so fucking attractive then, should you?”

“That desperate to suck my cock that you can’t wait until tonight?” He teases, as your hand splays over the bulge growing in his jeans.

“Are you complaining?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“Not at all, baby,” He shifts in his seat a little, moving himself down so your fingers can work the button of his jeans, “You knock yourself out.”

It’s all the permission you need to unclip your seatbelt and lean over the centre console. Frankie shifts just a little to let you reach a warm hand beneath the material of his jeans and his underwear to pull his cock free, running your hand gently up and down his length. You revel in the way his head tips back against the seat, his eyes fluttering closed a little before he realises he has to keep an eye on the road.

You languidly move your hand up and down his cock, there’s no need to rush, you still have a few hours between you and your destination, and you like the way that Frankie sounds when you tease him a bit, when you know exactly what he wants but won’t give to him just yet. The way he sucks that plush bottom lip into his mouth to save himself from begging, but always ends up doing it anyways.

You watch his face closely as you drag your thumb over his head, flushed red and leaking, the way he inhales gently from his mouth as you drag that slick around the head of his cock, dragging your fist down and back up a few times before you pull your hand away altogether. You can’t help the smile that drags across your face when he groans at your hand being gone, head turning to watch you as you keep your eyes on him, spit fully into your palm before it’s circled back around the base of his cock, fingers tighter around him this time as you drag your hand back up and down, Frankie’s head hitting the headrest, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

“You okay, baby?” You ask, sickly sweet as your hand continues to move up and down his cock.

“Would be even better if you put your mouth on me, cariño.”

“What’s the rush?” You shrug, hand squeezing around his length a little, “We’ve got hours to go.”

He clears his throat when your thumb runs over the underside of his flushed head, over that sensitive spot that always makes him grip his hand in your hair when you flutter your tongue over it.

“Because there’s a high likelihood that I’m going to have to pull over once you’re finished and eat your cunt, baby.”

His words make you gasp, heat settling in your stomach and a sharp strike of want right between your legs. The thought of him so desperate for you that he would pull over, spread you out on the backseat and eat you until you cried, like he always did, and there was no getting around it, that would take time, he liked to take his time with you, and you were already running late.

You shift in your seat, sink your body down so you can lean over the centre console. Your hand still gripping his cock, you press your lips to the tiny sliver of skin just above, where his jeans are undone and his t-shirt ends, tongue darting out to taste his skin as your hand keeps pumping him gently.

Your hand grips him near the tip of his cock, holding him still so you can press your hot mouth to the base of him, soft kisses pressed to his entire length until you reach the head of his cock, flushed an angry shade of red now. You smirk to yourself as you dart the tip of your tongue out, running it gently across the head, catching the bead of slick that sits on the slit of him as you go.

His taste drives you wild, it always has. Slightly bitter, but not unpleasant, salty and musky and something distinctly Frankie too. When the first taste hits your tongue, there’s a switch that flicks in your brain, you want more of it, you want every drop that he can give you, so you finally do what he’s been pleading with you to do, you wrap your hot mouth around his head, free hand slipping down to cup his balls in your palm, tongue swirling over his head before you start moving your mouth down slowly on him, pulling your lips off him, hand following up and down his cock to spread the wetness your mouth has left all over him.

“I love your cock so much, Frankie.” You speak softly, nuzzling his length with your nose, watching as your hand squeezes as it moves up his cock, bead of precome pooling at his tip, your tongue licking it into your mouth.

“That right, baby?” He asks, tone low.

“Yeah,” You sigh, subtly trying to rub your thighs together for some relief, “It’s so perfect, always makes me feel so good.”

“You gonna show me how much you love it?” It almost like a dare, and you’ve always liked a challenge.

So with one hand still cupping his balls, fingers moving gently against them, you wrap your mouth back around him and take him as far down into your mouth as you can before he hits the back of your throat, your other hand working across the length of him you can’t fit in your mouth.

“Shit baby,” He chokes out as you set a pace of moving your mouth up and down him, hand following, spreading spit all over him, wetness pooling at the base of his cock, “Yeah, that’s it, just like that.”

His praise makes you weak, makes you wet, you can already feel the slick pooling in your panties, but you know he can do better, you know he can be nicer to you. You relax your jaw a little, move your mouth down a little further than you had been, tip of Frankie’s cock hitting your throat. You hold yourself there for a moment before you bob your head right there where you are, his cock punching at the back of your throat, the wet sounds of him thrusting up into your mouth filling the car until Frankie hits just a little too far down, making your throat constrict around him, gagging and spluttering on him, tears forming at your waterline as you pull off him, string of saliva keeping your mouth attached to his cock as you catch your breath.

Frankie brings a hand down, cupping your chin, tilting your head up to look at him, “Too big for you, huh, baby?” He asks, winking at the end, “Put your mouth back on me,” He always gets a little demanding when he’s getting close, “You know I love it when you choke on me.”

Your tongue darts across your bottom lip before his hand on your chin tangles in the back of your hair, pushing your head gently back towards his cock, pushing your mouth down onto him as far as he thinks you can go. He fists at your hair, flicker of pain settling across your scalp as he uses the leverage to move your head up and down in just the right pace that he can push your throat down onto him, but pull you back off just in time to save you from gagging on him.

He’s getting louder with his moans, and you can feel the slight tightening of his balls in your palm, he’s close. When he drags your head up the next time, you tease the underside of his head with your tongue, which has him gripping your hair tighter, keeping you still right there.

“Jesus, fuck,” He groans out, “Do that again.”

So you do, you keep the tip of your tongue flicking at the underside of his cock, one of your hands coming back to the base of him, pumping his length as you work your mouth over him.

“God damn it, baby, I’m gonna come.”

You moan around him, all the permission he needs to start moving your head again until he keeps you still with your lips wrapped around the base of his cock. You can feel the warm spurts of his cum before he lets out a ragged moan into the air of the car, that taste you love so much spreading out across your tongue, thick and viscose as he drains himself into your mouth.

You’re both still for a moment - you can hear him sucking in breath from above you, his hand loosening it’s grip on your hair to let you sit back up in your seat.

Much like he did before, he grips your chin in his hand, turns your face to his, “Show me.”

You open your mouth, stick your tongue out a little to show him the milky white pool of his cum in your mouth. He tilts your chin down, pad of his thumb dragging across your tongue a little before he closes your mouth for you, raised eyebrow waiting for you to do exactly what you want and swallow him down, opening your mouth again, sticking your tongue right out this time to show him that it’s all gone.

“Good girl.”

He finally lets you sit back properly into your chair, seatbelt back on as he moves to tuck himself back into his jeans.

“Nice work, Morales.” You chuckle, eyes settling on the road ahead, “Road head whilst it’s snowing and we’re still alive?”

It’s snowing a little now, not enough to prove a problem, but enough to make the bubble of excitement meet the bubble of want in your stomach. Christmas is here, you think, warm hand slipping over to rest on Frankie’s thigh, his own free hand coming down to cover your own, smiling at you.

“Well, would you look at that,” He tilts his head towards a sign, “Somewhere to pull over.”

His eyes are expectant, your eyes are wide, thighs rubbing together a little at what that means.

“Want me to eat your pussy, baby?”

But of course, it’s a rhetorical question, because of course you do, his fingers already tipping the indicator down, switching lanes so he can pull off the highway.

“Merry Christmas to us, I guess.”

#Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales fic #Frankie Morales fanfic #Frankie Morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #Pedro pascal #Frankie Morales Pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Sooooo…….how do you think Benny boi would handle being caught half-naked from out the shower by his darling?? He’s showering after winning his match-up she thought he was finished but to her surprise…….. this scenario has been stuck in my brain 💀💀

Adrenaline.

oh baby... thank you for this.

warnings - smut. cursing.

Masterlist. Inbox.

"Ben? You in here?"

You walk through the locker room, looking for your partner as you go. Eventually, when you reach the showers, you hear the water running.

"Babe?" Benny yells from behind the curtain. "That you?"

You pull it back and pop your head around, trying to keep your eyes on his.

"It's me. I'll just wait for you on the bench out here."

Before you can blink, a strong hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you into the shower, water drenching you immediately. You shriek, swatting at his chest to try and escape.

His palms find your hips, plastering your bodies together.

"Need you," he murmurs into your ear, brushing your hair away from your face. "Can't wait until we get home."

"I'm soaked," you whine.

"You will be."

"Asshole," you laugh, resting your forehead on his sternum. "I like this dress. Dry."

"Stop worrying," he soothes, rucking the material up and over your head, throwing it onto the tiled floor. "Let me take your mind off it, hmm?"

He pulls your underwear down your legs, chuckling when you step out of them willingly.

Benny places your hands on the wall, kicking your feet apart. Pressing kisses down your spine, he sighs softly, grabbing handfuls of your ass as he goes.

"Fuck, this is what I needed. You, all pretty and pliant for me. So good, baby. Such a good girl."

Benny lines himself up and slides home in one smooth movement, both of you gasping in unison.

"That's it," he coos. "Take it, baby. Like you know you can. Like you were made for it."

You drop your head onto your arm and let him mould you however he likes, clearly needing the outlet. He gets like this, after his fights. He vibrates with the energy of it, looking for a release in any way he can get it.

You've become his favourite solution.

"Ben," you whine. "Fuck, babe."

"Yeah, honey. Keep saying my name just like that, please."

Benny's rhythm is frantic, frazzled, rushed, but he still manages to hit exactly the right spots. He knows your body like the back of his hand, that much is clear.

"Close," you choke out, trying not to swallow the water that still beats down. "Benny."

"Come for me, pretty girl. Give me all you've got. Please. I want it baby, that's it."

His honeyed words send you over the edge, muscles tensing and eyes rolling back. Benny joins you, groaning lowly against the wet skin of your back.

You both try to catch your breath for a moment, Ben reaching over to turn off the water. You spin and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

"Better?"

"So much better," he chuckles.

You're about to respond when you hear the locker room door open, the sounds of multiple heavy footsteps filling the room.

"Benny! Champion! Where you at?"

You look at him with wide eyes, both of you realising the hilarity of the situation. Benny reaches out of the curtain to grab his dry shirt from the bench, tossing it to you and wrapping a towel around his waist. You throw it on and follow him out towards the boys sheepishly, knowing you're not about to get away with what you've just done.

"There you are!"

The boys look between you and Benny, putting the pieces together.

"You two are ridiculous," Frankie laughs.

Santiago winks at you as you bury your head in Benny's shoulder, laughter bouncing off the lockers around the room.

#benny miller x reader #benny miller smut #benny miller fluff #benny miller #benny miller imagine #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fluff #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #benny miller x reader smut #benny miller x you #benny miller x female reader #benny miller x y/n #frankie morales x reader #will miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier x reader smut

[joelsgreys]

more hearts than mine

Frankie Morales x Female Reader

summary: Frankie promises you he’s not going anywhere.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. no physical description of reader, no mention of her age, reader has both of her parents, reader has a little sister (15 and unnamed), reader has a close relationship with her family (cannot say i am writing this from experience oop), reader is from a small, unnamed town somewhere in the midwest (state not specified), established relationship, mention of ex-boyfriend, mentions of alcohol consumption, reassurance, fluff, smutty themes towards the end but no smut.

word count: 2k

a/n: this was not planned and very spur of the moment. i think i needed a palette cleanse from writing so much joel. it’s my first time writing for frankie but i like the way it turned out. <3 i it’s 3 am, i wrote this in an hour and it is not proofread, so please excuse any errors. this is based on a song called more hearts than mine by ingrid andress.

“It’s late,” you worry. “Where could they be?”

Amused, your mother watches you anxiously pace back and forth in front of the dining room table. “My darling, can you please relax? They probably hit some traffic on their way back home from the lake. I bet you anything those two will be walking through the front door any second now,” she assures you. At that precise moment, her cell phone vibrates on the table, the loud buzzing noise garnering her attention. She picks it up and raises her eyebrows in complete surprise. “Oh. Or maybe not. Your father just texted me and said they’re stopping for a couple of drinks at the bar. He says not to wait up for them.”

Halting mid pace, you whirl around and stare at her. 

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” She shows you the text. “See?”

“Jesus,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you drop down into the chair across from hers.

“That’s a pretty good sign. Don’t you think so, honey?”

It is because your father taking your boyfriend out on a fishing trip and then taking him to his favorite bar for drinks afterwards means that their time alone together has gone well. But, even though your father had clearly taken a liking to him, he won’t ever show it. Sure, he’ll buy him dinner and he’ll buy him drinks, he’ll check his tires and take a look underneath the hood of his pickup truck to make sure everything looks good, but he’ll do it with a scowl on his face and a standoffish attitude.

“He hates me, baby. Your old man hates me,” Frankie declared after his first dinner with your family. You had both arrived in your hometown that same evening after a gruelling, sixteen hour drive to the midwest. Despite being exhausted from the trip, he’d put his best foot forward for them—he’d charmed your mother and your little sister, had them both wrapped around his finger by the time dessert had been served. But your father, oh he had been much harder for him to win over. “He barely said two words to me all night.”

“My dad doesn’t hate you,” you swore to him, rubbing a soft, soothing circle into his broad back. “Do you want to know how I know that?”

“How?”

“Because he poured you a drink.”

He’d snorted. “What, and that means he likes me?”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” you joked with a giggle. “It’s still too early to tell if he likes you. But one thing is for sure, he doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t break out a bottle of whiskey for someone he hates, Frankie.”

Sighing, you lift your legs, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Poor Frankie. He’s probably spent the better part of the whole day just trying to figure him out.

“I like him,” your mother says after a minute. “I like him a lot.”

“What a coincidence,” you grin. “I like him a lot too.”

She laughs. “I’m serious! He’s incredible, darling. He is so handsome. He’s sweet. Seems like he’s got a really good head on his shoulders—”

“Are we talking about Francisco?” Your sister walks into the dining room with can of Dr. Pepper in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

“As a matter of fact, we are.” Your mother smiles. “Isn’t he great?”

“He’s kinda perfect, actually.” She takes a casual sip of her soda and raises an eyebrow at you. “I have to admit though, I’m afraid to get attached to Frankie. You know, after what happened with Jake—”

You wince at the mention of your ex-boyfriend’s name.

Your mother hisses her name, angrily.

“I’m just saying! When he broke up with you, it’s like he broke up with all of us. It sucked.” She shrugs, adding, “I mean, even dad was sad about it for months. Wasn’t he, mom?”

“Don’t you have a paper to write?” Your mother glares at her.

Your sister starts towards the staircase, but stops and glances over her shoulder. “I like Frankie,” she tells you, smiling wryly. “And I really hope he sticks around.” With that, she disappears upstairs.

Sighing heavily, your mom turns to you. “Don’t listen to her. She’s only fifteen, she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t understand what happened—”

Pushing away from the table, you stand up. 

“I’m going to take a walk,” you murmur. “I need some fresh air.”

“Hermosa?”

You stir at the sound of Frankie’s voice.

“Baby. Hey. Wake up.”

“Mm?” you mumble sleepily. “Frankie, what are—ow!”

You groan when he switches on the lamp on the beside table. Rolling over, you bury your face into your pillow.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, chuckling softly. The twin sized mattress squeaks, dipping as he somehow squeezes himself beside you on your childhood bed. He’s staying in the guest room down the hallway—you parents, who were incredibly old school, had insisted the two of you sleep in separate bedrooms during your stay. Draping his arm around you, he leans down and nuzzles into the side of your face. Even with your nose buried in your pillow, you pick up the scent of sunscreen mingled with beer. “Just wanted to tell you I’m back home.”

Lifting your head, you blink furiously until your blurred vision stabilizes.

“What—what time is it?”

“Eleven.” Frankie’s cheeks and nose are red, sunburned from having been out on your dad’s boat all afternoon. You’re willing to bet he’d forgotten to put the sunscreen on his face. Even though you’d warned him a hundred times not to forget.

“What?” You sit up, prompting him to do the same. “It’s eleven and you only now just got back?”

“Your old man took me to Gordon’s,” Frankie explains, referring to one of the only few bars your small town had to offer. It was the place where you would meet with your old high school friends to catch up with each other whenever you were home visiting. At some point this week, you would be sitting in a booth at that old bar with them, introducing Frankie, and squirming when they began to tell him embarrassing stories of all those crazy nights from your senior year. “We went in with plans to have a couple beers before coming home, but then we ran into some of his buddies there. He introduced me, they bought us more drinks, and we played a game of pool. Your dad whooped my ass, of course.”

“How did fishing go?”

“Great. Y’know, once he stopped looking at me like he wanted to throw me overboard.”

You let out an amused huff. “He would never.”

“I don’t know. That man is pretty hard to read.” Frankie reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “One minute we’d be talking, shooting the shit while we waited for the fish to bite, and the next he would look at me like he was seriously thinking about pushing me off his boat and into the water.” He squeezes your hand, a deep laugh rumbling through his chest. “I spent all goddamn day with him and I still can’t tell if he likes me yet or not.”

Lifting his hand, you press a tender kiss to the back of it, a sweet token of affection.

“He likes you, Frankie,” you murmur against his skin. “I know it. My whole family likes you. Except my mom—”

He stiffens. “What?”

“She loves you.”

Frankie turns to you. Despite your smile, he can see the hint of concern in your eyes. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

You hesitate.

After what your sister had said earlier that evening, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made a mistake and brought him home too soon. You and Frankie had been together for about six months now, and besides having a drawer of your things at his place for when you stayed overnight, you two hadn’t really sat down to talk about what the next step in your relationship would be—you and Frankie hadn’t discussed the possibility of a future together. Truth be told, you had never felt the need to question him about where this was heading. You’d been perfectly content in allowing things to unfold between you without putting any kind of pressure on yourself, or on him. At least, up until now, you had been content.

You’d been silly to think bringing Frankie home to meet your family wouldn’t be all that big of a deal, that it wouldn’t make you consider what came next. But you had forgotten how easily your mother falls in love, how quickly your little sister can form an attachment, and how your father, despite being rough around the edges, feels every heartache you go through as if it’s his own.

You think back to when your previous relationship went down in flames, you remember the helpless look on your father’s face whenever he would see you crying. “I never liked him,” he’d said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey over ice. But that had been a lie. He’d seen him as the son he never had. He lost something, too. Your whole family had to heal from that loss along with you.

Part of you is afraid that it could happen again.

“Amor?”

Frankie’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

You glance down at your hand in his. “Frankie, the last thing I want to do is scare you off,” you start to say, a nervous edge to your tone. “Or put any kind of pressure on you to give me anything more than what you have already given me. But now that you’ve met my family, I can’t help but worry a little bit.”

He frowns. “What are you worried about?”

Sighing, you confess, “My last relationship—it didn’t end very well, Frankie. My family loved him, adored him the way I can see they’re already starting to adore you. When he broke up with me, he broke more hearts than just mine.” You force yourself to look up, and meet his gaze with a wistful smile. “I guess there’s a part of me that’s scared it’ll happen again.”

Frankie’s dark brown eyes soften. “Oh baby, there’s no need to be scared. That’s never gonna happen.”

“How can you be so sure it’ll never happen?”

“Easy, because I love you. And I know you love me.” He reaches over with his free hand and he cups the side of your face, his thumb grazing over the soft skin of your cheekbone. “I’m in this for the long haul. I wouldn’t have driven sixteen hours across the country with you to come meet your family if I wasn’t. I’m serious about you—I’m serious about us, baby.”

Frankie leans in, gently pressing his mouth to yours in a chaste, but sweet kiss.

“Do you wanna know what I see when I look at you?” he mumbles against your lips.

“What do you see?”

“Mi futuro,” he tells you. “I see my future.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest. “You do?”

“I do. Believe me, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, and so is your family,” Frankie grins. “Your dad is gonna have plenty of opportunities to contemplate throwing me off his boat and into the lake.”

You giggle as he kisses you again before trailing his lips down to your neck. “Frankie,” you say his name warningly as he pushes you onto your back. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently, positioning himself on top of you. He plants his hands on either side of your head and dips his head, nipping lightly at the tender flesh over your pulse point. “How thin are these walls?”

“Francisco Morales, no, you are not fucking me in my parent’s house, not in my childhood bedroom—”

His bulge brushes against your thigh and you gasp.

“Guess I’ll head back to the guest room, then,” Frankie murmurs, feathering one last kiss onto your neck.

He starts to climb off of you and your hands shoot out, curling around fistfuls of his shirt to stop him.

“I can be quiet,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip. You take one of his hands and guide it underneath the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing to the apex of your thighs. “Can you?”

“Hermosa,” Frankie groans, running a finger along the damp cotton of your panties. He slips it beneath the fabric, his blood rushing south when he meets your slick folds. “God, I fucking hope so, or else I’ll actually end up at the bottom of that fucking lake.”

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#fic: more hearts than mine #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #Frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales drabble #frankie morales fluff #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you

[gracie7209]

Amaryllis Chapter 8: The Call

Pairing: Frankie x f!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Language, lots of angst, but there’s hopeful bits too, sad Santi, sad Reader, talk of childbirth (not in detail whatsoever), lots of inner thoughts… I’m sorry if I left out anything!

A/N: Trying something a little different this time by essentially adding in a chapter prologue… I’m nervous about the whole thing honestly. Did a few random things that idk how they’ll be received but at this point oh well 🤷🏼‍♀️ I’m having a hard time getting out of my head on this one, so I’m just going to let it go and see what happens. Any mistakes are also mine!

As always I appreciate any and all feedback, just please be kind ❤️ (Or send me a dm if something is glaringly awful.)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

—

**Frankie was found by a group of villagers who took him in to assess his injuries. The guys had already left Colombia, leaving Frankie to make his way on his own.

He sleeps it off for a few days, and when he wakes up he’s angry. Tom knowingly did this. He knew the guys were able to see what was happening, so he made it look like an accident. Reaching out and screaming his name as he tumbled down. Tom was very good at manipulation, and for the longest time, especially in the service, he had Frankie completely under his spell. So while the guys saw them fighting, Tom swore the end result wasn’t intended to kill him… He was angry, but would never try to kill one of his own. Frankie just slipped…. He fell and there was nothing anyone could’ve done to stop it. The guys bought it. Frankie couldn’t blame them. The entire situation was fucked and up until that moment, Frankie never would’ve imagined that Tom would actually try to kill him.

Fortunately for Frankie though, he walked away due to his fall being partially broken by a dense brush that saved his life. Had he been just a few feet away in either direction, he might not have been so lucky**

—

When he wakes up, Frankie’s extremely disoriented. He can tell he’s been out for awhile, so when he asks what day it is, he’s not surprised to find out it’s been four days since Tom pushed him down the mountainside.. Before attempting to move, he takes stock of his injuries. He feels like death, but he’s definitely had worse. Looking down at his left hand, he sees a makeshift splint keeping his wrist immobile and some of his fingers are taped together… Moving further down, his right leg is propped up and seems to be wrapped in a simple type ace bandage, but he can see how swollen it looks even under the wrapping. Taking his right hand he slowly moves it over his torso, where he’s felt a lot of pressure and finds more wrapping around his midsection— broken ribs then.

He needed to get to a phone. But he also thinks about his situation. Right now, with a few broken ribs and at best a badly sprained ankle, he’s going to be down for a little while. The fact that he’s here and not with the guys means that they believe he didn’t survive the fall. Frankie knows that Tom’s actions have crossed a line that can’t be undone this time. This could work to his advantage though, if he plays it right.

He needed to come up with a plan, while allowing himself to heal. He would talk to Santi first, but he needed to give himself and the guys time to let this all sink in.

When he asks how to get to somewhere with a phone, he’s directed to a nearby village, which is also seemingly lacking in technology. This back and forth goes on for a few weeks before he finally, finally finds something from the 20th century and he’s able to use an actual phone.

Frankie reaches out to Santi because while he was the most familiar with the area, he was also his closest friend and he was just as fed up with Tom’s bullshit as Frankie.

“Hello?”

“Pope? Pope it’s me, It’s Cat…..” Frankie’s voice is scratchy and raw from lack of use…

“Is this a fucking joke? Who the hell is this!?”

“It’s ME you dumb shit.”

“Fish? How……????”

Santi is quiet on his end. Frankie is praying the line didn’t disconnect.. “Pope? Shit…. You still there man?”

“Yeah… I’m, I’m here.. I just. I need a minute…..” comes Santi’s garbled reply. He’s practically choking on his words.

Santi and Frankie had been friends for a very long time. They met in high school long before they even considered joining the military. They had practically been joined at the hip, so when it came up, there was no question that they would join together.

“Holy shit… ok, Fish… Fish! What the fuck happened? I can’t believe this..” Frankie breaks down once Santi realizes it’s actually him. Just so happy to hear someone familiar. He tells Santi about the state he was in when he woke up, and about how he thinks he was able to survive the fall.

He takes a moment before asking Santi what happened when they decided to leave. He knows that they wouldn’t have left if they thought there was a chance he was alive. Even so, he doesn’t mean to sound accusatory when he asks “Why did you leave?”

“He started yelling for you. Tom was on the edge looking down, hand outstretched and everything. We all ran over, but you were gone. Tom said you guys were arguing and that things got physical, but didn’t realize how close you both were to the edge. Said your foot slipped and he tried reaching for you, but didn’t get there in time. He said he was angry with you, but he would never try to kill one of his best friends. We didn’t have the time to argue. We tried getting to you… we did! Benny refused to leave without you. He even had us make a line and drop him down, but the brush in the middle was so thick we were never able to see you. When we couldn’t find you, we thought the worst. And with everything else, the chopper, Lorea’s men? We didn’t…. Fuck! I’m…...”

The shame in his voice makes Frankie’s heart twist. “We could’ve found you…. I’m sorry Fish, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this….”

“It was Tom,” Frankie says under his breath.

“What?”

“It was Tom. He…. He looked me dead in the eyes before shoving me backwards.”

Neither of them say a word for a few minutes. Both digesting the information they’d just heard. He knows they don’t have a ton of time so Frankie tells Santi that he just needs to get home. But Tom can have no knowledge that he’s alive. None. He has to come up with a plan, but what can honestly be done? Initially, he wanted nothing more than to return the favor. He had plenty of time to think of every way he’d go about it if he had the chance. But, being here this long, the anger has all but dissipated.

Frankie’s thoughts circle back to you. Just needing to know if you’re ok.

“Santi?”

“Yeah?”

“How is she?” He knows that his first priority should be about getting himself home, but he just can’t help it. Santi doesn’t ask who you’re referring to.

“She’s due anytime now. Tom has kept her under lock and key, but I asked and he told me she’s ok…. Hasn’t let anyone see her, but if we’re being honest, we’ve all kind of been in our own heads since that day. We thought you were gone and it’s been hard. Benny and Will went home to see their family. And I, uh, well, you know Cat….”

Frankie knew how Pope handled these types of things and it wasn’t usually by legal means. He couldn’t fault him for how he chose to deal. They’d all done things they weren’t proud of and he understood.

“I still can’t believe I’m talking to you. I thought I lost you man….” The last word gets caught in Santi’s throat. “This is insane.”

“I know… I know..” Frankie doesn’t know if he’s ever heard Pope this caught off guard. He’s always, always been on point. Nothing gets to him. Nothing shocks him. But it seems that Frankie calling him today has upended his whole life and Frankie guesses he has. It’s not every day your best friend comes back from the dead.

“The guys are going to fucking lose it!! Benny has been a complete wreck so Will took him home to try to help. Will’s been quiet, but you know how he is. He processes things differently. Are you going to call them, or do you want me to call them? They should be back next week.”

“No, no stop. Santi, wait. They can’t know.”

“What? why? They think you’re fucking dead Fish!

“I Know!! Listen to me, I know.. But I need your help. Tom can’t know I’m alive. Not yet. I think I have a plan, but I need you to trust me. Please.”

Frankie won’t say anything else unless it’s in person. Tom is not only a fucking lunatic, but he’s smart. And paranoid. He wouldn’t doubt it, if Tom had been wondering if he was truly dead or not. No body, no murder, no body, no proof someone’s dead.

“Never count your money before it’s in your pocket, Benjamin,” he recalls his words of advice to Benny back in the shipping container before the recce with a sigh.

Basically, Tom was never one to assume anything without proof.

“Ok ok… Well, what do you need me to do?”

“I just need you to get me home. The guys can’t know. Benny wouldn’t be able to keep that a secret and Will doesn’t need the extra baggage of keeping anything from his brother, so we’ll just leave them both out of it for now.”

“Alright, alright…. What’s the plan?”

“Just get me home. We’ll talk then. Can you track this location?”

“Yeah, yeah…. You gonna be ok?”

“I’ll manage. Call this number. Ask for Javier.”

“Javier?? Who the hell is Javier?”

“It’s me….”

“Ohhhh, gotcha. Sorry—” Santi takes a breath and continues,

“—Look, I was actually set to head back down there in a few weeks. I wanted to get back into it, try to focus on something else for awhile and especially when we left Lorea’s…. We never finished that job…”

“Whatever you gotta do is fine. I just need to get home.”

“I’ll get you home man…. It’s just going to take a little bit longer. I can push it up by maybe a week, but anything more than that and they’ll start questioning why I’m leaving so soon. Can you make it that long?”

Frankie realizes he’s been out here for about a month now… What’s two more weeks?

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to. It’ll give me time to sort some more things out.”

Frankie sighs… “Hey Santi?” He hates to put any more stress on him, but he has to ask….

“Could you uh, do me one more favor?”

“Course, man.”

“Can you please check in on her? I just need to know she’s ok.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but Fish, it’s gotten bad…. Tom won’t say much, but it’s hard to pretend your very pregnant wife doesn’t exist. He never lets her leave. Won’t let anyone in either. I saw her through the window last week and she looked ok, but like she was somewhere else. When I asked Tom he just brushed it off as pregnancy stuff. Said that she’s getting close to the end and left it at that.”

“Alright, I get it.” Frankie is leaning on the wall with his head on his forearm, his eyes shut tightly. He can’t hear much more.

“Just - if you’re able to, please let her know everything is going to be ok. She… She doesn’t deserve this shit...”

Fuck.

He’s letting it get to him, but he knows there’s nothing he can do right now. He breathes in and out slowly….. He just needs to get home. Then, he can start making things happen.

“Sorry Pope… Sorry.”

“It’s ok man. I understand. I know… well I’ve known for a while now. How you feel about her? It’ll be ok. I’ll check in and I’ll keep you updated. Give me two weeks and I’ll get you home.”

“Thanks man. Just call me. I’ll be close by.”

“You got it Fish.. Be safe. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, Santi hangs up the line. Frankie hangs up the corded phone, putting it back into the receiver attached to the wall.. His head is still against his forearm, eyes closed. He absentmindedly wipes away the stray tear running down his face, breathing in and out slowly just trying to keep it together.

Only two weeks. Basically, no time at all.

—

Two weeks.

Two full weeks — 14 days.

Frankie was counting down the hours, the minutes, until he could go home. Every day was torture. Finally after so long on his own he had gotten through to someone — finally heard a familiar voice and the happiness he felt was ripped away as soon as the line cut.

He was still healing from his injuries. His hand still bandaged and his ribs made it hard to breathe if he was moving around too much. But he couldn’t stand to sit still. It made his mind race when he couldn’t keep his hands busy with something else and the last place he wanted to be was stuck in his own head.

Frankie knew he needed to stay put. But it was killing him to just sit and wait. He was grateful that it was his left hand that took the most damage so when he could, he would write. It was the only thing he could do that allowed his mind to stay focused, without the physicality he was so used to. He would write down everything. Every thought, idea, plan, hope — anything and everything because he not only wanted to document his time here but also put words to the plan that had been forming in his head of how to get you out of Tom’s grasp and allow you to have a life of your choosing.

Frankie thought about you more than he thought was necessary. He was always thinking about you if he was being honest with himself. After your night together, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

He loved you. He knew it beforehand and after, but as soon as the guys left for Colombia, Frankie had no doubts about his feelings for you. He knew he would do whatever it took to make sure you got the life you wanted for yourself. Even if that didn’t necessarily include him, it would be your choice to live whatever way you saw fit.

Somehow every time Frankie would put pen to paper, no matter where he started, it would always come back to something about you. Sometimes his inner monologue would find its way out and he would converse with himself like he was talking to a close friend. Most of the time though, he would talk to you…

—

— Querida I miss you… I have literally been counting the damn days til I can see you again. Fucking lame I know. I would ask how you’re doing, but Pope has filled me in a little. He says the baby is due anytime now. I just want you to know that I have thought about you, both of you, almost nonstop since the minute I left. I never should’ve left. So goddamn stupid… Right now, you have no idea that I’m even here. No idea that I’m writing to you and doing everything I can to get home. But you will. You can’t know until I take care of things though. I want to hear your voice. I miss our little talks at the diner. It was just easy with you. We’d talk about pretty much anything…. the damn weather, the buildings in the city. How you missed home sometimes. How scared you are to become a mother…… you’re going to be an amazing mother.

I’m not great at this, but there are so many things I want to tell you. I meant it when I said I would get you out of this situation and I will. Nothing can stop me at this point. Not even death apparently… I’m really fucking glad you won’t be reading this because wow… I would “lol”, but I’m literally handwriting this……….

Anyway, as if you could hear me. Aaaaahhhhh!!!!

Ok better. God get a grip dude…

I want to see you, to touch you, to hear your voice because I’m pretty sure I’m going insane. Pope knows and he’s going to bring me back.

I realize that I don’t even know if you’re interested in having any kind of relationship at all, let alone with me. I hope you do. I never really thought I would ever want something as much as I want to be with you. Huh.. I don’t think I’ve actually voiced that thought even to myself until now. Interesting.

Since that night though, that fucking night that haunts my dreams, all I can think about is YOU. That one taste was more than enough to have me addicted and I’ve fucked my hand more times than I will ever admit out loud at the thought. I can taste you on my tongue still. Can still feel you around me and I fucking lose it. Fuck I need to quit otherwise I’ll be back at it.

Hell, it’s lonely here. Soon though, I’ll be back in the States and can finish this. God I miss you. I’ll be there soon. —

—

Santi called about ten days after he and Frankie first spoke; this time it was about you.

Frankie had talked to him a handful of times in between, just going over vague plans, times and places etc for when he returned to Colombia.

He would ask Frankie or “Javier” how he was getting along, how his injuries were healing etc. This was different though.

—“Fish?” He seemed out of breath… and the words were pouring out of his mouth…

“Um I don’t even know where to start. I’ll be there in four days, but man you have to know something…”

“Hey, hey, slow down, just breathe.”

“Ok, shit. She, uh fuck. Ok…. Look,”

“Come on Pope, spit it out! Is everything ok?” Frankie’s heart was in his throat.

“It, um, well it happened. I guess they got into a fight and it uh, jump started the whole process… She punched the shit out of him though.”

“Slow down, so she had the baby??”

“Yes”

“Is she, are they ok??”

“I think so. She fucked up his nose though and I guess the force, or the stress or whatever put things in motion. I just left the hospital.”

“Why would she do that? She knows what he’s capable of. Why would she put herself at risk like that?”

“She’s a spitfire, I’ll give her that. She did a number on his face. Left him with two black eyes. I would’ve given her a hug if she wasn’t uh, busy with other things.”

“Fuck….” Frankie is squeezing the pressure point between his eyes. He’s not sure why, but he just assumed that he’d be back before the baby was born.

Santi can’t help himself but ask the question, “Did you two ever, um, you know. Did you—?” But Frankie interjects.

“Did we fuck? Is that what you’re asking?” He didn’t mean to come off so harsh, but he was having a hard time keeping it together.

“Whooaaaaa, calm down pendejo…. But yeah. Did you? Actually??? I mean shit, I knew you had feelings for each other, but,”

“Yeah… We did.” —He says it, not with pride, but simply put. “About two weeks before we left out.”

“Shiiiiiittt…….”

He doesn’t want to focus on that aspect, so Frankie tries getting back to the ‘you hitting Tom in the face,’ part.

“Was it just her who did a number on him or? Did he hurt her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. She’s refused to let him into the room and has had security keep him out.”

“Shit, ok….. Get me home. Please. I’ll be ready. Let me know if anything changes, but I need to go. I can’t deal with this right now being this far away. I need to keep my head on straight if I’m going to get her out of this.”

“I’ll be there soon buddy. It won’t be long now.”

—

Frankie was ready four days ago, but it was finally time.

He and Santi went over coordinates, pickup and flight times and what to expect when they got back to the States..

How does one just come back from the dead?

Luckily, Santi was a greedy shit and after Frankie fell, he took all of Frankie’s things that weren’t on his person and kept them at his house. To the outside world, Frankie was currently just a missing person. There was no way they could come forward with what they “knew” or thought actually happened. No one outside of the five of them even knew about their “mission” as it was relayed only to certain people as just a Guy’s Trip. So it wasn’t noticed when they came back to the States’ a man short. Frankie’s family lived in Texas. His Mom and Step-dad along with his older sister. After they got back, Santi knew he had to at least tell them that Frankie was missing. They of course filed a missing persons report, which Santi expected. But he couldn’t go through with trying to help plan a funeral… Not yet. He knew he could only push it off for so long, but they had to come up with a cover story to explain and no one was in a state of mind to even think about that at the time.

Thankfully, it no longer mattered and instead Frankie was about to come barreling back into everyone’s lives. But not until Tom was dealt with.

Frankie was adamant that no one could know anything…. There could be no inkling that he was alive. Santi just had to trust that Frankie knew what he was doing.

—

After the longest four days of his life and an even longer month, Frankie was going home. Santi showed up right on time like they planned. It was just after dawn and Frankie hadn’t slept a bit the night before.

He was ready and anxious and there were so many thoughts running through his mind, that he wasn’t prepared for the emotional toll that seeing a familiar face would put on him.

His ribs were still healing, but he could care less that he couldn’t breathe when Santi hugged him without a word. It wasn’t necessary to speak and Frankie wouldn’t have been able to if he tried. He was crying; so overwhelmed with every emotion that he couldn’t form a single syllable, just a yelp at the initial impact of Santi’s iron grip and Frankie’s own hushed cries as the weight of the last month and a half came full circle.

Frankie cried and Santi just held him through it. Hell, he would never admit it but Santi was crying himself.

Frankie’s entire body was trembling. Everything he’d gone through, he had been alone.

“Hey, hey…. It’s alright man, I’ve got you. I’ve got you….” Santi whispers to Frankie, just letting him know that he’s there. He couldn’t imagine what kind of hell this last month had been for him. He looks ok? Santi thinks to himself. His hand is bandaged up and he was limping toward the main area when Santi first pulled up… he’s got some scarring on his face and could definitely benefit from some real food, but overall, it’s still Frankie. Someone Santi thought he’d lost and would never see again. That realization washes over him and he shudders at the thought.

Frankie is here, he’s alive and he’s coming home.

Santi clears his throat..

“So, uh, Javier?” Frankie snorts at the name….

“Where’d that come from?” Santi says with a note of curiosity… he’s trying to cut through the thick air that’s surrounding them currently. There will be more time for that when everything else is said and done.

“I didn’t want to give my real name in case Tom decided to backtrack and go asking around. It’s stupid honestly, but Tom’s a paranoid bastard so I wanted to cover my ass—

—Plus, she uh, that was a little inside joke we had. She said that when she first met me that I looked like this guy from a TV show. She never really watched it, but I guess Tom had sometimes. It was set in Colombia and the fucking irony of that? I’m in fucking Colombia, so I thought it’d be funny.” He chuckles lightly to himself, thoughts taking him somewhere else entirely and Santi groans…

“Jesus dude, you got it bad…. “

Yeah I do.. Frankie thinks to himself. He just gives a small smile and shakes his head..

“Well, here. I brought you something.”

Santi reaches for his phone, scrolling through until he turns the screen to Frankie.

“I convinced her to let me in while Tom was gone. Now don’t kill me but I wanted to see how she felt about you….”

“You did what??”

“I didn’t tell her anything… Well, I told her I was making a memorial video for you to give to your Mom. I assured her that Tom wouldn’t see it, but I asked her to tell me what she would say to you if she had the chance. This is what she said…”

“Why would you do that to her? She just had a fucking baby. You can’t just…” but, Santi cuts him off.

“Just watch it.”

Frankie swallows and takes a breath before looking back down at the phone and hitting play—

He sucks in a breath at seeing your face. God, you were beautiful. You had obviously taken the phone from Santi to record yourself in private. It looks like you’re laying in a hospital bed, the lights are turned down and you are holding a little bundle in the crook of your free arm.

—

“Frankie, I still don’t believe that any of this is real. I miss you…

The baby is finally here.. he decided to make his entrance very memorable…”

Frankie smiles, he remembers what Santi told him had jump started your labor and he couldn’t be more proud of you….

“I’m so sorry Frankie. I know why you did what you did, but I wish more than anything that things could’ve been different.

I talk to you every night.. I hope that you hear me. I can’t say it out loud, but I hope you’re able to feel my heart from wherever you are. It’s been yours for a long time.”

You wait a moment before looking down at the bundle in your arms..

“I’d like you to meet someone.”

The phone pans down to a little wrinkled and pink face, with dark brown hair. Eyes closed and napping peacefully. He looks like you.

“He will be treasured, and is already so loved by everyone who’s met him. You would love him, Frankie. And I will make sure he knows you and loves you just as I do.

You gave me so much in the short time we had. You showed me what it meant to be cared for and for that I will always be grateful.

I will talk to you always, every day, until we meet again.

I love you Frankie. I wish I had been able to tell you sooner.”

Frankie doesn’t miss the tears filling your eyes, even when you give the camera a smile, he sees your pain and he wants nothing more than to take it away.

—

“She got pretty emotional after she gave me the phone back, and I told her that you could hear her. I just left out the part where you would actually get to hear it.”

He is doing everything he can to keep it together… he doesn’t want to waste any more time crying like a fool when he could be making his way back home.

Santi claps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“You ready?”

Taking a deep breath, he stands up straight and gives Santi a firm nod.

Frankie is finally going home.

—

Taglist: @boliv-jenta @just-here-for-the-moment @hnt-escape @bitchwitch1981 @tanzthompson @readingiskeepingmegoing @imaswellkid @queridopascal-main @something-tofightfor @jb2856 @pastelnap @littlemisspascal @quica-quica-quica @sunnysidekit @harriedandharassed @autumnleaves1991-blog @mymo-n @wildemaven @rhoorl @pimosworld @dashavau

A/N: For Frankie’s note to himself, essentially he’s just writing everything that comes into his head verbatim. For us reading it back, it looks weird, but it’s honestly something I do IRL all the time… No one is supposed to see it lol so it’s definitely cringey 😂

#frankie x female reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie x you #frankie x reader #frankie x f!reader #frankie morales imagine #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie 'catfish' morales #frankie triple frontier #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #amaryllis #amaryllis chapter 8

[polaroidpascal]

let me || frankie morales

AO3 || MASTERLIST

pairing : frankie morales x f!reader

summary : after two weeks of frankie coming home knocking on death’s door from exhaustion, you decide to give him a break.

tags : fluff !!, no use of y/n, you taking care of frankie, very small nods to sex, undressing, showering together, cuddling, short and sweet glimpse into domestic life with frankie 🥹

WC : ~1.8k

a/n : i’ve never written pure fluff before, but the frankie brainrot has reached an all-time high and i desperately need to take care of this man. hope you like this little slice of domestic life with frankie 🫶 (not beta read or proofread much, just psa!)

You’re cozied up on your recliner reading a book in the soft light from your lamp when Frankie finally comes home from work.

He opens the door gently, tiredly. He never knows if you’re going to be asleep or not, so he errs on the side of caution just in case. Plus, he’s too exhausted to make more noise anyway.

You watch him from the corner as he sets down his keys. They clink against the ceramic dish that he made for you forever ago after you had moved in together. He sets down his backpack opting to unpack it tomorrow and hangs up his hat, running his hand and fingers through his curls with a long, tired sigh before he kicks off his boots.

He turns around to see you in your pajamas wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, book in hand, the lamp illuminating you from behind like an angel descending from heaven.

No amount of exhaustion can keep the tired smile from blooming across his face. “Hey, baby,” he says, his hand now rubbing the back of his neck to soothe the sore muscles there.

“Hi, love,” you say back sweetly. “How was work?”

He answers with another sigh and tired eyes, his smile fading just a bit remembering the absolutely packed couple of weeks he’s had. “It was alright, just tired.”

Frankie has come home beyond exhausted every day for the past two weeks. The first few nights, you were already asleep by the time he came home, unable to keep your eyes open any longer to wait for him. You had sent him a text telling him to wake you up when he got home, but of course your sweet boyfriend would never do that, not when you look so peaceful in your sleep.

One night, you happened to be awake when he came home, much to his surprise. He tried to play off how drained he was, bringing you in for a hug that swallowed you whole in his broad figure, whisking you off to your bedroom to try and ignore his exhaustion. But you could see it in his eyes from the moment he walked in that he was barely hanging on, and he definitely slept hard that night.

After that, you made sure you were up every night long enough to catch him walking through the door, picking up a new novel series to pass the time while you waited.

You rise from the recliner and shuffle over to Frankie in your fuzzy socks and his t-shirt loosely fitting your frame, the wide neckline exposing your collarbones. “You look tired, Frankie. And I’m not saying that in a mean way.”

He takes you in his arms and kisses the top of your head breathing another sigh, like he’s relearning how to breathe after being so busy all day. “I know, baby.”

You stay wrapped in each other's arms for a minute, Frankie’s head resting atop your own. His dead weight grows each second that passes and you let him stay until you can’t hold him up anymore. You rub and pat his back gently before you whisper, “Why don’t we go take a shower, hm?” looking up when he lifts his head again.

He looks back at you with his big, brown, pouty eyes and mumbles, “But you’re already in your pajamas…”

“I know,” you nod, reaching your hand up to cup his cheek and glancing across his face at his tired and beautiful features. “You’re always taking care of me. Can you let me take care of you this time?”

His eyes are still pouting and nearly half closed now as he pauses, then gently nods, letting you lead him to your bedroom.

He stands in the middle of the room reaching down to the hem of his shirt to undress but your hands stop him. He looks at you confused.

“Let me,” you say. He has no protests.

He watches you lift his shirt exposing his stomach and chest, raising his arms so you can slip it over his head. You toss it to the side while Frankie reaches down to take his socks off. Your hands move down to his belt, slipping it out of the loops of his jeans. It clinks to the floor and you unbutton his pants, slipping them down with his underwear. He watches you the whole time, stepping out when you reach the bottom before you stand up again.

When you meet his gaze, the love radiating from his eyes almost makes your heart burst from your chest. You smile gently at him, reaching up to give him a soft kiss before leading him to the shower.

You run the water warm, more on the hot side, and start to undress yourself. Frankie watches you strip, the way your shoulder blades move as you pull your shirt over your head and unhook your bra. The way your spine flexes as you reach down to pull your pants off and shimmy out of them. How angelically perfect the curves of your body look.

You turn around to look at him and see tears welling in his eyes.

Immediately, your heart drops and you rush to cup his face in your hands. “Oh, Frankie, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing, I just…” He looks your face up and down examining all the features he finds so beautiful and takes a breath. “I love you so much,” he says, the end of his sentence getting quiet, tapering off choked in emotion.

You stare at the gorgeous boy in front of you, exhausted from his hard work, so full of emotion that he’s brought to tears, and you feel your own eyes start to sting. All you can do is hug him and bury your face into his chest, his warm, soft skin pressed against you as your arms clasp around him. “I love you too, Frankie.”

You feel his breath get a little quicker as he tries to keep himself in check, the fight against his tears getting harder and harder. You pull back and wipe away a few strays that started rolling down his cheeks before pulling him into the shower.

You wash Frankie head to toe helping him clean the day off. He leans down some so you can wash his hair, making sure to give his scalp a little massage while you suds up his curls. His eyes close and he softly hums as your fingers card through each strand. He loves when you play with his hair.

You gently wash his back, watching the soap slowly roll down his body as you rub circles into his skin. The muscles look tight, flexing some just with the slow breaths he’s taking. You reach up and dig your thumbs into the visible knots you see near the base of his neck where he was rubbing before. His head drops forward a bit, a soft groan leaving his lips at the relief.

You turn him around and wash his chest, watching the soapy water cascade down his pecs and stomach.

He watches you as best he can, wanting to savor every second, and he can’t help but close his eyes at the soothing feeling of the warm water flowing across his skin… the soap erasing the dirt from the day… and most importantly of all, your feather-light, loving touch behind every movement.

You rinse his chest a little and give him a soft kiss to his sternum, handing him the sponge to wash the rest of his body while you wash your own.

He silently watches you move, feeling himself get emotional again thinking about how lucky he feels to have you. That you’d do this for him. That you care so much about him. The love in his heart threatens to burst at the seams.

When you’re both done, Frankie grabs your hips and carefully spins you around before leaning down for a kiss. A kiss that’s worth a million words all condensed into one little action. A kiss that screams I love you, endlessly and eternally.

You stay under the shower head, lips locked with the silent words of affection being exchanged. You only think to get out when you feel the water starting to run cold.

When you get out, you loosely wrap a towel around yourself before grabbing another to dry off Frankie. You rub his hair and his face, draping it around his shoulders and tip-toeing up to kiss his nose before you finish drying yourself off.

You slip back into your pajamas and Frankie puts on his sweatpants before you both climb into bed together. Frankie immediately plops down on his side of the bed, lying on his back and draping his arms over his eyes as he sighs deep, finally comfortable after the long, long day he’s had.

He feels you crawl into bed with him, your weight shifting the mattress around him as you climb on top of him, legs straddled over his sides.

He moves his arms to look up at you staring at his chest tracing circles onto his skin. His hands rest on the tops of your thighs and he rests his head back on his pillow, but you swear you can feel his entire energy shift.

“You okay?” you ask, resting your palms on his skin.

“I…” he starts, looking up at you with sad eyes. “I love you so much, you know that… I’m just… I’m really tired, baby. I don’t know if I can—“

“Frankie,” you cut him off. “I’m not in the mood either.”

He looks at you with his pouty doe eyes again. “You’re not?”

“No,” you assure him. “I just wanted to look at you. How pretty you are. How lucky I am to have you.”

Frankie’s chest gets tight, the tears stinging in his eyes again as he wonders what he could have possibly done to deserve someone like you. Who loves him unconditionally. Who takes care of him so tenderly. Who is straddled on top of him just because she wants to look at him.

Before you can catch his eyes getting redder, he pulls you down to lay by his side, cradling you in his arms and kissing the top of your head. “It’s me who’s lucky to have you, amor.”

You hum and settle into his embrace, inhaling his clean scent and relaxing against his soft skin. Just as you’re starting to drift off, you hear a faint mumble, “Thank you.”

And you don’t even need to respond. You just press your body closer somehow, planting a kiss to his chin before nuzzling into his neck.

And it’s the only answer Frankie needs.

#francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction

[supernaturalgirl20]

Char’s 2K fic rec List

Please do yourself a favour and check out these writers and their work. They are all amazing 🤩

Full masterlist

@misspearly1 Masterlist

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Some more recs sent in by the lovely Chloe @misspearly1 Here

(I will keep adding throughout the month, my brain is not working this evening so I know for sure I’ve left someone out 🥰)

Also don’t forget my requests are open until Wednesday 15th so send some in 💕

#pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #dave york x reader #frankie morales x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #javier pena x female reader #pero tovar x f!reader

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Maybe, Baby?

Summary: You and Frankie aren't trying for a baby just yet, but when your weird symptoms start to throw your body for a loop, you start to wonder if you actually might be pregnant

Pairing: Husband!Frankie Morales x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), Unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap, silly gooses), creampie, praise kink, size kink (if u squint), unintentional breeding kink (lmaoooo, it's me, sorry not sorry), birth control/family planning, pregnancy (or maybe not? part 2 maybe? hehe) symptoms, Frankie and reader mention being closer to 30 than 16 (turns out when you're an adult, it's not a teen pregnancy anymore), reader has hair that can be played with, Frankie being the sweetest husband alive (all the gold stars for him), Frankie is so excited to be a dad that I just may pass away

A/N: I know y'all voted for me to finish chapter 20 but i lied (I'm so sorry), but I wrote this in a day and husband Frankie was really speaking to me on this one 😭 This one is brought to you by my raging baby fever and perhaps some real life inspiration WHOOPS, art imitating life on this one ig 💀 Poorly beta'd bc that's how I roll!!!

Ever since getting off birth control a few months ago, your body had felt… different. 

While you were glad you had made the change for yourself, you still found yourself shocked every month when a new sort of symptom decided to appear at some point in your cycle that you had never dealt with before- acne in new places, weird cramps, and crazy mood swings that showed up out of nowhere before your period were just a few of the things you were learning to manage as you figured out your body post birth control. 

Another symptom you hadn’t expected was that now, you were insatiably horny. 

All the time. 

While Frankie had been more supportive and caring in helping you deal with all of your not so pleasant symptoms than you could have hoped for, he was also more than happy to help you with your newly found positive one, too. 

The only problem was, after so many years of not having to worry about the consequences of your sex life on birth control, you and Frankie were finding it very hard to adjust to be more… careful. 

As you got hornier and hornier, the box of condoms that Frankie had bought after you stopped taking the pill had been seeing less and less use, and to be honest, hadn’t really seen the light of day from the back of his nightstand drawer in about a month an a half- and if you were being even more honest, on top of that, Frankie’s pull out game was almost nowhere to be found. 

You both knew that you wanted a family in the future- That was a part of your reason for getting off birth control to begin with. The two of you had agreed to hold off at least for a little longer to try and get your life more in order before bringing a baby into it, but with with your new lack of protection when it came to sex, and constant horniness around the clock, you both were beginning to have a feeling that that your agreed upon timeline for having a baby might be harder for you to maintain that you thought. 

Especially when you found yourself morphing into an unspeakably horny monster when you were ovulating. 

So little did you realize, that as you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom as the two of you were getting ready for bed and you caught a glimpse in the mirror of Frankie, stripping out of his shirt and jeans, leaving him only in his boxers as he searched around in your dresser for pajamas, that was the reason you nearly spit out your entire mouthful of toothpaste to try and get a mouthful of something else. 

You couldn’t help but ogle at your husband's broad body and freckled tan skin, muscles flexing as he shuffled through your drawers, pulling out an old, worn gray t-shirt and tugging it over his head, running his hand through his messy, curly hair before searching for his pajama bottoms.

At this point, you had honestly braced yourself on the edge of the bathroom counter to keep yourself from falling over at how mouth-watering he looked, already feeling the wetness beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear at the thought of wanting to rip his clothes off just as fast as he had put them on. 

Letting out a yawn, Frankie raised his hands above his head so a sliver of his soft belly peaked out between his waistband and shirt hem before making his way into the bathroom, sleepily padding along the tile floor until his body was behind yours, chest flushed against your back and arms wrapped around your waist. Even more prevalent, his bulge pressed against your ass, making the wet spot in your underwear grow damper by the second. 

“You ready for bed, querida?” Frankie cooed, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder and smiling at your reflections in the mirror. 

While you were absolutely ready to get into bed, sleeping was not going to be your activity of choice.  

“I think that maybe…” You paused, turning around to face Frankie, his body caging yours against the counter, palms splayed flat on either side of your hips, looking down at you with his sweet, brown eyes, “I think that maybe we should do something else before we go to sleep.” 

“Something else, huh?” Frankie smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as your hands began to run up and down his arms, slightly squeezing the muscles of his biceps as your fingers crept under the fabric of his shirt sleeves. “And what might that something else be, Hermosa?” 

“You know exactly what it is, Fransisco. You expect me to watch you just roam around shirtless in our bedroom and not get all hot and bothered? God, you’re so fucking hot.” You moaned, letting your hands run up his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him in for a long, electric kiss. 

“Damn, what’s gotten into you, babe?” Frankie chuckled, trying his best not to blush at your comment, sliding his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“I don’t- Fuck, I don’t know, I just know that if you don’t fuck me right this second, I think I’m gonna explode.” 

While your statement may have had a flair for the dramatic, it was just about as close to the God’s honest truth as you could get- You were so worked up, you felt practically feral, the ache in your core so strong that you really did feel like you were on the verge of implosion. 

Before you even gave Frankie time to respond, your lips were crashing into his with a ferocious intensity, your hands grabbing fistfulls of his t-shirt as you stumbled back towards your bedroom, bodies bumping and bouncing against the walls and door frames, mouths never parting as the back of Frankie’s knees finally hit the mattress, forcing him to fall backwards onto the bed. 

Crawling overtop of him, you were already straddled over his hips, grinding your bottom half on the bulge growing in his pajamas as your hands crept under the hem of his t-shirt, running along the tanned, soft skin of his chest, making him let out a low groan that rumbled in his throat. 

Frantically shuffling himself further onto the bed, Frankie’s hands dug into your hips and over your ass as your hands slid down from his chest to his waistband, fingers tugging at the elastic to shuffle his bottoms and boxers down his legs, quickly followed by your own, dropping to a crumpled pile on the floor. 

Feeling your fingers wrap around his cock, already painfully hard, you swirled the precum leaking from his tip with your thumb before dragging your hand up and down his length, leaving Frankie sitting up in surprise while he watched you begin to hover over him, dragging his dick through your folds. 

“Hermosa, are you sure you don’t need me to-” But before Frankie could finish the rest of his protest to make sure you were ready to take him, you were already sinking down onto him, whimpering at the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness, followed by the ragged moan escaping Frankie’s lips. 

“Oh fuck… Nuh uh, Frankie. I need to feel you, baby. Needed to feel you inside me.” You whined, taking Frankie cock inch by inch until he had bottomed out inside you, his tip kissing your cervix, the fullness making you cry out in pleasure. 

Normally with Frankie’s size, you would have needed to warm you up first, but with how wet and worked up you already were, you were able to take him with ease, desperate to feel him buried deep inside you. 

“Jesus fucking christ, queirda, you’re so fucking wet. Fuck, baby.” Frankie moaned, feeling you begin to slide up and down his length, coating him with your arousal with each swirl of your hips. 

Arching your back, you jutted your hips forward, bracing your hands on Frankie’s strong thighs, circling your bottom half against his, whimpering at his fullness and the hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your clit, selfishly already longing to chase your own high to ease the ache that had been burning in your core. 

“Fuck, Frankie, you feel so good. Feel so fucking full with you in me.” You whimpered, bouncing even harder and faster on Frankie’s cock, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping his and wetness dripping from your heat coating the walls of your bedroom. 

“Yeah? This what you wanted, pretty girl? Wanted me to stretch this pretty little pussy out and fill you up?” Frankie groaned, gritting his teeth as he began to jut his hips up into yours as you rode him, the added depth of his thrusts making you cry out in pleasure. 

And for as fucking good as it felt, the horny monster you had morphed into had you greedily craving more- to have Frankie stretch you open in a way that had you seeing stars, so much that you could still feel the next day, long after the two of you were finished. 

“I-I want more, p-please, baby. Fuck- Fuck me harder, Fransisco.” You cried, your sweet voice whimpering his full name turning him almost as feral as you were, letting out a low growl as he grabbed you by your hips, flipping you so that your back hit the mattress and he was caging his broad body over yours. 

Practically ripping the t-shirt still covering your upper half off your body, Frankie dove face first between your breasts, groping one while hungrily sucking at the other, flicking your pebbled nipple with his tongue, his free hand reaching down to line his cock back up with your entrance, sliding back in to your aching core with ease. 

Frankie let himself sink all the way back in, filling you to the brim before hooking his arms around your knees, pressing your legs against your stomach, smirking to himself at the ragged moan you let out as the new angle opened you up even further. 

“You want me to fuck you harder, Hermosa?” Frankie mewled, slowly dragging his length out of your heat, looking down to see your shiny slick soaking his cock before looking back at you and the wrecked expression plastered across your face, frantically nodding in desperation. “Tell me how badly you want it, sweet girl.” 

“Fuck, I need you so bad, Fransisco, please.” You begged, damn near close to tears with how deeply you needed to feel Frankie ease the emptiness inside you. “Please, baby, I- oh fuck-”  

Before you could even finish the rest of your plea, your breath was already hitched in the back of your throat as Frankie began to pound into you at a relentless pace, tightening his grip around your thighs while he pressed them closer to your chest, grunting with each rut of his hips into yours. 

“This what you want, querida? Meirda- so fucking wet and tight, baby girl. You feel so fucking good, holy fuck.” 

It didn’t take long for the all too familiar tingle at the base of your spine to start spreading through your body like a wildfire as Frankie continued to slam into your g-spot, making you chant his name like a prayer, your brain at a loss for any other words than “Fuck, Fransisco.” 

And as if you already weren’t close enough, when Frankie reached down to thumb at your clit, rubbing in relentless circles against your sensitive nub, you knew you were a fucking goner. 

“That’s it, Hermosa. Cum for me, baby. Want that- oh fuck- want that prefect pussy to fucking soak me.” Frankie groaned, feverishly pounding into you, desperate to feel you come undone for him giving him long enough to fight off his own high that was rapidly building in the pit of his stomach. 

A few more thrusts were all it took to have the coil snapping in your belly, crying out Frankie’s name as you came, orgasm ripping through your body with a blinding intensity, eyes scrunching shut and jaw hanging open while pleasure and euphoria flowed through every ounce of you. 

Still blissed out and wrecked out of your mind, your eyes shot open as Frankie’s mouth crashed into yours, swallowing your whimpers and moans in a messy dance of tongues and teeth. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum. Jesus fuck-  fuck, I’m close too, baby. W-where do you want me, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, barley holding on long enough for you to answer, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as his hips began to stutter, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow with every ounce of self control he had left. 

Still barley coherent enough to form a sentence, your brain blurted out the only thing you could think of, and the only thing that you really wanted in the moment. 

“Inside, Fransisco. Fuck, cum inside me, baby.” 

That alone was almost enough to send Frankie over the edge, letting out a long, low groan, sloppily rutting into you as his brain went blank alongside yours, starting to babble incoherently. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck- you want me to fill you up, queirda? Fuck, I’ll fucking fill you up so good you’ll be dripping out of me for days. Oh fuck, shit baby, fuck, oh I’m gonnaahhhhhh-“ 

Just like that, Frankie took one last thrust, spilling deep inside you, coating your walls with his spend as his body slumped into yours, the pair of your chests rising and falling in sync as you both came back down to earth. 

“Jesus Christ… Holy fuck, Frankie.” You giggled quietly to yourself, blissfully filled with post orgasm ecstasy as your husband carefully pulled himself out before rolling over next to you on the bed, pulling you close against his chest. 

“Fuck me, Hermosa, holy shit.” Frankie chuckled, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead, tracing small circles on your back as he held you, heat radiating off of each other's sweat-ridden bodies. “God, I love you. We should probably get you cleaned up. You wanna shower?” He asked, smirking as your face lit up at his nearly rhetorical question. 

“Only if you’re up for round 2, Morales.”   

“My eyes are up here, Fransisco.” 

“Hmmm? What did you say?” 

“Exactly my point. Can you stop looking with your man eyes and look with your normal, helpful people eyes to help me decide on a dress for Benny and Victoria’s wedding?” You sighed, laughing to yourself as you raised an eyebrow at Frankie, his gaze still fixed on your chest. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be helpful.” Frankie huffed, overdramatically rolling his eyes at you, playfully throwing his hands up in defense as he leaned back against the dressing room door, looking you up and down in one of the cute floral dresses you had picked to try on for your friends’ upcoming wedding. “It’s just that… Nevermind.” 

“It’s just that what, Frank?” You asked tilting your head in confusion at your husband as his eyes traveled back to your breasts, furled look in his brow like he was really staring there to prove a point. 

“It’s just that- Baby, I don’t know if it’s just the dress or what, but your boobs look huge. Like, they always look good, believe me, but like… Whew.” Frankie whistled, practically shaking his head in disbelief at how good you looked. 

“Really?” You asked, turning around to face the mirror in the dressing room, gently cupping your breasts, grimacing as you held them in your hands. “Yeah, I guess they do… Honestly, I was gonna complain about how sore they’ve been all day. I wonder if maybe my period is just coming early?” 

“Maybe? You did ride me pretty hard the last couple nights and put on a good show, so maybe they hurt from all that bouncing and-” 

“Frankie! We are in public!” You playfully scolded, giving him a flimsy slap to the chest to cut off the rest of his thought, the two of you quietly giggling to yourselves and trying to “Shhhh” each other from drawing too much attention to your dressing room stall. “The dress, you goofball, yes or no? Sooner we pick, the sooner we can go get food, because your wife is starving.” 

“I vote yes on the dress. You look beautiful in it, querida.” Frankie smiled, stepping behind you to press a kiss on the side of your head. 

“You just like it because it makes my boobs look huge.” 

“What? Can you blame me for wanting to stare at my gorgeous wife’s boobs all night?” 

“God, you are ridiculous, Fransisco. Fine, boob dress wins. Now let’s get out of here and go get some food before you get stuck in a titty trance and I die of hunger.” 

While the rest of your Saturday was spent enjoying the delicious Mexican food that you had picked up on the way home and a much needed night in on the couch with Frankie, there was a tiny part of your brain that couldn’t seem to shake his comment from earlier about how big your boobs looked. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree with him, because truth be told, they felt huge, too. They had been sore since you had woken up this morning, and while you had chalked it up to what you and Frankie had been up to the past few nights, or bad PMS symptoms, there was still just something about you that felt off. 

Later that night, during your movie marathon, you had paused whatever new action movie Frankie had been begging to watch since it had popped up on Netflix a few days ago for a popcorn refill. 

While Frankie meandered around the kitchen waiting for the next bag of popcorn to finish popping, you stayed curled up with your blanket in your corner of the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, until a sharp twinge began to cramp in your lower stomach. The feeling took you by surprise, digging your fingers into your side to try and ease the dull and achy sensation as your face scrunched in confusion, wondering why in the world you had what felt like period cramps in your belly. 

“Hey, you okay, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, returning with popcorn in hand, his face painted with concern to see the pained look scrunched between your brow as you curled deeper into the couch. 

“Oh, y-yeah, I’m fine. I just um, I just had a weird cramp I guess. Probably just ate all that popcorn too fast.” You replied, trying to convince yourself just as much as you were trying to convince Frankie that you were overthinking whatever mystery symptoms had just flashed through your lower half. 

“Here, lemme just set this popcorn down and then I can rub your back while we finish the movie, okay?” Frankie smiled softly, setting down the bowl on the coffee table before crawling back under the sea of blankets on the couch with you, laying your head against his thigh like a pillow while his hand traced up and down along the small of your back. 

“Thanks, Frankie.” You whispered quietly, taking a few deep breaths as the familiar warmth of your husband’s palm worked up and down the worn fabric of his shirt that you had put on earlier. 

“Of course, baby. If you need anything else, just let me know, okay? Just promise me you’ll take it easy on the popcorn if you have any more there, Killer.” 

The two of you laughed quietly as Frankie leaned down to press a soft kiss into your messy hair laid across his lap before picking up the remote to let the rest of the movie play as your eyelids began to get heavier and heavier as you slowly drifted off to sleep. 

“What’s inside this box?” 

“Open it up and find out! It’s a surprise for you!” 

“Okay? Huh, why is it just a pregnancy test in there?” 

“It’s yours! Congratulations! You’re having a baby!” 

“Ahhhhh!” You shrieked, panting as you woke from a cold sweat, shooting up from the couch. “What the fuck…” You whispered to yourself, coming to and realizing that you were now awake and had only been dreaming moments before this. Running your hands over your face, you blinked a few times to be greeted by the dim light of the TV still flickering in the background, Frankie sprawled out and snoring by your side where the two of you must have fallen asleep on the couch during the movie. 

“What a weird fucking dream…” You sighed to yourself, shaking your head as you quietly pushed yourself off the couch to stumble to the bathroom, pulling your phone out of your sweatpants pocket to check what ungodly hour of the night it had to be since the two of you had crashed on the couch. 

2:07 A.M. 

You let out a low grumble, pushing your sweatpants down to your ankles as you sat down to pee, blinking your eyes open wider to look through the notifications piled on top of each other on your lockscreen. Mindlessly swiping through a few junk emails and text messages from group chats, one notification in particular caught your eye, rousing you from your half awake state. 

“Feeling down? As you begin your Luteal Phase of your cycle, it’s normal to be less cheerful compared to last week when you were Ovulating! Click to track your cycle symptoms for today!” 

Oh shit.  

You could feel your heart beginning to race as you opened up the app, scrolling to the calendar tracker for the month. Swiping through the days, it didn’t take you long to realize that despite all of your weird symptoms you had been chalking up to PMS, you were almost two weeks away from starting your period. Frantically scrolling backwards, you began to try and rack your brain of all of the times in the past week that you had sex with Frankie while you would have been ovulating, and out of that number, how many times he hadn’t finished inside you, let alone even attempt to pull out. 

And that number was a big, fat zero. 

That’s when it hit you like a fucking freight train- You weren’t PMS-ing.

More than likely, you were pregnant. 

“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, your voice trembling and heart pounding as you buried your face in your trembling hands, your mind flooding with a million different thoughts all at once. 

How could you not remember that you were ovulating? Would Frankie be upset? The two of you weren’t even trying for kids right now. Would you be a good Mom? What were you even going to need to do to prepare? Your house was starting to get small for just you and Frankie, let alone a baby. How were you going to find a new place to live in 9 months? And get a new car? How were you- 

“Baby, you good in there?” Frankie groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stumbled into the bathroom, letting out a yawn as he opened the door, bright light flooding into the hallway and revealing the sobbing mess you had become, still pants down, hunched over the toilet. 

“Woah, hey, hey, hey. Baby, baby, what’s going on? Talk to me, Hermosa. Are you okay? What happened?” You could feel Frankie’s demeanor immediately switch as soon as he saw you in the bathroom, instantly dropping to his knees by your side, his hands gently grabbing your face to shift your gaze towards him, carefully swiping his thumb to dry the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks. 

“Frankie, I- I- Fuck.” You stuttered, gulping hard as you tried to catch your breath, fighting back your nervous sobs as you locked eyes with Frankie, wondering how in the world you were ever about to brace him for the news you were about to tell him. 

“Hermosa, what is it? Please, tell me baby, what’s wrong?” Frankie pleaded, softly squeezing your face in reassurance as he waited for your response. 

You took a few more deep breaths, composing yourself enough to at least try to get a coherent thought out, swallowing hard as the words left your mouth. 

“Frankie, I-, Frankie, I think- I think I’m pregnant.” 

Frankie’s eyes went wide, his jaw practically hanging open as he tried to process what you had just told him, wondering if he hadn’t heard you right in his groggy state. 

“W-what?” 

“I think I might be pregnant, Frankie.” 

Before you could even bear the thought of looking at his face again, filled with fear that it would be a look of shock and disappointment, you buried your face in your hands again, fighting with everything in you not to cry and keep your composure. 

Frankie sat quietly for a moment, his hand covering up the gaping hole his jaw had made as it nearly hit the floor, shaking his head in disbelief before wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulling your hands to look at him. 

“R-really? You- fuck- You really think you’re pregnant?” 

As your eyes met his, you couldn’t believe the look on your husbands face- Not only was Frankie practically grinning from ear to ear, the sweet brown of his puppy dog eyes were welling with happy tears of their own, waiting on your every word as if he still didn’t believe what he was hearing. Silently, you began to slowly nod your head, biting down on your tongue, your heart feeling like it was about to shoot out of your chest. 

“You’re...y-you’re not upset?” You stammered, sitting up a little taller at Frankie’s reaction. 

“Upset? Hermosa, why in the world would I ever be upset?” Frankie laughed quietly, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as his other hand cupped your jaw. “Querida… There’s nothing more I want on this earth than to have a family. And-fuck- The fact that it gets to be with you? That you might give me a family? How could I ever be upset about that? 

“Well it’s not like we were really trying for a baby, Frank. We said another year or two. With the house and money -” 

“Hey. We’ll figure it all out, okay? I promise, we’ll be more than okay.” Frankie smiled, his goofy grin still stretched wide between his cheeks, finally easing some of your worry. 

“I don’t even feel like I’m old enough to have a kid. I feel like I need to call up MTV to tell them I’ll be on the next season of 16 and Pregnant.” The two of you snorted, shaking your heads in awestruck disbelief that a stupid joke about a reality TV show could soon become your reality. 

“Well considering we’re married, have a house, and most importantly, are much closer to 30 than we are 16, I think they may have a hard time pitching the show “Married Couple Has a Baby”.” Frankie teased, giving you a playful nudge as the two of you laughed, giving you a few seconds to catch your breath before trying to dig into details. “Did- Did you take a test? How long have you known?”

“No, I don’t know for sure yet, Frank. It’s… It’s just a feeling, I guess. But the huge, sore boobs, weird, period-like cramps and the fact that we really haven’t been the most careful are all pretty good clues.” 

“Well, I mean, I don’t know, we’ve tried to be care-” 

Before Frankie could even finish the rest of his thought, you were already giving him the sassiest look you could muster in your overwhelmed and sleepy state, making the two of you laugh again he let out a sigh of defeat. 

“Okay, yeah, we really haven’t been that careful at all. Sweetie, listen, I- I know it’s not what we had planned, but… I mean, if you are pregnant…” Frankie paused, smiling at your stomach as he gently place a hand over your belly, tears welling in his chocolate brown eyes, “Baby, I would be so excited. Nervous as hell, but so fucking excited.” 

“Me too.” You sniffed, looking down at Frankie’s palm splayed across your stomach, heart swelling at the thought of Frankie being dad, thinking of how sweet and caring and perfect he’d be as you grew your little family together. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled Frankie in close, letting out a shaky sigh, whispering your words through happy tears. 

“I love you so much, Frankie.” 

“I love you so much too, Hermosa. More than anything.” 

For the sake of Frankie’s shoulder, you pulled away to wipe your tears to keep from soaking your husband’s shirt, quietly laughing to yourself at the fact that this whole time you had been talking to Frankie, you had still been pantsless, hunched over the toilet. 

“It probably would have been way more romantic to tell you all of this not at 2:30 in the morning, pantsless and hunched over the toilet like a little gremlin.” You snorted, Frankie following suit as he shook his head, running his hand through the sleepy curls of your hair. 

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, mi amor. C’mon, let’s get you up to bed.” 

As the two of you sleepily trotted your way upstairs, curling together under the warmth of your comforter with Frankie’s chest pressed against your back, you couldn’t help but smile as his arm draped over your stomach, hand resting on your belly while his thumb traced soft circles on your skin, imagining what it would be like if a few months from now if you really were getting ready to add another member to your family. 

The next morning, as the sunrise began to spill through your curtains, casting bright orange and pink shadows on your bedroom walls, you couldn’t help but stir as the familiar scent and warmth of Frankie’s body was missing from his side of the bed.

 As you sat up in the sea of blankets and comforters, softly rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you saw Frankie’s frame quietly sneaking through the bedroom door, fresh mug of coffee and bag of breakfast in hand with a stupid smile plastered across his face as he was greeted with your barely awake grin. 

“Good morning, beautiful.” Frankie cooed, setting down the coffee and breakfast down on your nightstand as he sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, pressing a tender kiss into the sleep-ridden ends of your hair before wrapping his arms around you in a long embrace. 

“Good morning, handsome.” You yawned, stretching your arms over your head, letting out a little grunt and laying your head on Frankie’s shoulder. “What’s all this for?” You asked, gesturing towards the coffee and oversized McDonald’s bag, assuming it was the reason for Frankie’s absence when you woke up. 

“I- I don’t know, I uh- I was just really excited when I got up this morning. It was early, and I didn’t wanna wake you up, so I made a trip to CVS to buy some pregnancy tests for you and figured I’d pick up breakfast on the way home.” Frankie smiled sheepishly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, brushing past his untamed morning curls. “I know- I know you can’t really take the tests yet- I spent a lot of time reading the boxes in the store and wasn’t really sure what the best one was to take, so I got like, 4 different ones for when it's time.” 

“God, you’re so sweet. You’re the best, you know that? It’s about to be a long week of waiting before I can take one of those. Do you- fuck, Frankie, do you think it could really be positive?” You asked, tears beginning to well in your eyes again as you smiled up at your husband, already beaming back at you, picturing the two pink lines showing up on all of the tests he had bought for you. 

“Maybe, if we’re lucky.” He smirked, gently cupping your face, swiping his thumb across your face. “But if it’s not, then maybe… Maybe we start trying for a positive one on purpose.” 

“R-really?” You grinned, biting down on your lip in excitement. 

“Really, really.” Frankie replied, bringing his lips to yours in a long, slow kiss, soaking in the sweet taste of you on his tongue. “And maybe…” 

“Maybe, what, Fransisco?” You giggled, bringing your mouth back to his in a sweet and sloppy kiss. 

“Maybe…. We start trying right now, ya know, just to be sure. Wouldn’t want all those pregnancy tests to go to waste.”

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[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Grays II

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays - Part I | Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, matchmaking elements, meddlesome mother, lots of teasing, not-quite-friends to lovers dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, oral sex (F and M receiving), protected sex, dirty talk.

Word count: 8.5k

Notes: It's here - 4 months later! First of all, thank you so much for the love for Grays Part I. I still can't quite believe the reaction to Frankie and Shiv, you guys sure know how to make a writer feel special 🥰 This one was so much fun to write, and nervous as I am posting this follow-up, I'm telling myself to let go of my insecurities and just enjoy it because that's what it's all about. I hope y'all will have a good time at this wedding with the gang 😘

Francisco Morales likes to think of himself as a reasonably competent man. 

He can pilot a helicopter under intense enemy fire. He can take out a target from miles away in the tightest of spots. 

But he can’t do his fucking hair.

He glares at himself in the mirror. He can’t put his finger on it, it just doesn’t look like how you did it. He’s already washed it out and started over twice, and for a second, he considers driving to your salon. A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s far too late for that now.

Leaning over the sink, he says to his reflection, ‘Focus, pendejo. You can do it.’

He’s a pilot for fuck’s sake. He’s a man of procedure, he can follow steps. He just needs to break it down.

Hair half-dry - check.

Hair mousse applied - check.

Now he just needs to dry his hair all the way and style it - but the how is where it gets hazy. 

Frankie closes his eyes and casts his mind back to your salon. He’s sitting in the chair and you’re standing behind him. He wills himself to recall what you were doing with your hands, but all he remembers is the scrape of your of your fingertips on his scalp, the ghost of your breath on the back of his neck, and then -

Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.

He scrubs a frustrated palm down his face when his cock twitches in his haphazardly ironed dress pants, not for the first time… hell, not even the fourth time since he left your salon on Wednesday afternoon.

‘Goddamnit,’ he bites out, dropping the hairdryer with a clunk and grips the porcelain sink. He needs to calm the fuck down. 

He didn’t ask for - this, whatever this is. You’re you. You’re Shiv. The loudmouth with the wild hair he’s known since fifth grade. The fourth wheel at guys’ drinks when Will can’t make it. A relentless tease on a good day, and downright insufferable when you get enough tequila in you.

And quite possibly, the only person who’s ever driven him to the brink of unconsciousness with just the touch of their bare hands.

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe you’re right. It has been a while since he’s been with a woman. He just needs to get laid at the wedding, get this weird tension out of his system. And then hopefully, he’ll be able to go to sleep without being kept up by you telling him to go harder, deeper -

By the time he gets his head out of his ass, it’s too late for second-guessing. He rakes his fingers through his hair, sets it with hairspray, and quickly rubs the beard oil he bought in town yesterday into his whiskers. He takes a moment to look himself over while he clumsily does up the tie he borrowed from Pope.

This is as good as it’s gonna get.

He’s the designated driver tonight. By some miracle, he’s only five minutes late when he cruises into Pope’s driveway, where all three of the boys are waiting and sipping on beers.

‘Damn Fish, you look good,’ crows Santi as he climbs into the passenger seat, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You should get your hair cut at Shiv’s from now on.’

‘Only if you keep paying for it,’ retorts Frankie while he backs out of the driveway. He pauses as he changes gears, and adds in a grumble. ‘She’s making me use shampoo and conditioner.’

Pope barks in laughter, twisting in his seat to give Benny a knowing grin. ‘Someone had to, you caveman.’

The younger Miller brother ribs good-naturedly, ‘You ready for some action tonight, Fish? I brought some extra rubbers just in case.’

Meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, Frankie rips into him mercilessly. ‘You know your small ass condoms don’t fit me, Benjamin.’ 

The car erupts with playful jeers, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile as he palms the steering wheel.

‘That’s some fighting talk, Fish!’ goads Santi, punching him on the arm.

Will joins in the banter. ‘You better watch out, little bro. Big Dick Morales came out swinging tonight.’

Benny grins. ‘Ok, I see how it is. Let’s make it interesting, Fish. Whoever picks up a one night stand first wins a hundred bucks.’

Frankie shrugs in mock nonchalance and quips, ‘I mean, I can use the cash. Shampoo ain’t cheap.’

Benny chuckles and clasps his shoulder. ‘You’re on, man.’

It’s eight on the dot when you lock up the salon. While you did RSVP for wedding drinks - opting out of the sit-down dinner earlier in the evening - you hadn’t planned on actually going. But it seems like the whole town did, you’ve barely had two customers walk through the door all afternoon. 

So you let Ashton go home early, and after a quick snack, you take your time getting ready. Might as well have a Saturday night out - your first in many months.

The hotel is just a short Uber ride away. When you climb out of the car, you bite your bottom lip at the unfamiliar tension humming under your skin.

Nerves.

You’re nervous.

And worse, you know exactly what you’re nervous about. 

Or more precisely - who.

‘Pull it together, Shiv,’ you mutter under your breath. Steeling yourself, you stride into the hotel.

From his vantage point at the bar, Benny watches in amusement as Frankie glances towards the doors of the reception hall yet again. He doubts the pilot even knows he’s doing it, or at the very least, he doesn’t think that anyone would notice.

Grabbing his beer, Benny sidles up to his friend. ‘Looking for something, Fish?’

Frankie takes a sip of his Coke and feigns nonchalance. ‘Yeah, looking to win that hundred bucks from you.’

‘Dunno ‘bout that. I don’t see you trying very hard.’

‘Biding my time, Miller. Just make sure you have enough cash to -’ 

When Frankie breaks off in the middle of his sentence, Benny doesn’t need to look to wager a guess what caught his attention.

Turning around as you approach, he flings his arms out to give you a hug, eyeing you up and down appreciatively. ‘Babe, look at you all dressed up! Doesn’t she look nice, Fish?’

In lieu of an answer, Frankie stares intently at some invisible spot over your shoulder until Benny elbows him right in his stomach, jerking him out of his trance. ‘Fish?’

Frankie clears his throat and stutters. ‘Um. I - I don’t know.’

You arch an eyebrow at him. ‘You don’t know if I look nice?’

Benny has to stopper his mouth with beer so he doesn’t laugh out loud at the panic on Frankie’s face as he fumbles for a response. ‘I mean. Um, nice… pants?’

‘It’s a jumpsuit, Morales. Try to keep up,’ you reply and take two steps towards him, which has him backpedalling so fast that he upsets the table behind him, sending half-empty glasses spilling wine all over the white tablecloth.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he growls at you like a cornered stray.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pull him upright by his tie. ‘Is he ok, Ben? He’s even jumpier than usual.’

‘Well, it’s a funny night for him. Watching his ex get married and all.’

‘I swear to God, Benjamin Miller, if you don’t shut the fuck up -’ 

‘Pipe down, Morales, we’re just messing with you,’ you shush him, tugging on his slightly skewed shirt collar to set it straight. ‘Can’t believe you own a tie.’

‘Borrowed it from Pope,’ he grunts without making eye contact.

Smoothing the lapels of his slightly crumpled suit jacket, you probe, ‘You’ve been using shampoo and conditioner like I asked?’

Frankie huffs a dry laugh. ‘I don’t remember you asking.’

‘Someone’s mouthy tonight,’ you tease. ‘And the beard oil?’

He concedes with a sigh. ‘Yes, Shiv.’

‘You look good, Francisco,’ you grin and reach up to push his curls back from his eyes.

He looks away as he admits, ‘Took three fucking tries.’

At least he holds still when you make small adjustments to his hair, shoulders stiff with hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You catch yourself missing the way he leaned into your touch in your salon, and you have to forcefully push that thought away as you push your fingers through the roots to boost the volume. His curls feel softer already than you remember them, with a noticeably healthier sheen. 

After a final rustle to loosen up his fringe, you wink at him. ‘Mark my words, the bride will rue the day she dumped your ass when she sees you.’

A voice from behind you interrupts. ‘It’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it?’

Trading a look with Frankie, who gives you a sarcastic thumbs up, you put on a smile and turn on your heels. ‘Mrs. Morales, it’s been too long!’

‘I see you haven’t dyed my son’s hair like I requested,’ she says by way of a greeting, drawing you into an embrace.

Frankie’s taunt is so quiet that you nearly miss it. ‘Told you she’d come after you.’

Without skipping a beat, you elbow him in the ribs, ignoring his pained oomph from behind you. ‘You look wonderful tonight, ma’am.’ 

‘You can’t sweet talk your way out of my question, young lady.’

You cross your arms with a sigh. ‘I didn’t dye it because he looks good with the grays.’ 

‘Well, I don’t think so.’

‘In my professional opinion, he does,’ you retort pointedly.

‘If he looks so good, why is he still single?’

Frankie throws his hands up in exasperation. ‘Gee, thanks a lot ma.’

You turn to Benny, who has been silently watching you two spar. ‘What do you think, Miller?’

He dithers, eyes darting around in desperation until he spots Santi and his older brother coming back from the bar. ‘Look! Here are the guys, let’s ask them!’

‘Ask us what?’ asks Santi, giving you a kiss on the cheek and a glass of bubbly.

‘Do you think my son looks good with the grays?’

Your eyebrow twitches when Mrs. Morales carelessly ruffles his hair to emphasise her point. To your surprise, Frankie bats her away with an irritated ma!, before hastily rearranging it.

‘Your honest opinion, if you please,’ you add.

The boys hum and haw, sipping their beers and shooting uncertain looks between you and Mrs. Morales, clearly uncomfortable being caught in the middle. Upping the heat, you narrow your eyes at them, and Will folds first. 

‘Yeah, I mean - he looks good,’ he mumbles, avoiding the Morales matriarch's glare.

‘Pope?’ you prompt.

‘Cabrón rocking those grays,’ he nods supportively.

‘Ben?’

‘Uh huh,’ he replies vaguely, but at your menacing glare, clarifies, ‘Yes, I meant - yes, ma’am.’

Mrs. Morales scoffs. ‘They’re men, what do they know! I don’t see him catching any girls’ attention.’

Ah, that’s the easy part. You look around, scanning the crowds - and bingo, you see a brunette staring openly from across the dance floor. You hold up a finger for dramatic effect. ‘Excuse me for one second.’

Frankie looks ready for the earth to swallow him whole by the time you return with the said woman in tow. Pointing straight at him, you ask, ‘Lucy, this is Frankie. Do you think he’s hot with the grays?’

To her credit, she’s a good sport, and plays along with a cheeky wink. ‘Yeah, he is. You wanna dance, handsome?’

‘Yes, he absolutely does!’ you answer quickly before he can get a word in.

‘What the fuck, Shiv?’ Frankie seethes through clenched teeth, literally digging his heels in, but to his despair, his shoes skid uselessly on the tiled surface as you push him towards the dancefloor with this complete stranger. 

Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

‘Have fun, Fish!’ calls out Pope impishly, which earns him an emphatic middle finger. 

You beam at Mrs. Morales smugly. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

‘You better keep it up, young lady,’ she says over her shoulder as she turns to leave.

You raise your drink. ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs M. I promise you - he’ll be leaving with his future wife tonight!’

Santi is minding his own business, sipping on his beer as he stakes out the ladies, when a hand shoots out from nowhere and snatches the bottle from him.

‘What the fuck, man?!’ he bristles indignantly.

Frankie polishes off the drink in one mouthful, before slamming it onto the table and demanding, ‘Where’s Shiv? I’m done. I’m not fucking dancing with anyone else.’

Pope jerks his thumb to the other side of the room. ‘She’s arguing with your mother.’

Frankie flops into a chair, the dress shoes that he never wears are pinching his feet and he fights the urge to kick them off. He folds his arms across his chest petulantly, one palm over his mouth as his eyes wander across the hall to you, where you’re gesturing madly at his ma, embroiled in an impassioned discussion, probably still about his damn hair.

You’re all dressed up tonight, which is new to him - he’s only ever seen you in jeans when you go out drinking with them, and he’s certainly never seen so much of you. The ‘jumpsuit’ (he learns something new every day) is black and cut low both front and back, and fuck, all he sees is soft skin and the dip of your curves and red lipstick -

Pope must have nipped to the bar while he wasn’t looking, and a fresh bottle of beer appears under his nose. Glancing up at his best friend, Frankie mutters, ‘Thanks.’

‘You can’t marry her, Fish.’

He chokes violently at the casual non-sequitur, spraying beer everywhere. ‘What the fuck, Pope.’

Santi beams. ‘You got that look on your face, man. I’ve seen that look before.’

‘I don’t have a look on my face.’

He chuckles, mostly to himself. 'Damn, I really should've seen this coming.'

‘What are you even on about -’ Looking up, Frankie spots you making your way over and panics. ‘Shut the fuck up, pendejo.’

‘Why aren’t you dancing, my little debutante?’ you ask when you come within earshot.

Santi chortles and takes his leave, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck, Fish.’

You sink into the empty seat next to him and he deliberately twists his body away from you, drinking deeply from his bottle to drown out Santi’s words ringing in his ears. 

‘So, I heard you have a bet going on with Benny. I want splitsies if you win.’

Frankie rolls his eyes, staring resolutely anywhere but at the swell of your cleavage. ‘No.’

‘40/60.’

‘Fuck off, Shiv.’

‘30/70?’ you counter-offer.

He sighs. ‘You’re impossible.’

Ignoring him, you jump up with a happy squeak when someone Frankie vaguely recognises as a girl who used to be in your class approaches with a shy smile. You pull her close by the crook of her arm and ask, ‘Morales, you remember Sadie?’

He tries not to scowl too openly as he too gets on his feet. ‘Sure, hi Sadie.’

Herding them towards the dancefloor, you grin, ‘Go dance, get reacquainted.’

As he passes by you, Frankie grits his teeth and curls his fingers into the meat of his palms to crush the urge to reach out and touch you. 

But it’s easier to fall into your well-rehearsed roles, to toe the line that has been drawn in the sand since you were teenagers. And easier is certainly the safer option when it comes to you.

So he throws you a deliberate glare over his shoulder, with a deadpanned, ‘I hate you.’

You blow him a kiss and grin wider.

Frankie can’t hold back a relieved sigh when the interminably long song finally ends, and the woman he’s dancing with - he won’t even pretend he remembers her name - tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jacket after tapping in her number. ‘Call me, gorgeous.’

He stopped counting after the eighth woman you shepherded his way. This is it. He’s not above hiding in the toilets if that’s what it takes to make this stop.

Except he’s not quick enough. He spots you out of the corner of his eye, marching straight towards him with a fresh glass of water and a look of purpose on your face.

He doesn’t exactly know what came over him. He could probably blame it on the one and a half beers that he downed, or being pushed to the end of his tether. Whatever it is, there’s something he has to say to you, and it can’t wait.

You push the glass into his grasp. ‘Here, hydrate.’

‘Shiv -’

You’ve already swivelled around, your focus somewhere else. ‘Where is she? She was literally just behind me -’

‘Shiv -’

‘Mind you, she’s a sweet girl, but clearly not the brightest tool in the -’

His patience snaps, and he barks, ‘Shiv!’

You spin around, brow furrowed in confusion, and snarl back, ‘What?’

Frankie pauses, and you blink as his warm eyes hold yours. On an exhale, he says, ‘You look nice tonight.’

You’re vaguely aware that your jaw has gone slack, but only because his eyes follow the movement, dropping to your mouth. He considers you for a moment, head tipping just slightly to the side as he watches you. Then, satisfied that he has your attention, he brings the glass of water to his lips, throwing his head back as he drinks. 

Your breath catches in your throat when his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow, before he leisurely swipes his lips with the back of his hand.

Except in your mind, it’s not water that he’s wiping from his mouth.

In a perfectly mirrored imitation of what transpired between you earlier in the evening, he takes two measured steps forward, prompting you to back up against the table behind you. The tinkle of glasses falling over hardly registers in the back of your mind. 

The fabric of his suit is cool on your skin, brushing your bare arm as he looms over you, so broad and warm. Though his front barely makes contact, your peripheral vision gives and all you can see is him.

‘What are you doing?’ you croak the same words back at him, hating the way your voice shakes.

Frankie smiles - really smiles at you, with no colour of the usual irony or sarcasm. Warmth settles into the creases in the corners of his eyes as he holds up the empty glass. ‘Just putting my glass away,’ he says coolly, an edge of cockiness at your tragically obvious reaction to him.

You feel your cheeks heat up as he does just that - the back of his hand bumping into your forearm as he moves, the breadth of him pinning you against the table. He doesn’t pull away, clearly basking in the way the tables have well and truly turned -

‘Hi! You must be Frankie, I’m Jan.’

Frankie squeezes his eyes shut in irritation at the voice behind him, nostrils flaring as he collects himself. A resigned smile tugs at his lips, and he tips forward, his words grazing your ear. ‘Catch you later, Shiv.’

You only let your knees buckle when he’s safely out of sight.

You’ve barely stepped back into the reception hall from a much needed bathroom break to clear your head when someone grabs you by the arm, tugging you onto the dancefloor.

‘Benny!’ You reprimand, stumbling over your feet. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Relax, Shiv. Frankie can survive on his own for a second.’

‘You’re just jealous that he’s hogging all the ladies’ attention.’

He scoffs, palms on your waist as he sways to the music. ‘He has an unfair advantage, ok? How do I compete with the bride’s ex?’

Clasping your hands around Benny’s neck, you catch Frankie’s eye over his shoulder. You wink at him casually, having somewhat recovered your bravado - it’s easier to pretend from a distance anyway. He rolls his eyes at you over Jan’s head, but he doesn’t look away, watching you with a hint of something you can’t quite make out.

Glancing up at Benny, you ask a tad bashfully, ‘I know we give Frankie a hard time about all this, but is he - ok?’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

You hesitate. ‘Well, we’re not exactly that kind of friends.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, the kind who sit around having heart-to-hearts and painting their nails.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What kind of friends are you, then?’ 

‘I don’t know, he probably doesn’t even count me as one,’ you admit. ‘He barely tolerates me on a good day.’

Benny shoots you a cryptic look, but before you can quiz him on it, he changes the subject abruptly. ‘Can I swing by the salon tomorrow morning? I have a promotional shoot at half past eleven.’

‘As long as you bring donuts and coffee.’

He twirls you around. ‘Deal.’

Frankie slinks out of the hotel, somehow managing to dodge both you and his mother on his way out, which he takes as a win.

It’s cold outside. He inhales deeply and feels it burn down his throat. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he watches his breath mist in front of his face, savouring the quiet.

‘Hey.’

His shoulders stiffen. He knows he should’ve been the bigger man. Should’ve sought her out first, to congratulate her.

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

When he turns around eventually, she smiles brightly at him, her engagement ring catching the lights.

Closing the space between them, he presses a kiss to her cheek. ‘Congratulations. You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she replies. ‘I’m glad you came. Your mum too - it was a long way to travel.’

His gaze falls to his shoes. ‘Yeah, well. You know she loves you.’

‘How are you?’ she presses on, always one for polite conversation. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

Frankie shrugs but doesn’t answer.

‘Just because it didn’t work between us doesn’t mean I want you to be happy.’

He nods slowly. ‘I appreciate that.’

She points behind her. ‘Well, I should go back inside.’

‘Of course. I’m happy for you,’ he says. And he means it.

The hotel doors swing open, and Frankie looks up at the sharp clack of heels on the concrete. You pause at the sight of them by the curb.

‘Are you leaving, Shiv?’ the bride laments as you walk over to give her a hug.

‘I am, I’m afraid, gotta open up shop early tomorrow,’ you pull back. ‘Come by the salon any time, my treat.’

Once the bride is out of earshot, you turn to Frankie, hands on hips. ‘Alright, no more shirking, Morales. Get your ass back in there, your mother is on my case again.’

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Oh no, I’m not going back in there without you.’

You sigh dramatically. ‘Am I the only one in this town who’s not scared of your mother?’

‘You should be,’ he snorts, then nods towards the parking lot. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

Taken aback by his offer, you hesitate. ‘Um - I thought you were the designated driver for the guys tonight.’

He brushes off your concerns with an easy shrug. ‘I’ll come back to get them after I drop you off.’ 

Typical Frankie - he walks off without even glancing back to see if you’re coming with him.

You smile to yourself and follow.

You must be drunker than you realised, because you’re staring. Again. For what must be the fifth time in the ten-minute drive.

It’s a lot of staring, even for you.

His jacket lies abandoned in the backseat, his tie jostled loose and the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened, sleeves bunched up to his elbows. You watch from the corner of your eye as his left hand grips the top of the steering wheel steady, fingers flexing every now and then on straight stretches of road.

As if you’re not already discreetly squeezing your thighs together, he’s also rubbing his right palm idly on his leg, the innocent rustle of fabric against skin getting you far too hot and bothered under the metaphorical collar. 

And then - your eyes trail higher - settling on the heavy bulge at the top of his spread thighs.

Fuck. You’re definitely drunk.

You mull silently to yourself that you actually prefer him in his beat-up jeans and threadbare t-shirts before catching yourself. You weren’t aware you had any preferences when it comes to Frankie Morales. And you have no business doing so.

Clearing your throat, you break the tense silence. Well, tense for you, anyway. He seems completely oblivious to your inner strife.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t win the bet.’

His lips quirk, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

‘I had another five girls lined up for you, you know.’

He scoffs. ‘No, thank you.’

You reach over to punch him on the arm playfully. ‘C’mon, you know you enjoyed the attention, Morales.’

‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’ he peers at you.

You make a face of disbelief. ‘If you hated it that much, why did you go along with it?’

Cruising into your street, his truck rolls to a smooth stop outside your salon. Frankie kills the ignition, then turns towards you. His answer is simple, and hits you right between the ribs. 

‘Because you wanted me to.’

You force a chuckle in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Since when did you care about what I wanted?’

He smooths his palm over the steering wheel and holds your gaze. ‘Sometime when I wasn’t looking.’

It would be simpler to pretend you didn’t understand what he means. To brush off this pull between you as a champagne-induced episode that you could sleep off. If you did, you could still show up at Tuesday nights drinks next week as if nothing has changed, and carry on.

It would be simpler. So you ask -

‘Do you want to come in for a nightcap?’

Frankie follows two steps behind you as you grapple with the keys on the doorstep. Once inside, the salon is quiet, and you strategically turn on the lights by the backwash, the semi-darkness making it more homey than it would have been if fully lit up. 

‘I would invite you upstairs -’ you pause and add hastily, ‘I don’t mean upstairs like, upstairs in that way - it’s just that my apartment is tiny, and the backwash is the closest thing I have to a couch. Are you okay with beer?’

‘Beer’s good, thanks,’ he answers. ‘Need a hand?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘Oh god, please no - it’s a disaster upstairs. I’ll be right back.’

The rickety stairs creak loudly under your heels, and once you let yourself into your studio, you fall back heavily on the door, taking a second to catch your breath.

You invited him inside. 

He said yes.

You leap into action, shoving all your dirty laundry into the already full hamper. You try not to think too hard about why you’re cleaning up, you just hope you’re not making too much of a ruckus while you’re at it - because you have a boy waiting for you downstairs. 

Francisco Morales, of all people.

Despite having been in each other’s lives since high school, you’re pretty sure you’ve never been alone with him. Not even once. There’s always a buffer with Pope on his side, Benny on yours, and Will in the middle. And while some find Frankie hard to read, you’ve always known exactly how to act around him. You have an unwritten playbook - you bait him with cheap jokes, more often than not joining forces with Benny to gang up on him. He rolls his eyes and snaps at you to shut up. It’s the longest running show in town.

But this? Alone, after his ex’s wedding, in your salon? You’re going off-script and off-piste. Dangerous enough on a good day; outright stupid after a night of drinking.

Frankie is quick to help when you reappear, armed with beer and a bag of ice, using the backwash sink as a makeshift cooler. Your shoes clatter onto the floor as you settle in the chair next to his. Hugging your knees, you hold out your bottle, which he clinks with his.

‘Did you have fun tonight?’ you ask, rather mundanely.

‘As much fun as one is expected to have at an ex’s wedding,’ he answers with a sardonic smile. Taking a sip of beer, he adds, ‘Gotta admit, you winding up my ma pretty much made up for it.’

‘That never gets old,’ you smirk. ‘Although, I promised your mother you’d leave with your future wife tonight - so that’s a bust.’

You startle when Frankie chokes on his beer, his eyes visibly watering as he thumps a fist on his chest. When you ask if he’s ok, he won’t meet your gaze, downing more of his beer.

Not thinking anything of it, you move on. ‘You know, she sent a bunch of customers my way when I first opened up the salon.’

His voice is still a bit tight from his coughing fit. ‘And I’m sure she’ll deny it till the day she dies.’

‘I can’t figure her out,’ you admit. ‘I can’t decide if she hates me or not.’

‘She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t understand you.’

You hum, unconvinced.

He nudges your knee with his. ‘She was really proud of you when you opened the salon, you know.’

You toss him a sidelong glance. ‘You talk to your mum about me?’

He’s ambiguous in his answer. ‘She asks after you sometimes.’

‘And how would you have anything to say to her? We’re not exactly bosom buddies.’

Frankie concedes with a wry smile, ‘Benny talks.’

‘Ha!’ you laugh, echoing his words from a few days ago back at him. ‘Benjamin fucking Miller.’

He goes quiet for a second, looking around your salon as if taking stock. ‘It’s pretty amazing that you’ve built all this.’

The unexpected compliment catches you blindsided. You reply diplomatically, ‘Ashton helps me loads.’

Frankie’s eyes widen in feigned surprise. ‘Are you going humble on me now? What have you done to Shiv?’

‘Shut up,’ you grumble good-naturedly, adding, ‘Ben tells me you’re doing really well yourself.’

‘Yeah. I got promoted at work last month, and I’m saving up for a house,’ he replies, a hint of pride in his voice. ‘Things are looking up.’

‘You’re actually acknowledging your achievements?’ you gasp in mock outrage. ‘What have you done to Francisco Morales?’

With a shrug, he leans forward to put his empty beer bottle in the sink, but he doesn’t sit back. Instead, he sways even closer, one palm landing on the leather of your seat next to your knee, eyes darting to your lips. His voice is deep as he rasps, ‘Can I kiss you?’

It would be so easy to say yes, but when have you ever made things easy for yourself? 

Instead, you blurt out, ‘Why?’

Frankie looks amused, like he expected this from you. Slowly, not wanting to spook you, he gently plucks the beer that you’ve barely drunk from your grasp.

‘Because all fucking night, while you were throwing woman after woman at me, I just wanted to have a drink with you.’

He leans in close. 

You stop breathing.

‘Because since Wednesday, every time I wash my hair, I get hard thinking of you touching me.’

Closer still.

Your lungs ache.

‘And because when you told me to go harder, deeper - I nearly lost my fucking mind.’

He’s hovering over you now, and you can almost taste the bitter sweetness of the beer on his breath. He smirks at you, but there’s only warmth and mischief in it when he teases, ‘Speechless for once?’

‘Shut up, Morales,’ you breathe and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

And then you’re kissing him. You’re kissing Frankie, and he’s kissing you back.

It’s messy, and disorientating, and you clumsily fumble over each other until he’s sitting up in one of the chairs, with your thighs on either side of his narrow hips as you straddle him. He’s licking up into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip, his hands gripping your sides almost painfully hard.

‘Is this really happening?’ you garble into his lips, ripping off his tie and undoing his shirt buttons as fast as your shaking fingers allow you to.

‘If you want it,’ he mumbles back, loath to pull back from you even for a second to shuck off his shirt. ‘If you want me.’

He kisses you wet and insistent, but he doesn’t push you, waiting for you to make up your mind. Reaching behind you, you tug on the tie that holds your jumpsuit together with a decisive pull, letting the fabric ripple down your bare front and pool around your waist.

Frankie bites his bottom lip so hard it goes white. ‘Fuck,’ he cusses, his grip on your hips twitching as he stares at your tits. ‘Can I, please -?’

‘Touch me, Francisco.’

Your poor second-hand Ikea bed that Benny helped set up when you moved in was not made for this.

This being the way Frankie effortlessly tosses you onto the mattress, his arms flexing with an easy strength that goes straight to your head, as you stare giddily up at him.

His hair - your handiwork - has been well and truly undone, errant strands falling over his eyes as he watches you, his broad frame looming over the foot of the bed. He pulls at his belt, which falls open with a careless clink, and he makes quick work of his now crumpled trousers, kicking them off impatiently.

Your head is swimming, yet somehow, you muster the strength to shuffle towards the edge of the bed, rearranging yourself to sit on your haunches, knees folded neatly beneath you. Boldly, you reach out to slide his dark boxers down his hips, and they fall around his knees and onto the floor. His cock springs free, half-hard and heavy, and Frankie swallows thickly as you tilt your face towards him.

‘I want to suck your cock.’

His eyes close as if he’s in pain, nostrils flaring at your words. Taking advantage of his distraction, you wrap one careful hand around his length, and he jerks violently at the first velvety slide of your palm against him. 

‘Fuck, Shiv -’ he chokes, eyes flying open at the contact, pupils completely blown. He protests weakly, ‘No, stop, need to get you off first -’

You shoot him a lopsided smile, pumping him slowly, your pulse racing at the way you feel him swell in your grasp. ‘Can we not argue this one time?’

You lean forward and, holding his gaze, flatten your tongue and lick your way up the underside of his cock. His breath stutters, one big hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his eyes wide and almost frantic as you press open-mouthed kisses on his sensitive flesh.

With an insolent grin, you tease, ‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you, Morales?’

He whimpers, and you know you have him.

His size is obvious by sight, but you really feel it in the pressure bearing down on the hinge of your jaw as you sink down on his cock, fighting to squeeze the girth of him into your mouth. The guttural groan from Frankie makes your pussy clench, and he tastes like he looks - clean, and all man. 

There’s no way you can take all of him, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. He’s hot under your touch, muscles pulled taut with tension that you can feel thrumming under his skin as you take your time with him. Focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat, you bob patiently up and down on him, slicking up his length with your spit, working him slightly deeper with every stroke - until you’re so full of him that you gag, hard.

Frankie is slack-jawed when you release him with an obscenely wet pop, spit trailing from your lips to the swollen tip of his cock, eyes wild as swipes his thumb across your puffy bottom lip. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ he declares, almost solemnly.

Slinking down his front, one hand securely around the base of his cock, you take him between your lips again, moaning at the salty taste of his precum, which makes him quake above you. As you swallow his length and pump your fist in tandem, your spit wetting your fingers, you peer up at him through your lashes - nothing could’ve prepared you for the utter wreckage that you find on his face. 

His lips are pulled back, baring his tidy teeth into a snarl as he very clearly struggles to hold himself back from fucking your mouth. You feel every bump and vein in his cock with each descent, the wet squelches filling in the gaps of his low grunts and moans. His grip in your hair stings as he starts panting in earnest above you, and somehow he gets even harder on your tongue, making it harder to breathe - 

‘Stop, stop,’ he wheezes suddenly, pulling back in a hasty retreat that has you whining at the sudden loss of him. ‘C’mere.’

He practically hauls you up against him, kissing you deeply, delving into your mouth to taste the bitterness of himself on your tongue. The world tilts on its axis when he tips you back onto the bed, and holding himself above you, he peels the jumpsuit off, leaving you in just your panties.

‘Gonna eat you out, baby,’ he drawls by your ear, trailing one palm up your body, which stops at your tits and squeezes. ‘Get you good and ready to take my big cock. How does that sound?’

‘Fuck, yes, Frankie, please,’ you beg.

There’s no shyness when he pushes your legs up and apart, and instead of taking your panties off, he hooks a finger under the thin fabric and pulls it to the side, his eyes darkening as he stares down at you.

‘So pretty,’ he praises you lowly. Holding your breath as he sinks onto his front, you breathe heavily in anticipation as his shoulders slot neatly underneath your legs. ‘Look at how wet you are for me. All this from sucking my cock?’

You nod frantically. ‘Frankie -’

Straight to the point as always, he ducks his dark head and drags the broad of his tongue over your clit - and you’re gone.

Admittedly, you have not had the best experiences with your exes. There was always too much gratuitous moaning and too little finesse, and afterwards, they always act like they deserve a medal for failing to get you off. But even if your past lovers had been more adequate in the field, you’re sure it still wouldn’t have prepared you for this. 

Frankie goes about it with a quiet focus that veers on reverential, the intensity in his dark eyes watching you makes your knees weak. He’s obviously picking up signs and reactions from you and adjusting his game plan accordingly, the pilot in him clearly in the driver’s seat. 

Not that he’s silent - far from it, you feel the reverberation in your core with every satisfied  hum deep in his chest, and the occasional, muttered fuck, so wet, want more in between licks and groans. But there’s nothing performative or showy about it, just a forthright competency that has you hurtling towards a toe-curling orgasm.

‘Frankie,’ you whine when you feel it about to hit. ‘Frankie Frankie Frankie -’

‘Eyes on me,’ he slurs against your sopping folds, and you listen - for once - watching him watch you fall apart on his tongue, thrashing in his hold as he grips you harder to keep you in place while he laps you up, until the burn of his patchy beard on your inner thighs makes you arch away from him from overstimulation.

Your pussy is still fluttering when he sinks two thick fingers into you, and he hisses at the way it clenches around him as he fucks you, leaving his digits slicked and slippery.

‘So tight, baby,’ he declares through gritted teeth, working you open for him. ‘Gonna feel so fucking good on my cock.’

You point towards the nightstand. ‘First drawer,’ you pant.

Needing no further prompting, Frankie yanks your panties off and flings the soaked scrap of fabric over his shoulder, then lunges at the cupboard where the condoms are. You scrape your nails over his thighs as he kneels over you, his usually steady hands visibly trembling as he tears into the wrapper and rolls the rubber over his heavy cock. He watches you with hooded eyes and settles between your legs, kissing you desperately as the swollen tip of him nudges at your entrance.

‘Ready?’ he asks, nose skimming yours sweetly.

You wind your arms around his neck, holding him close. ‘Fuck me, Frankie.’

The first push is a tight squeeze, and you can’t help the wince at the slight pinch as he sinks into you slowly. With a grunt of effort, he buries face into the slope of your neck and breathes, ‘Fuuuuck. You ok?’

‘Give me a second,’ you gasp, feeling your walls throb tightly around his length. ‘You’re so big, Frankie.’

He tangles his tongue with yours lazily in a deep kiss, before brushing his way down your throat and sucking on one nipple, making you cry out. He murmurs against your skin, ‘I know, but you’re doing so well for me, baby.’

Shifting your hips, Frankie groans when you slide him in deeper, the friction making you quiver beneath him. ‘Move, Frankie, please.’

He starts carefully, his strokes measured and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of him as he draws back then sinks back in, exhaling shakily. ‘You feel so fucking good.’

‘Harder,’ you demand when you feel your pussy relax around him. ‘Fuck me harder.’

‘Shit,’ he growls and snaps his hips, drawing a squeal from you as he hits somewhere deep inside. You wrap your legs around his waist, bracing yourself as he drives into you again and again and again, the bedframe hitting the wall with each thrust.

‘So good, Frankie,’ you plead in between hard pants. ‘Keep going. Don’t stop -’

Looking up at him, you admire the way his hair falls over his eyes, swaying with his movement. Absent-mindedly, your fingers wander into his curls and his reaction is instant - he cries out, arching into your touch, his hips faltering as he seems to lose his rhythm. ‘Oh fuck, baby, been thinking about those hands all fucking week, just wanted to feel you touch me again -’

As wrecked as you are on his cock, you smile at his confession and slide your hands languidly in his locks, dragging your nails on his scalp, your chest swelling with pride when you watch his face - dazed and completely wrecked - fucking you so hard that you’re sure the bed is about to break.

When he finds his voice again, it’s your real name that slips past his lips. ‘Gonna cum so hard, oh fuck - I’m gonna -’

Frankie’s thrusting frantically into you, eyes screwed shut until his hips stutter and then - after one perfect moment of stillness suspended in time - shudder after shudder thunder through his body, your name a broken record as he spills into the condom, his scratchy baritone moaning into your neck as the frenzied energy bleeds out of him.

His weight pins you to the bed as he catches his breath, and you play with his curls gently, basking in the rumbling purr in his chest as you run the strands between your fingers. Eventually, gathering himself, he rolls off you to let you breathe, tying the condom neatly and tossing it into the trash can.

For a second, Frankie lies on his side, watching you quietly. You watch him back, casting your gaze over the curls stuck to his sweaty forehead and his broad outline backlit by your nightstand light. Before self-consciousness can settle into the small distance between you, he cracks a smile and quips, ‘You did say I’d get laid even if it killed you.’

You laugh, which makes him grin. One strong arm reaches out to tuck you into his side, securely beneath the duvet. You hum at the tickle of his beard on the back of your neck and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

Right on the cusp of sleep, you sass, ‘Guess you’ll have to split the winnings with me after all.’

Any other day, you would’ve woken up if you heard someone on the stairwell. Hell, you’d hear if they were knocking on the salon door downstairs.

When you’re rudely shaken awake by frantic knocking on the studio door, you realise it’s because your hearing has been impaired by the side of a very warm body smooshed into your ear.

‘Shiv! Open up! I need to leave in fifteen minutes for my photoshoot!’

‘Shit,’ you croak, throat dry, limbs flailing as you try to sit up. ‘I forgot about Benny.’

‘Fuck him’, grouses Frankie, pulling you back into his arms, eyes still closed.

‘I can’t, I promised to help him with his hair. Fuck, do we need to hide you, or -’

‘The door’s thin, Shiv, I can hear him. And we put two and two together when you guys disappeared last night. We're pretty, but we ain't dumb!’

Frankie lets you go with a grumbled Benjamin fucking Miller under his breath, but he visibly perks up when you stumble out of bed naked.

You half-jokingly shield your boobs from his view. ‘Are you perving on me, Morales?’

He smirks, leaning back into the pillows with his hands folded behind his head while he eyes you appreciatively. It’s not fair how his triceps flex deliciously with the movement. ‘Why bother covering up? I’ve seen everything already.’

Trying - and failing - to shoot him a stern scowl, you pull on a robe and yank the door open, nearly careening backwards at the sight of Benny’s grinning face right in the doorway. 

‘Since when did you bang paying customers?’ he demands in lieu of a good morning.

You roll your eyes and usher him downstairs. ‘He’s not a paying customer. He’s on Pope’s tab.’

Benny flops into his usual chair, making it squeak, one eyebrow up as he does the air quotes. ‘Well, I guess we now know what kind of friends you guys are.’

‘Shut up, Miller,’ you gripe, but your mouth twists into a grin, giving you away as you set up.

‘Damn, that good, huh?’ he laughs. ‘I mean, Fish does have a rep, but I've never had insider confirmation.’

You point your styling scissors at him menacingly. ‘Shut up, or I won’t be held responsible if my hands slip by accident.’

Benny feeds you a sugar donut while you work quickly, trimming the ends before styling it, going for a tousled bed head look. You hear the water pipes run upstairs and the carpeted floors creak when Frankie gets up. Trying to play it cool, you only briefly glance up, catching a glimpse of him in the mirror as he makes his way down the stairs in his rumpled shirt and trousers, zipping up the fly when he reaches the bottom.

‘Morning, stud,’ sing-songs Benny, which earns him a slap on the head. ‘Ow! What the fuck, Shiv!’

Frankie loiters behind you for a second, scratching the back of his neck, before pulling you to one side. Not that it affords you much privacy anyway, with Benny wriggling his eyebrows impertinently at the two of you in the mirror.

‘I - uh -,’ he starts haltingly, one hand rubbing at the silver patch in his beard sheepishly. ‘I had a really good time last night.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ you smile.

His voice dipping lower, he asks, ‘Can I take you out to dinner sometime?’

Benny, being the shithead that he is, interjects loudly. ‘Hey lovebirds, I’m kind of on the clock here, if you don’t mind -’

‘She’ll get to you when she gets to you, Benjamin,’ snaps Frankie, one hand on his hip and the other pointing a stern finger at him.

Something about him being so assertive sends heat running up and down your spine. Stepping into his space - beaming when he doesn’t back away - you smooth a palm over the front of his shirt, unintentionally catching the rabbiting of his heart underneath.

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug nonchalantly. ‘Do you intend to come back as a cash-paying customer?’

His eyes flash with want, one hand closing around your hip and he leans down to let his heated words brush by your ear. ‘Not if I can keep paying in other ways.’

Reaching up, you run a hand through his curls, preening at the way he closes his eyes at your touch. ‘Alright then, take me to dinner, Francisco.’

Peering around you, Frankie barks, ‘Miller, I’m cashing in on our bet.’

‘Fuck’s sake. I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,’ he gripes, digging into his wallet reluctantly.

Swiping the bill from Benny, Frankie winks at you before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth - chaste, but charged with meaning. ‘Looks like you paid for your own dinner, Shiv.’

With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head and playfully push him towards the door. ‘Get outta here before I change my mind!’

‘Yeah right - as if you would now that you know what you’ll be missing.’

You’re not sure which makes your jaw drop - his cocksure declaration or the roguish confidence with which he walks out the door. In either case, Benny howls with laughter as you struggle to stay on your feet, your kneecaps having been rendered completely useless.

Just as Frankie climbs into his truck, Ashton whistles to a stop outside the salon on his wheels. Jaw dropping at the sight of the disheveled pilot nodding at him through the windscreen, he abandons his bike right on the curb and dashes into the salon, the door banging against the wall as he rushes in.

‘Excuse me - what the fuck did I just miss?’ he demands frantically.

You roll your eyes. ‘Calm down, Ashton, it’s not what it looks like -’

‘It’s exactly what it looks like,’ interrupts Benny as he starts singing. ‘Shiv and Frankie sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-’

He breaks off with a yelp when you stuff a donut into his mouth to shut him up, sugar flying everywhere as Ashton picks you up and spins you around, squealing like a banshee the entire time.

‘You guys are the fucking worst,’ you laugh, out of breath by the time Ashton lets you go.

Glancing outside, where Frankie is still parked watching the whole embarrassing episode, he gives you one last wink and an amused grin before he pulls away from the curb.

In an almost exact repeat of the scene from a few days ago, Ashton joins you at the window, and the two of you watch, shoulder to shoulder, as Frankie smoothly steers his truck out of your street.

‘He even drives sexy,’ sighs Ashton dreamily. Nudging you in the side, he adds slyly, ‘You’re in so much trouble, Shiv.’

You grin. You know you are - and luckily, it’s not a spot of bother that you’ll be in a hurry getting out of anytime soon.

Notes: I'm so excited to have finally completed this little two-shot. The two of them have been hanging out in my head all these months, it feels amazing to finally yeet this part into the world! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you had as much fun as I did with these two 🥰 Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ❤️

Now that I've got you here, if you want more of Shiv, I wrote some silly little drabbles of her hair appointments with our handsome Pedro boys for a recent milestone celebration. There are also some fun thoughts that came out of an impromptu Grays sleepover we had last week 🤍

I'm sure we'll see more of Shiv and Frankie somewhere down the line. For now, thank you again, I love you all so much ❤️

#fuckyeahgrays2 #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales twoshot #frankie catfish morales fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales #frankie friday

[thelightsandtheroses]

1: bad idea, right?

Let's Get Lost | Frankie Morales x female reader

Series | Next

You probably shouldn’t think it, but Frankie looks good sober. He looks even better on vacation.

It’s not fair really.

You’re standing in baggage collection,  wishing your ex-boyfriend was the type to wear socks with sandals or stupid t-shirts and loud printed shirts. Crocs, even.

Instead, he’s right here next to you, looking so calm and relaxed with your daughter in his arms, letting her play with the brim of his baseball cap and no, no this is all wrong. You’re meant to be the one dazzling your ex with insouciant style and a glow up, not him.

Sobriety’s changed Frankie though. As he looks over at you now, you’re met with memories of the man you met so many years ago, the man you fell in love with.

Once upon a time you thought you would marry Frankie Morales.

In another world, maybe you did. Maybe in one universe, the two of you are heading to Hawaii for your wedding, not Benny and Lia’s. Maybe in that universe, you were able to work everything out.

You two were in love once after all. You’ve never loved anyone like you loved Frankie and you’re not sure you’ll ever will.

That wasn’t enough though.

You weren’t enough.

It’s hard to compete with the release found in a powder, or in a bottle. It’s just as hard to live with that fact too.

The tannoy sounds loudly around you, breaking you from your reverie. You hate this part of the holiday or travelling - hanging around an airport, the worries about flight tickets and passports. You want to skip immediately to the moment where you’re settled in your hotel room, ideally at the beach with a coconut water in one hand and your new book in the other.

It’s been a long day. Your flight was delayed by several hours due to staffing shortages, it’s the middle of the night and by now you’d planned be fast asleep, not standing in baggage reclaim with your ex-boyfriend, a tired daughter and one particularly drunk idiot five metres away.

You’re tired and hungry and Clara is about ten minutes from reaching her breaking point, however, ever since Frankie’s picked her up, she’s been beaming and like a completely different child to your utter betrayal.

You feel like you’ve run a half marathon but Frankie’s been right there with you and the man is practically glowing. It’s like

Maybe everyone’s right. Maybe you do really need this break.

“That’s the last one of ours,” he says lightly, looking at the battered suitcase in the distance and moving immediately to fetch it from the carousel, even with one arm taken by a tired toddler.

This seemed like such a good idea in theory.

You’re friends now, you’re co-parents, you’re both in the wedding party. It seemed obvious to do this - to give Clara an amazing holiday experience and memories with both of her parents, to ensure Benny and Lia have the wedding they deserve without your drama. It sounded so simple, so mature, at the time.

This is the first time the three of you have spent this much time together since the breakup though. You’ve both had a lot of mature conversations about what’s right for your child, what’s right for Benny and Lia too as it’s their wedding after all.

It’s easy in theory though. A simple diktat of ‘everyone needs to be on their very best behaviour.‘

This is going to be a disaster.

You meet Frankie at a coffee shop. There is a new barista in training and a long, slow-moving queue. You can smell the coffee aroma around, the siren’s song of freshly baked pastries calling to you.

This is your favourite coffee spot on the way to work and it’s usually quieter, usually easier to just slip in and out before heading to the office.

You shift awkwardly on the spot, mentally adding up if you still have enough to get coffee before work, if the barista is likely to be able to make the coffee how you like it, or if perhaps even thinking that makes you ungrateful and rude.

Then you see Frankie behind you. He is wearing a baseball cap, dark jeans, and a t-shirt. It’s not the hat that draws you in though-  it’s his face. There’s this intense kindness in his eyes, in his features and you straight away feel drawn to him.

He’s exactly your type.

He speaks first, making polite small talk and his low, calm voice soothes the lingering anxiety about schedules and instead you just want to know about him.

You’re terrible with dating. The apps feel so impersonal and you’re always nervous about how you’ll make an impression, if you look the way you should, if Dateline is true and you’ll go on a date and never be seen again.

You’re not a romantic, not really, you think. You’d like to find someone though; you’d like to fall in love. You want that, you want it to feel organic.

So, when Frankie walks into your life, maybe it’s kismet.

He’s smart and funny and it’s so easy to talk to him and he asks for your number when you pick up your coffee from the counter, asks if he can call you. It feels right to say yes. You want to know him more, to get to know him, to just spend more time with him.

You’re almost wishing the queue would carry on, that the coffee would take longer just for an extra moment with him.  You even take your time and hover around the cafe to wait for him to pick up his Americano so you can extend the moment.

“What do you do?” you ask casually as you step outside the cafe, taking a sip of your drink.

“Oh,” Frankie shuffles then looks up at you with a smile, “I’m a pilot.” He could have led with that you think to yourself , you know so many people who would be impressed by that job, and by the way he winks at you before heading in the opposite direction, he knows it too.

He texts you an hour later.

It feels like a book or a movie, all of your dreams and hopes finally coming off the page and into your real life.

 You don’t know a lot about Frankie at that point, like the cafe is next to a NA meeting, or that Frankie has his demons. You don’t know that loving Frankie is bith the easiest thing in the world and being loved him feels like it could be everything. You don’t know that won’t be enough though, that plastic baggies and nightmares and a short reccy will systematically unravel every thread of your life with him in just a few years.

You can’t know that then and even if yoy had, it probably wouldn’t have changed anything.

Fate has its ways after all.

The hotel Benny and Lia are getting married in is stunning. You knew it was going to be an extravagant affair from talking to Lia and hearing vague murmurs about the planning over brief coffees and calls. You definitely got the impression from the cost of the hotel rooms when you were booking your stay,  but this? This is like a scene from a movie.

Even in the pitch darkness, the spotlights on the pavement illuminated the building to show its luxurious facades and the reception was gleaming and bright. You can’t remember staying somewhere like this before.

It seems idyllic.

Seems being the operative word right now.

“Okay, but the apartment had two bedrooms,” you say, resting an elbow on the marble counter in exhaustion and frustration. “Two, that’s what I specifically booked. The family apartment. Now there’s a problem?” That had been the deal, you would take the one room with an extra cot for Clara and Frankie would have the other room so you could exist as the perfect co-parenting happy family you were at least trying to be for your kid.

It had been a good plan.

The receptionist’s bright demeanour falters momentarily and she looks at her computer screen instead of meeting your haze “Yes but appears there was a small glitch with the booking online and well - we checked the other family in earlier. We do have a room for you, of course.”

You look over at Frankie desperately. Of course there was a problem, you think, feeling the familiar sensation of tears burning in the back of your eyes.

You told Frankie you had sorted the hotel booking, you told him that it would all be okay and it’s a mess. You’re a mess.

“So, your system has glitched. However, we have either an apartment or a room, right? Good. Please can you confirm that the one you’ve put us in -” Frankie begins, his voice steady.

“It’s technically an upgrade,” she says brightly. “It opens out onto the beach and it’s actually one of my favourites.”

“That’s wonderful. Does it have two bedrooms though?” Frankie asks.

“No.”

Your face falls and you squeeze your eyes shut to fight the impending tears. You are exhausted and you made the right booking for the right room, how can this be happening to you?

“However, we have put a pull-out cot in the room for your daughter, so that should resolve your concerns over the bedrooms and the room really is a lovely one. It’s the grade above what you booked actually and the views are stunning. You even have a terrace as I said that opens on the beach and -“

“We’re not together,” you say bluntly. “That’s why we need separate rooms. We’re not together.” Your voice sounds almost plaintive now, repeating that you and Frankie are most definitely not a couple.

Not anymore.

“Oh. I - uh, I - we’re fully booked with the wedding,” she says in a small voice, tapping keys on her keyboard desperately as it if will magic an extra room into the universe. “I’m so sorry.”

You look at Frankie who shrugs as the two of you try and have a mental conversation.

“We’ll figure it out,” you say. “For tonight. Tomorrow we will need a better resolution.”

“I don’t know what we can do. I’ll - we’ll look into this for you.”

“Thanks. Alright, let’s get this munchkin to bed,” you say, looking at your daughter fast asleep in Frankie’s arms.

“Yeah, we’ll uh, we’ll sort this out tomorrow.”

“Honestly, you need this break,” Frankie says, leaning against a kitchen counter as you shake your head at him and concentrate on unloading the dishwasher.

“I have so much work and - do you think I want this? I don’t want to miss Lia’s wedding or seeing Clara in her dress -” The past few months have been difficult with work and while you’ve been so looking forward to a holiday and Lia’s wedding, it’s starting to feel impossible.

“So don’t,” Frankie says, shaking his head.

“It’s not that simple. My job -”

“Oh, honestly, fuck your job.” Frankie runs his hand over his face, removing his cap and squeezing it awkwardly.

“I have a mortgage and I can’t just - I can’t just leave things.”

“You’re burnt out,” Frankie interjects in a low voice, “Everyone sees it. Lia’s worried about you too, she told Benny.”

“Traitor.”

“I’m worried about you too. You have the PTO already booked off and our daughter is so excited about all of us going together.”

“I know,” you say, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I know.”

Frankie moves over sintantly, placing a hand delicately on your shoulder. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a job, I know that.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“I feel like I’m letting everyone down.”

“You’re not, you’re definitely not. I can promise you that.”

You look up between bleary tear-filled eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me, Frankie?” He doesn’t need to be nice to you anymore; you’re not together, you’re just co-parents.

“You’re still - still important to me. We’re friends again, right?”

You nod.  You are friends again; it’s taken some time to reach this point but you missed having Frankie in your life. This sober Frankie before you? He’s someone you want to be your friend again too.

“Please don’t try and tell me you’re not going to your best friend’s wedding again. We’re all going. It will be good.”

Despite the late hour of your arrival, you can immediately tell the hotel room is special. It’s too dark to see out towards the terrace but the wide French doors are already inviting you out and you have visions of sitting there in the morning with a cup of coffee.  The furnishings are white and blue, the classic coastal colour scheme, with rich dark wood furniture. What you can see of the bathroom looks great as well.

The problem is the two armchairs instead of a sofa, the tiny rollaway cot for Clara and the giant king size bed in the room.

Normally, the crisp white sheets would be all to inviting, but in this scenario you feel panicked.

How are you going to work this out? You thought the pull-out bed would be large enough for one of you, or that there would at least be a sofa.

The priority has been Clara and getting her ready for bed and asleep as soon as possible.

Now though, the two of you are standing awkwardly.

“You should take the bed,” he says, “I know things have been a lot recently and you should have it anyway, but -”

“Where would you sleep?”

“There’s a bathtub, right?” Frankie says calmly. “I could get the blankets and I could sleep there tonight.”

“You can’t sleep in a bathtub, Frankie!“

“Why not? I’ve slept in worst places when I was a pilot.”

“Exactly what about your back? Same for me, I guess - I’m getting flashbacks of drunken house parties now.”

“Oh really?” Frankie smiles.

“Long time ago,” you say, looking down at your daughter who is now tucked into the cot and is already asleep.

Your eyes feel so heavy with tired and you’re dying to have a shower and then curl up for the night so the holiday can properly start in the morning.

Frankie looks similarly fraught; his brow is furrowed and he’s perched on an arm of the armchair.

“We’re grown-ups, right?” you ask after a moment.

“So they keep telling me,” he replies with mischief in his eyes.

“Okay, then we’ll talk to the hotel in the morning, get this sorted out for good, but it’s one night, Frankie, and I am fucking exhausted.” You look over at Frankie. “It’s a big enough bed and there are enough pillows that we can - yes, yes, that’s the only option, isn’t it?” You nod your head; certain this is the only solution now. You’re tired and you desperately want to sleep and just hope that tomorrow will be better when you wake up.

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Do you have a better idea?  And the bathtub is not an option, Frankie.”

Frankie thinks for a moment and shakes his head.

“Do you still sleep on the same side?” Frankie asks in a low voice, rubbing his hair and exposing a hint of his stomach and automatically moving to the other side of the bed.

You nod and awkwardly put your phone on the bedside table and get into your side of the bed. “You?”

“It’s fine.” You remember that Frankie used to like the same side of the bed too, he’d use that as an excuse whenever you woke up in his arms each morning.

This is going to be so much harder than you thought it would be.

“Was this necessary?” Frankie asks, pointing at the barrier of pillows.

“I didn’t want either of us to feel uncomfortable,” you say simply and your voice feels small.

“It’s fine, it’s all good.”

“I don’t even know why I did it.”

“It’s not a big deal, okay?” Frankie gets into his side of the bed, barely stifling a yawn. Maybe the day is finally catching up with him. In the dim light of the bedside tables, you can see the exhaustion starting to fill his eyes, the tiredness on his face.

“Still can’t believe you were going to sleep in the bathtub anyway!”

”It seemed a good idea at the time. Hey, she’s fast asleep,” Frankie says with a smile, indicating your daughter who is safely tucked into her own bed. “Y’know, I wanted to say thanks for this.”

“You’re the one who persuaded me not to stay and work.” You smile and shake your head as you slip into the covers. “Can’t believe I almost considered that.” Though in fairness, you wouldn’t be dealing with this hotel room drama if you were at home. You wouldn’t be with Clara though. “Besides, Lia’s my friend too and you had a good idea with combining this with something for Clara.  I want her to grow up and know we’re not fighting each other and that we’re on the same side. She’s our priority, right?”

‘’Always.”

“Besides, I’ve never stayed somewhere like this before.”

“Me either.”

“You travelled everywhere in the army.”

“Oh, darling, you have very different ideas about life in the army. I stayed in dorms or safe-houses or outside.” You notice the way his smile falters slightly, his eyes haunted by the ghosts of a short reccy that turned into days of worry and anguish. All Frankie came back with were bad dreams and enough trauma to send him straight to the escape of his vices.

“I’m sorry about the room.”

“It’s not on you. Besides, it’s one night. We’ll sort it out properly tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s just one night,” you repeat.

“Huh, heard that one before,” Frankie says sadly and before you can think about what he’s just said, he turns to the other side of the wall.

Usually you listen to a meditation or a sleep story to drift away. You like the harmless, ambient noise and dulcet tones of someone else to lull the stresses of the day away.

You can’t do that with Frankie here though and your second option for sleeplessness … absolutely not.

You switch off the light and exhale slowly. You’ll be fine, you can count sheep or try that breathing technique you read about. It’s just you’re so tired now you don’t even feel like sleeping now.

“You okay?” a low voice asks quietly.

“I hate the first night in a new bed.”

“I remember.”

“It’s fine.”

You turn over so you’re facing Frankie’s side. In the darkness of the room, all you can see is the silhouette of the many pillows separating the two of you and the broad outline of his shoulders.

You remember nights kissing the freckles on his neck, his shoulders, being so incontrovertibly in love with this man you thought you could spend forever in bed with him. You’d have spent forever anywhere with him once. 

You’ve dated since Frankie, you know he has as well, but somehow the finality of the very barrier that you created is pulling at your heartstrings right now. It’s all wrong.

It’s not supposed to be like this.

This is going to be a long week.

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