#catfish morales smut

[pedge-page]

Cravings

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!reader

Summary: Pussy eating king frankie, who gets his aforementioned nickname when you tried to come up with ways to prevent him from relapsing back to coke.

Warnings: soooo much oral —pussy eating, cum eating, grinding, dry humping, cumming in pants, kissing, Frankie's mouth is everywhere, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, little dub con since Frankie doesn't ask if he can cum inside, overstimulation, free use esc situations

Notes: This is NOT the Frankie free-use series I mentioned before; I'm a bit delayed with writing it, so here's something else i had started as a drabble but then... did not stay a drabble. Please like and reblog if you enjoy this fic!

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Rather than drowning himself in coke, Santi slyly suggest he drowns himself in pussy instead. The guys around the table laughed, but you kind of agreed and told him you'd help set him up on hookups. Frankie didn't want to go through the trouble of having to find a potentially different girl each night. Plus, his cravings were sporadic. He would need his fix in that moment whenever it came.

He remembered back when you had drunkenly admitted guys could hardly satisfy you because you had a high drive, usually cumming on your fingers at least 6 times a day before bed, often times more on lonely weekends. He was left speechless at the time, but now he couldn't get Santi's proposition mixed with that knowledge of you out of his head.

You tried to cook him meals instead or buy him hoards of candy, but the idea was stuck in his mind. You knew you'd be a convenient alternative, given you only lived less than 10 minutes away and was always around when he needed help. But you were afraid of crossing that line with one of your all time best friends.

Eventually, being around him so much—"on call" as the boys put it—left you susceptible to his sweet touches, ghosting lips against your ears, sporadic twitches and jittery hands, antsy fingers dancing along your hips. You considered the option heavily before finally caving: you were doing this to HELP him, as his friend. Just a little relief every so often when he absolutely needed it.

You came 9 times on his tongue the first time. It wasn't even that he was trying to make you cum, but the eagerness in the way he moved so fast, growling and moaning at the taste, his lips attached and never left your heat. His big nose just perfectly bumping your clit each time he pointed his tongue dove deep into your craving hole, curling up and hitting that soft spot inside you left you shaking and crying out his name, back arched and fingers clawing at his shoulders.

He was sated for almost 6 days (and you needed the ample recovery time because not even your fingers could make you cum so hard) before the craving hit again. Incessant knuckles pounded your doorstep. You had barely unlocked the door before he was shoving himself in and devouring your mouth with his. "I need another hit, carniño."

He didn't wait for a response, knocking you on your ass on the sofa and stripping your sweats and panties off before throwing one leg over his shoulder. Flattening his tongue, he licks a long strip along from your hole to your clit, obscenely guttural moans from the back of his throat filled your ears. He looked wild-eyed and crazy, as if starved for weeks and was finally given the sugar rush of the century.

You inevitably move in with him, claiming his spare bedroom, worried about how bad he gets when he goes anything longer than a few hours without you.

He makes you ride his face until you're suffocating him, and he still can't get enough. Your juices flood his mouth and nose and his eyes roll back as he loses air. You try to get off and apologies, but he's caged your thighs with his muscular arms, holding your pussy flat against his face as he devoured you more, ignoring your squirming pleas. He hums against your nub, the vibrations sending you into your own addictive high. You cum again, and again, and again, and soon you're tugging his hair, crying his name with fat tears down your cheek, leaning back and scratching at his chest to let off, but its useless. He's so lost in your cunt that you become light headed, barely holding on to the headboard as your lower body continues to spasm.

He only pulls off for a minute, squeezing his nostrils to force out your juices. He's so dazed, pupils blown wide, beard and mustache drenched in your slick, so pussy-drunk and in love that he wants to do it again. "Sweetest fucking cunt, I swear. Just wanna curl up and live inside here, querida."

You offer to suck him off but he gestures embarrassingly down, where you turn to see a dark splotch on the belt-line of his pants where the tip of his spent cock peaks out, dribbling little white drops onto his lower belly, having cum untouched just from eating you out.

It gets to the point where you lock yourself in the bathroom when you take a shower just to have 10 minutes of peace. Your pussy is so puffy, clit so swollen from his constant assault day and night that you have to calm down and remind yourself what good its doing for him. He hasn't touched the white powder in weeks.

He's wondered where you've gone when he sees the bathroom light illuminate under the door. He knocks a few times, then raps harsher with his fists, calling out your name. You tell him you just need a minute. The makeshift locks on the bathroom door of Frankie's apartment isn't designed to keep an ex militant out, and he just pushes it forward with enough force that it gives way and he let's himself in. You go to cover yourself when he pulls the shower curtains away, but the same needy expression on his face as he narrows in to the slit between your legs has you aching once again. It's Pavlovian, the way he stares, practically drooling, hands twitching by his side, sending signals to your cunt to start dripping for his appetite. He spins you around so your cheek is smothered against tile, ass out towards him, not caring about the water drenching his baseball cap, grey shirt and pants as he kneels on the shower floor and puts his face between your legs. He moans when his lips start sucking on your nub, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole. He keeps you in your spread position with his arms holding your waist, making their way to spread your ass for him to dive further in, knees between your heels. You reach one arm back, knocking his cap off as you card your fingers through his damp hair, gripping it when you cum and grind yourself back on his scruffy face.

He's otherwise so gentle, so soft spoken, but when he gets between your legs, something primal takes over and you can hardly recognize him.

Sometime in the evening while you were watching a movie, you see his knee bouncing next to you. You has snapped at him earlier and refused his hunger when he peppered kisses all over your neck, down your back, then tried to yank your pants down while you were cooking dinner for the two of you, nearly burning your arm on the stove from such force.

You hated that you had outright refused him for the first time, but the truthfully the swollenness between your legs needed rest before he wrecked you again. He's biting his lip so hard, stealing glances at you before rubbing his hair and shifting his cap back on.

You instead take your top off, having gotten comfortable enough to go without a bra when it was just the two of you. Frankie is a bit shocked, only used to seeing you strip your pants first before anything else.

You crawl over to him before sitting in his lap, thighs spread over his. He swallows the lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off of your tits right in front of him. His legs are still bouncing in agitation, the movement making your breasts jiggle right in front of him. He groans, licking his lips, breathing heavily.

"She needs a break, Fish," you said quietly, your soft and small hands seeking his big and callous ones, pulling them up over your waist before letting them settle on your cups.

He doesn't hesitate or ask further, head leaning forward and lips immediately latching on to your nipple. He moans, eyes closed as he sucks around the areola, tongue swirling your pebble as he kneads them in his hands.

You're trying so hard not to grind down on his cock, instead sitting upright on your knees so you're not fully resting your damp panty-covered crotch against the tent in his pants. The position is more head level with your tits, but he doesn't like that. He grips your hips to bring you flush against him, gasping out when you instinctually start rocking your hips steadily against his clothed length.

He noticed how heavily your chest is flexing, glaring up at you to see your brows furrowed, face tilted towards the ceiling trying not to cum on him. He cups his hands against your cheeks and brings you in for a sweet kiss, his lips slotting perfectly against yours as his hands return to palming your breasts. He presses his forehead against yours so your eyes meet, goosebumps wracking your whole body at the lust behind his eyes, and something more you couldn't place. "So good to me, querida. Perfect lips"—he gently pecks your lips—"perfect tits"—then a generous kiss to each of your breasts—"my perfect girl." You could smell the scent of your pussy on his lips, as if they'd be stained there now. Kissing your lips, your throat, collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, and erect nipples, and all the way back up again, was enough to keep his mouth busy and his craving subsided. And it worked almost as well, the two of you cumming sticky and wet against one another in your underwear with heavy sighs and sated eyes; you had calmed him down enough to get him to remove his clothes and put on a fresh pair of boxers before tucking him to his own bed with your favorite blanket.

As you tip toed into the bathroom to prep for a bath, you stared at your naked reflection: how swollen, and red your breasts were, covered in raised bite marks the shape of Frankie's jaws. Among your new scars are the faded scratches and bruises of Frankie's fingertips on your waist, stomach and lower back from how incessantly he devours you while his face is buried in your sopping pussy, like he had to sink his claws into you so you wouldn't slip away as he feasted. You look like you were attacked by a passionate lion.

His sweet nothings every time he stared into your eyes was what really turned you on. You tell yourself that it was just the withdrawal symptoms talking. That he was basically just high on a new drug.

-

To you, it must have looked like Frankie's craving were only getting worse with how increasingly frequent his lips found themselves attached to your body. In truth, his desire for coke steadily grew less, and it wasn't the replacement of the powder that he was seeking from you but rather the insaitability of finally having you that grew stronger.

The rest of boys noticed the effects you're having on Frankie too. They see it when he meets them for a drink every other Saturday, the way he anxiously taps his foot under the table, glancing around like he's unsure what to do, where to go, because he can't sit still. It's the signs of his cravings kicking back in, and they're all worried at first. But it's not until you up show later and slide into the booth next to him that they notice: Frankie casually drapes his arm around your shoulders like he always did—that part was normal. But what was new is how they could visibly see Frankie's heart rate slow, the way he slumped against the bench and completely calmed down from just your presence.

They also couldn't help but notice the way his eyes raked you with a mix of lust, love, and obsession, his dark gaze never once leaving the sight of you the entire night. All the while you laughed and chatted with them about your week, oblivious to the change in demeanor of your friend from just a few months ago.

You assured the boys that you two weren't fucking—and it was true, you hadn't slept with him once. albeit a few blow jobs, it was exclusively just Frankie eating you out or kissing. You were very hopeful that his cravings were going to go away soon since its the longest he's been off coke. You were even talking to your old landlord to see if your old apartment a few blocks away still had openings since you'd be moving out of Frankie's place soon. Santi couldn't help but see Frankie's dejection, his arm sliding away from you as he excused himself to get more beer.

By the end of the night, Frankie was drunk out of his mind. Will suggested he slow down so he wouldn't pass out before he could walk home. It sounded like a good plan, until Francisco glanced over to the bar and saw you sitting there and smiling at a guy who was flirting with you. Fish took a giant gulp of his beer, downing the entire jug before slamming it on the table and striding out of the booth towards you. He overheard the guy asking if you had a ride home tonight.

"She comes home with me. Every. Night," he slurred, his sweaty palm skimming possessively over your jean-clad thigh and snaking between your legs, face coming so close to you that your noses slide against each other. Frankie's eyes bore into yours with so much desire, it bordered on range. You knew those were his craving eyes. The pungent smell of alcohol on his breath made you flinch as he tried to pull you in for a kiss. You quickly tell the confused guy that he's your roommate and you need to get him home immediately. You could barely finish excusing yourself from the stranger before Frankie was dragging you out of the bar. You managed to wave to the others, making a drinking gesture and pointing to Frankie before being yanked into the street.

He was stumbling all over the place, breath uneven as you hoisted him up to lean against you, eventually making it through his apartment entrance and turning the key to unlock his unit.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Frankie slammed the door close behind him and pinned you up against it, his hands roaming your body as his mouth desperately sought yours. "Craving," he mumbled against your open lips. "Need"—tongue forcing its way into your mouth, he nipped at your lower lip, sucking on it before releasing with a pop— "need you," he panted.

"I know, I know—Jesus Fish. I'm—gonna help—gonna take care of you—" you breathed, ashamed of how quickly you could feel your panties dampen. It never bothered him though, and only encouraged his sweet tooth more. You weren't nearly as drunk as him, but your few margaritas made you extremely susceptible, even welcoming, to his touch.

You hummed into his shoulder when his hard bulge rubbed purposefully against your covered core. He bit your earlobe as he fisted your low-neck shirt before pulling it down roughly, the fabric tearing away. You gasped, ready to scold him but he pressed his mouth on you again, teeth clashing, his hands slotting down your body to pinch, grope, scratch at any bit of skin he could get.

"So—so good t'me. Always taking—such good care of me, cariño."

His fingers dip into your ass and hoist you up so he's carrying you, your arms and legs wrapped securely around him as he boldered through his apartment, kicking his door open before tossing you on the bed, watching you bounce. You never break eye contact as you unbutton your jeans at the same time Frankie pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside to unfasten his belt and zipper.

Clambering over you to reseal your lips, you breath in his scent, hands exploring his tone arms, down his chest and muscle middle all the way to the little pooch of tummy hanging. His hands gripped your jeans and pulled them along with you down the length of the bed, bringing you to the edge, his grip pushing up on the back of your thighs so your knees are digging against your rib cage, pulsing pussy exposed at his mercy. "I fuckin' love this pussy, querida," he growled before burying his face between you folds for the thounsandth time. "So fuckin' wet for me," he mumbled against your thigh, nipping at the skin.

He ate you out with precision, eyes hungry watching you, determined to make you fall apart quickly. He wasn't doing it for his own taste, but the sheer satisfaction of watching you writhe for him, knowing your body inside out as the only one who could get you like this. He's languidly thrusting two fingers in and out. You didn't even need to be stretched: he'd practically been prepping you for months now. You're crying out into the air as you cum, hips bucking against his nose with your heels digging into his shoulder blades. Frankie pulls away, kissing your stomach and up your tits before making you taste yourself on his lips.

The feeling of his cock nudging your entrance make your once dazed eyes go wide and alert. He pauses, suddenly worried. He can't read your expression, time dragging out too long and it scares the fuck out of him that he's taking it too far, that you didn't agree to this.

He had wanted to tell you everything right then: how he dreams of you riding him, or when he fists his cock in the shower when you're at work to the thought of what your tight walls would feel like wrapped around him when first violates you, how he automatically gets aroused now when he just sees you or smells your laundry, or admitting how many times he's actually cum in his pants without you noticing when he is buried between your legs, dying to have you cum around his cock instead of his tongue.

It's not until you sense his hesitation that you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close, sharing the same breath of air, nodding as your calves hook over his ass and squeeze his hips, the tip of his flush cock slipping in to your wet heat.

You both sigh heavily into each other's mouth when he takes charge again and thrusts fully inside you. He scrunches his eyes closed, forehead dipping down to your breast bone to revel in the overwhelming feeling of the tight space inside you.

You warmly caress his hair to bring him back up to you, kissing him and whispering, lips trembling, "Don't—don't think about it. Just... just use me."

His heart sank: You probably just thought this was another hit for him.

He didn't want to think about the fact that you were everything he'd needed in that moment, the image of perfection beneath him beautifully laid out for his eyes, his touch, but not for his soul. He gritted his teeth, pulling out then slamming back in, jolting your whole body up the mattress. It was fast, rough, and not at all how he wanted your first time to be with him, but he couldn't control his urges. He was gasping loudly as he fucked you, your cunt gushing around his member, the obscene sound of slick and skin slapping skin echoing in his otherwise empty apartment.

He brought his thumb to rub messy circles on your clit, sending you into a spasm of praises and expletives, but the most satisfying sound was his name repeated over and over again.

He barely manages to pull out before jerking his cock only twice and creaming all over your folds and clit. Groaning in post orgasmic bliss, he watches you heaving and shaking, filthy pussy covered in his seed. Half of his mind is only working now as he slides back down to lap you clean with his mouth, his own saltiness filling his throat, fingers scissoring inside to get your juices flowing, obsessed with the sight in front of him: your back arched off the bed, heels digging into his lower back as his hands pinning your hips down flat so he can work his mouth over you. And then you're cumming again, so angelic on his tongue, your sweet moans going right to his dick, hardening once again as he ruts into the mattress. He nips your clit and sucks, reluctant to pull away as he lines up and splits you open. You scream out, and if it weren't for the way your barely-recovered battered walls kept sucking him back in, he'd be worried you're in pain. His hands hook under your lower back, lifting you off the bed as he plows into your squelching cunt over and over again.

Youre both covered in a thin layer of sweat, the pillows and comforter of his bed strewn haphazardly around the floor as he dominates you. The headboard slammed recklessly agains the wall, and neither of you cared about your neighbors trying to sleep at 1 in the morning. He ignores the oversensitivity of his cock and your clit, forcing you both into an unexpected climb of another orgasm like it was a primal need.

It was happening without warning; he should be asking for permission, but he knew you took the pill, and he's been dying to release inside you from the moment you first let him put his lips on you. You're cumming on his cock again, hips bucking and grinding against him without your clit being touched, and he was done for.

With a harsh cry, he climaxes again, his length flooding your womb with ribbons of white. His arm shoots in front of him, flat on the bed next to your ear to hold himself up so he didn't crash down on you as his hips jerked, pushing his seed deeper in to you.

He rested most of his weight on top of you, labored breaths combined into one. He kisses the top of your nose, whispering "thank you," unsticking your sweaty bodies as he rolls you two over to have you lying on top, your head next to his. He pats your hair over your ear, pebbling your forehead and eyelids in kisses. His cock twitched in your spent heat, cum leaking out and dripping down to his balls and on the bed.

"Glad I—could...help..." you mumbled, eyes already closed as you drifted into sleep.

His softening dick slipped from your pussy, warm hands wiping you with his shirt before settling you gently on a pillow. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your breaths, naked and fast alseep on his bed. He pulled his sheets higher to your shoulder, his heart beating faster at the way you snuggled further into his pillow.

Frankie stared at the ceiling for hours, hand on his forehead in anguish, wondering how the fuck he was supposed to tell you it wasn't cocaine he was craving last night.

- - - -

Part 2: Crash

Series masterlist

#pedro pascal smut #francisco morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #frankie morales #catfish morales #catfish morales smut #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morlaes smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #catfish morales x reader

[thatredheadwriter]

Pretty

frankie morales x reader

Alright, so you know ya girl has a bit of an oral fixation. And a thing for marking (seriously, I’ve already done a whole fic about it). So it shouldn’t shock you that seeing all these gifs of Pedro from TUWOMT in his little striped speedo has✨SPARKED✨ something in me. Something absolutely fucking feral. I love thighs. Idc who they belong to, they’re fluffy pillows of sexiness and they deserve to be shown a good time. Also, we need to call boys pretty. They are and they deserve to hear it more. I totally intended for this to be pwp, but then I got a little angsty with it, and then it got real fluffy, and idk man. I think it turned out ok, but this is not the fic I planned on writing when I started, and that’s ok. Also, I suck at endings, so I guess I just stopped writing words instead of properly closing it. Whatever. Please enjoy.

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales of Triple Frontier. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Swearing

My extreme love of thighs

nibbling/marking kink

Kinda body worship

Elements of handjob

Mention of oral (male receiving)

Frankie doesn’t think he’s beautiful and handsome

Fairly mild (IMO) body-image-related angst (just Frankie’s this time around)

Mentions that maybe reader had some past body image issues (not explicit)

Pet names

Sickeningly sweet fluff

Making Frankie say that he’s pretty (not in a feminizing way, pretty doesn’t always mean feminine)

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

It was a lazy day. You lay with your foot at the head of the bed, arms crossed underneath you, reading your newest pick from the local library.

Frankie sat beside you, propped up against the headboard reading the morning paper. You knew if you teased him about his reading glasses and old-man habits he’d take them off and go back to squinting, so you kept your giggles to yourself.

When he didn’t need it to hold the paper, one of his warm palms rested splayed on the back of your thigh, rubbing up and down in what was meant to be a soft gesture, but was pulling your mind in another direction entirely.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t fucked your brains out the night before, but you couldn’t help but want more. He was too pretty, too handsome, although every time you tried to tell him so, he’d get all flustered and change the subject.

As your eyes trailed down his form, bathed in the morning light, you couldn’t help but appreciate him. His broad shoulders and soft tummy covered in the fabric of his favorite white t-shirt, down to his thighs, mostly exposed from the hem of his plaid boxers ridden up into the seam of his hips.

God his thighs were just perfect. You loved digging your fingers into them as he fucked your face, and so did he, even if he liked to pretend he was indifferent. They were your favorite pillow when you watched movies on the couch, and you loved watching and feeling the muscles flex underneath you as he came.

So when you finished your chapter, you sat up and pulled your legs up under you, turning to face your boyfriend with a pout. Sitting back on your heels, you chewed on your lip as you studied him until he noticed your stare and set his paper aside.

“What’s up, pup?” he asked, sitting up a little more so he could place a hand on your knee. Frankie loved to touch you, and you loved that about him. He always made you feel safe and adored.

“I wanna try something,” you said hesitantly, narrowing your eyes at him.

He wiggled his brows suggestively, “If I remember correctly, the last time you said that, we ended up staying in bed for an entire weekend.”

When you didn’t react to his joke about the time the two of you had first tried cockwarming, he shifted again.

“Hey, what is it? You can tell me anything,” his brow was furrowed adorably, and you huffed a laugh.

“I…I just don’t know how to say it. Can I just show you?” you asked, fiddling with the hem of your sleep shirt and looking up at him.

“Of course. I trust you, princesa.”

You smiled and tossed your book haphazardly up towards your nightstand before using his ankles to spread his legs, earning you a look of confusion as you moved between them. It didn’t go away as you settled on your belly between his legs, head right between his thighs.

“I don’t think this is new,” Frankie chuckled above you as you reached your hands out to begin caressing the insides of his legs.

“Oh, I’m not sucking you. Not yet anyways,” you clarified, still massaging his thighs. “Frankie, I just love you so much. You’re so pretty.”

“Not that again,” he dropped his head back to the headboard like he was annoyed, but you knew it was really to hide the blush creeping up his face. “I’ve told you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk bad about yourself. You’re so beautiful Frankie. Especially your thighs. God, I love them.”

You dipped your head to trail your nose along his skin there, the light hair tickling you as you searched for the perfect spot to start. The first kiss was light, testing his reaction. But as he relaxed under you, you grew bolder. Soon you were leaving litters of sloppy kisses all over his thighs.

When you first nibbled a little, you were afraid you’d hurt him with the way he’d sucked in a breath. But when you looked up at him, his eyes were blown with lust and his fingers were tangled in the sheets.

“Love you s’much, Frankie,” you murmured into his skin, now mottled with the evidence of your mouth on him. His cock strained in his boxers, and his hips bucked involuntarily when your nose grazed it.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I love you too, princess.”

You grinned up at him, resting your cheek against his thigh. Your fingers traced up the sensitive flesh and onto his boxers, slipping up under his t-shirt and into the fabric of his waistband. 

“Will you say it for me?” you asked, looking up at him with big doe eyes as your hand finally made contact with his achingly hard dick.

“Say-say wha- oh, fuck,” he cut himself off as your thumb swirled precum around his tip, toying with his frenulum.

“I want you to say that you’re pretty. Cause to me you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Seriously?” he all but pouted, frowning down at you.

“Frankie, you spent months when we first started dating telling me how beautiful and gorgeous I am, and I eventually started to believe it. I just want you to love yourself,” you said honestly, hand stilling inside his boxers as you waited for his reaction. “You’re always making little digs about being out of shape or gaining a little weight since your discharge, and I literally couldn’t care less. Francisco, you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and I just want you to see that. I love you.”

You could swear there was a tear in his eye when you finished, and he opened his arms wide, indicating he wanted to hold you.

“God, princesa, how did I get so lucky?” he sniffled a bit as you crawled up to his level, letting him wrap his arms around you and hold you, with you holding him back.

“I think I’m the lucky one, but that’s just me,” you grinned into his shirt. “I just don’t want you to ever feel less than, Frankie. And you always make me feel so loved, I just want to share it back, I guess.”

“Ok,” he sighed, pulling back to look at you. He took a deep, shuddery breath before screwing his eyes shut tight. “I’m pretty,” he grimaced as the words came out, cracking an eye afterward to see your barely contained mix of amusement and adoration.

You leaned in and pecked a kiss on the end of his nose.

“Yes, yes you are. And you’re handsome,” another kiss, this one to his left temple. “And you’re beautiful,” a kiss to his right temple. “And you’re smart,” you kissed the center of his forehead. “And kind,” you kissed a cheek. “And an amazing father,” the other cheek. “And the sweetest partner,” you kissed one of the bare patches in his beard. “And a simply divine lover,” you kissed the other patch, although you missed a little bit because he was giggling underneath you. “And I am so lucky to call you mine.”

The last kiss you placed to his lips, but before you could pull away, he was pulling you in with his need.

You rolled your hips down on him, his hard cock still pressing into you through his boxers.

“Can you say it again for me?” you asked with your best pouty face, “You can even say handsome instead if you don’t like pretty.”

Frankie leaned in to kiss down your jaw, bucking your hips up against yours. “I think ‘pretty’ is growing on me.”

“Yeah?” you asked, tugging him away by his hair.

“Yeah. Cause you’re the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I’d kill to be anything like you, pup.”

#frankie morales #francisco morales #catfish morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fluff #francisco morales smut #francisco morales angst #francisco morales fluff #catfish morales smut #catfish morales angst #catfish morales fluff #triple frontier #frankie morales fic #francisco morales fic #catfish morales fic #francisco 'catfish' morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character

[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:

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @munson-hargrove-barnes86 @angel98624 @anoverwhelmingdin @pimosworld @nandan11 @iloveenya @survivingandenduring

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales imagine #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction

[swiftispunk]

acts of service | frankie morales x f!reader

masterlist | frankie masterlist | kofi | ao3 | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 7.9k

summary: an unexpected admission leads frankie to make you an offer you can't refuse. this surely won't come with any consequences. OR you've never had your pussy ate and your best friend frankie helps you out. warnings etc: [pre-triple frontier] smut, childhood best friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love are lying to themselves and each other, shy!reader, kind of insecure!reader, pet names in both english and spanish, literal porn, piracy, the US military, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m), a little handjob action, frankie morales has a huge cock, reader is curvy coded but i think anyone could read this fic, pov swapping, this has kind of a bittersweet ending i'm sorry. no use of y/n.

a/n: these two kind of just swept me up and took me on a ride. i headcanon this girlie eventually becomes frankie's "lady," which i tell you now bc i fear i might have accidentally made this sad. thank you @joelscruff for the beta and thank you @adamantiumspy for the notes on the spanish.

“I should get going soon, huh?”

“No.”

“Okay, then,” Frankie shrugs, requiring no more convincing than that.

He hadn’t really wanted to leave anyway. He was just trying to be polite. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about that with you, but still. He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome or anything.

It's just that the times he gets back home are rare, and even rarer are the times he gets with you. His best friend. He doesn’t know if that’s still what you’d call him, but that’s his own stupid fault. Maybe he’s known you the longest but he knows you’ve been busy building your own life, a life far removed from the years you’d spent growing up together.

You’ve got all kinds of friends now. People he’s never met, people that came into your life while he’d been deployed. Hell, you’ve spent the better part of the last six months dating some guy you’d met on a dating app (he didn’t even know you could use those things for anything other than fucking) but that relationship had fallen apart before he’d even gotten the chance to meet the guy. Your first real boyfriend, as you’d put it.

It’s probably for the best anyway. Frankie’s sure he wouldn’t have liked him.

Frankie’s not sure he’ll like any guy you’re dating who’s not him.

But you don’t need to know that. He’d chosen this life, for better or for worse, and the last thing he’s going to do is burden you with his stupid, inescapable feelings when he knows he’s just gonna have to leave again anyway. 

So instead, he overstays his welcome. 

The bowl of popcorn you share sits half finished on the end table, your cozy little living room cast in the faint glow of a colourful glass-shaded floor lamp, that one you’d proudly boasted about finding at the antiques market. He remembers the ache in his chest when you’d sent him that picture, that painful longing for a simple life with you, complete with antiquing and brunch and nights like tonight; your feet in his lap, splayed out together on your sectional while Frankie flips aimlessly through your seemingly never-ending list of channels.

“Jesus, how much do you pay for this?” he demands, honestly just curious now as he clicks towards the channel-800 mark, waiting for the numbers to circle back to 1–which he really thinks should have happened by now. “Who even needs all these channels?”

He jumps past a slew of news stations that all appear to be from different countries, perfectly punctuating his point. 

Your sweet laughter fills the air. God, he loves that sound. He’s missed it.

“You think I pay for this?” you say. “Frank, this shit is like, so illegal.” 

“Excuse me?” He rounds on you, pausing his scrolling on what appears to be a soap opera from Indonesia, “So you’re a criminal?” 

“No,” you insist, making grabby hands for the remote, which he deliberately holds just out of your reach with a smirk. “My dad set it up, I don’t even know how it works. I only use it to watch Housewives, anyway.” 

“Sure,” he teases as you squirm a little closer, your legs draping over his thighs almost to the knee now. His cheeks warm at the proximity but he pushes down the butterflies in his stomach, twisting away from you as you reach across his body for the remote. “Next time I come home you’re gonna be running some kinda underground piracy ring on the dark web.” 

“Whatever.” You slump back into your spot on the couch, adorably mock-grumpy about it. But Frankie can still see the smile tugging at your lips. 

“No, seriously,” he presses on, “If I’m gone long enough, I’m gonna come back and find you in jail.” 

That quickly wipes the smile off your face. Your mouth forms into a hard line and a sharp twinge of guilt punches Frankie hard in the gut. 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t go away for so long,” you grumble, and there’s no hint of teasing in your voice anymore.

Frankie’s own face falls and he swallows tightly against the sudden lump in his throat. He shouldn’t have fucking said anything. And worst of all, you keep looking at him with these big, sad eyes, like you’re heartbroken at the thought of him going away again and goddamnit if you keep that up, he might start to believe it means something more than it really does.

Whatever anguish he’s feeling inside must be showing pretty clearly on his face because before he can even open his mouth to make it right, you’re apologizing to him. 

“Sorry, I made it weird,” you quickly amend, shaking your head and forcing a smile. Like it’s your job to alleviate the tension in the room. You’re always doing that. Always making sure everyone else is comfortable. But Frankie’s not gonna let you get away with that. Because you have every reason to be mad at him and he knows it.

“Hey, no,” he sighs, sitting forward and anxiously rubbing at his scruff. “You didn’t make it weird. I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure what for. For leaving, for bringing it up, for loving you. The sympathetic smile you offer him feels less forced now, at least.

“It’s okay,” you nod. You take a deep breath through your nose and Frankie’s relieved to see you let your guard down again, your head falling back into the couch behind you as you exhale. Your eyelids flutter closed for a second and he feels almost envious of how relaxed you look. That is, until a cacophony of blood curdling screams begin erupting from the television and your head is quickly snapping up at the sound.

“What the fuck are we watching?” you demand, your voice coated with genuine laughter again.

“I think she just found out he was having an affair,” Frankie posits, trying his best to make sense of the drama currently unfolding on screen.

“I don’t know, she could be screaming about how much she loves that other woman’s outfit.”

“She’s crying.”

“Maybe she’s just passionate about fashion, Francisco.”

He snorts and for a few minutes, you watch in comfortable silence, taking turns guessing what the hell is going on until you give up and nudge at his leg with your socked toes.

“Keep looking,” you suggest. “I don’t know what else is on here, I’ve honestly never gone this high in the channels.”

“‘Kay,” he agrees easily with a smirk. He’s always loved how you let yourself get a little bossy with him. You’re not like that with everyone. You’re quiet with most people, always trying to make yourself smaller or sweeter or softer. But not with him. And that’s how he likes it. He’d never want you to pretend with him. 

He clicks his way higher and higher through the channels, waiting for something to catch his eye or yours. He quickly flies over a long string of radio channels, 60s, 70s, 80s, Easy Listening…he’s flicking through them so fast he doesn’t catch the moment the channel titles lining the bottom of the screen change to XXX–Adult, 24/7 Porn and you’re suddenly being slapped with the image of a woman laid out on a kitchen counter, bare beyond a pair of stilettos, moaning out obscenely while her male scene partner buries his face in her pussy.

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan. You cover your face with your hands, poking an eye out from between your fingers, a sight so fucking cute Frankie forgets for a second that he should probably change the channel.

The woman on screen cries out as the man between her legs devours her–a little overzealous, in Frankie’s opinion. Frankie swallows tightly, pushing down on the unconscious twist of arousal the sound inspires. He’d be lying if he said the images on screen combined with your legs still slung over his thighs weren’t having some kind of effect on him. 

“You’ve really got everything on this thing, huh?” he chuckles, working to keep his tone light. 

You keep peeking through your fingers at the screen and inexplicably, Frankie finds himself torn, hesitating with his hand on the dial. What would it be like to watch this with you? Would you want that? Why does it feel like crossing a line? Why does he kind of want to?

“Frankie, turn it off,” you beg and that easily settles it. If you don’t want it, then neither does he.

He mumbles a hurried, okay okay, continuing his exploration upwards through the channels but…it doesn’t stop. Just channel after channel of actors in various states of nudity and debauchery.  

“Fuck–there’s a lot,” he notes, more to himself than you.

He combs past a few orgies and some painfully inauthentic lesbian stuff. He knows he could just hop back to the guide instead of skimming through it all, but it’s kind of funny now to see just how much porn is baked into this highly illegal cable device your dad had apparently set up for you. 

He only pauses when you make a small comment, just as he comes upon another video of a man shouldered between a woman’s thighs, the camera zoomed in close to his face as he flicks his tongue over her clit.

“Ugh, why do they always have them doing that?” 

Frankie turns to face you, letting the video continue on in the background. Your hands aren’t covering your eyes anymore. Instead, you assess the scene with furrowed brows and your lips curled upwards in disgust. 

“What?” 

“Like, there’s no way either of them enjoy that,” you continue, waving your hand at the screen like he should just know what you’re referring to. 

Now Frankie frowns, turning back to the TV in case he’s missed something horribly wrong. But no…as far as he can tell, it’s just a man feverishly eating pussy. 

“You’re talking about him eating her out?” Frankie asks. 

“Yes!” 

You say it like it should be obvious. 

You watch together now, and Frankie tries his best to take in the scene pragmatically. Which is hard, considering the wet smack of the man’s lips against the woman’s pussy is making his ears burn and the blood rush to his cock.

The male actor is…enthusiastic. Lacking some finesse maybe, but certainly giving it his all. His eyes are closed, mouth glued to her cunt as he rocks his head back and forth. He’s on his knees in front of her, dick hard as a rock between his legs. Frankie can’t really see the problem, but you’re still cringing away beside him.   

“I mean, she’s over acting a bit but he seems to be enjoying it,” Frankie shrugs.

At that, you scoff.

“What?” 

“No guy actually enjoys that,” you say insistently.

His first reaction is shock; you’re a smart person and he’s never heard you say anything more wrong. But the initial disbelief quickly turns to rage the second it dawns on him that there’s no way you could have come to that conclusion on your own, which means someone else must have convinced you it was true. 

“Who the fuck told you that?” he demands. 

It comes out angrier than he intends.

“I–”

All at once, you shrink in on yourself, dropping your head and staring down at your hands. And all at once, Frankie feels like an asshole because he can tell you really fucking believe the lie.

“Nenita,” he says, softening his tone.

He turns the volume down on the TV and twists to face you full-on. The obscene images on screen play on in the background but they’re easier to ignore without the wanton moans of the actors. He wraps a hand around one of your wrists and you peer up at him shyly. 

“Who told you that?” he repeats. 

You take a deep breath.

“You remember that Tinder guy I told you about?”

Any attempt at softness dissipates in a second. Your voice is so timid and Frankie’s blood boils because you’re not supposed to sound that way with him. About a million furious thoughts cross his mind, like how much he’d love to fucking kill the loser who’d made you feel this way, who’d fed you the most absurd, bullshit lie just so he could deny you pleasure–

Jesus. Your first real boyfriend. How many times had you sucked his cock, maybe even let him fuck you and he–

The goddamn injustice of it all has him too mad to even respond. He just makes some noise between a huff and a scoff and squeezes his fingers tighter around your wrist. 

“I don’t know, that’s just what he said,” you go on quickly, always trying to diffuse the tension. You shake your head and look down at your hands again. “He said he didn’t like it and any guy who says he does is lying.”

“Well, I like it,” Frankie says reflexively and your eyes snap up to meet his at once. 

One thing about you and Frankie is that you rarely ever talk about sex. You’ve been with people, he’s been with people–you both know this. But you don’t…talk about it. Frankie’s not one to kiss and tell anyway, plus, maybe part of him had always thought that if he’d been too explicit about his experiences with other people, you might start to think he hadn’t been dreaming about you through every single one of them. 

It’s why this admission, here, in your apartment, on your couch, with some second rate porno playing in the background, has you staring at him wide-eyed. Because it feels like crossing a line.

But Frankie holds his ground, staring right back at you until he sees you nod. 

“I fucking love it,” he continues, like he needs you to really hear it. “And I’m not lying.”

You nod again, and even though you still don’t look fully convinced, he leans back into the couch, prepared to let it go but–

“Wait, so.” He sits upright again, and he really shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t go crossing yet another line but some sick, masochistic part of him needs to know. “Does that mean he never even–?”

You just give him this look before dropping your gaze back down to your lap and Frankie sighs, pulling his cap back to comb an exasperated hand through his curls instead of saying what he’d really like to say.

It probably is for the best he never got the chance to meet this guy.

“I mean, it’s fine, I didn’t want it anyway,” you insist with a shrug. “Or…I don’t even–I don’t even know if I like it.”

That’s fair, he guesses, but also–

“You probably just haven’t had anyone do it right.”

Every woman he’s ever been with had seemed to like it when he’d done it, anyway. He’s certain if he got his mouth on you…

Don’t even think about it.

But it’s too late; he already is thinking about it. Thinking about your messy little pussy and how warm and wet it would feel against his lips and how your sweet juices would stain his moustache and beard. How your soft thighs would feel pressed against his ears and how you’d writhe when you came for him. How he’d like to ruin you for anyone else so you’d never again have to doubt how much you loved it.

He’s thinking about it before you even quietly admit, “I haven’t had anyone do it at all.”

And the admission breaks his heart, because you deserve it. You deserve to feel good. He could make you feel good. 

He blurts out the offer before his brain can catch up in time to stop him–

“Can I?” he asks in a breathless rush. “Can I do it for you?”

Your eyes widen and something fiery burns in his belly, a tingling, nervous heat expanding outwards to his extremities with a kind of electric shock. Adrenaline, he realizes, coursing in his veins after crossing yet another uncrossable line.

“Frankie,” you breathe and he swears he can feel the same waves of anticipation that are currently flooding his senses rolling off of you in turn. 

“Just as a friend,” he lies, inching closer to you on the couch, experimentally resting his hand on your thigh. You both stare at it in wonder, shared breaths coming faster between you. 

“You can say no,” he whispers. Please don’t say no.

Your breath catches as he moves his hand higher, intoxicated by the warmth radiating between you. He gets as far as the soft crease of your thigh and then your hand is flying down to cover his, stopping him in his tracks.

“Frankie,” you repeat. He thinks you sound sad, and that’s not right. He lifts his stare from your conjoined hands to carefully watch your face, trying to make sense of the fear there, while you shake your head and nervously avoid his gaze. 

“You don’t need to do me any favours, Francisco,” you murmur.

“It’s not–” he starts, cutting himself off with a deep breath as he tries to collect his thoughts. 

A favour? Yeah, right. How can he find the right words to tell you he’s dreamt of this a million times? That even if he hadn’t been in love with you since he’d first laid eyes on you, getting the chance to eat you out would still be the sweetest fucking gift in the world?

He hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your face up so he can see your eyes. You glance up at him from under your lashes, doleful and shy, shoulders bunched up to your ears. No. You’re not supposed to look like that with him, you’re not supposed to make yourself small for him.

He presses his fingers down into the meat of your thigh and your lips fall apart as a shallow breath passes through them.

“I want it too, querida,” he rasps. He can hear years and years of pining and desperation underscoring his words. He hopes you don’t. 

-

You’re treading on dangerous ground and you know it. 

I want it too, querida. 

His whispered words ring out between you and you allow yourself to believe that they’re true. Frankie wants it, he wants to see your pussy and he wants to put his mouth on it, he wants to give this thing that no one’s ever given you before–

As a friend. 

It’s fine, you can ignore that part. You can pretend. This is just a friend helping a friend and not the man you’ve always wished would love you back and it’s definitely not going to fuck you up forever to let him do this.

You’re too blinded by arousal to think straight, too caught up in the heat of the moment as he moves your legs off his lap and pulls you down so you’re lying on your back and he’s hovering above you. He slowly strokes his hands up and down your thighs over your leggings, like he’s trying to get a feel for you. And he kind of is, you think. He’s never touched you like this before, all reverent and patient with it as his thumbs near the apex of your thighs before trailing his touch back down to the tops of your knees, over and over until you’re so turned on you don’t even care how much of a mistake this is. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he hums, almost to himself as his big hands curl around your hips and his fingers play just under the edge of your shirt. 

He sounds so genuine. There’s no way this is real. 

Instinctually, you roll your eyes. “Frankie, come on.”

“You are,” Frankie insists, reaching up beneath the hem of your shirt to glide his palms over your bare sides. He exhales shakily at the feeling of your naked flesh under his hands and your cunt throbs in response, your will to argue with him fading in an instant. 

Then he licks his lips, flitting his eyes up to your face as if to ask permission for whatever he’s going to do next. Whatever it is, you nod your acceptance. 

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, appearing to steel himself before he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and begins to tug them down your thighs and– 

Reality hits you like a ton of bricks. Frankie’s about to see you naked. Francisco Morales is about to see all your imperfections and your curls and your pussy. 

“Frankie, wait.” 

You clench your legs together and Frankie stops at once. He looks up at you like a wounded puppy, brown eyes all wide and unsure, eyebrows raised in questioning. 

Oh god, he’s so beautiful. He has no idea how beautiful you’ve always found him. Not a clue how inadequate you’d started to feel beside him when he’d begun to grow up into such a handsome, desirable young man while you’d stumbled awkwardly through your teen years, always feeling like you’d never be worthy of love or pleasure, least of all from Frankie.

Of course you know now that’s not true; you’ve had plenty of suitors and casual hookups since Frankie’d gone away. Although, you’d never felt comfortable enough with any of them to let them do this for you. And then your stupid ex had to go and make you feel so ashamed for even wanting it that you’d been forced to just accept your fate, that this just wasn’t something you were ever going to get to experience.

And while you have to admit there’s probably no one in the world you feel more comfortable with than Frankie, you’ve also spent years convincing yourself he would never love you the way you’ve always loved him. That he’d never look at you the way you’d always wished he would.

If he’d wanted to, surely he would have done it by now. Right?

“You want me to stop?” he asks. 

“I just–”

You do but you also really, really don’t. You throw an arm over your face, debilitating nerves co-mingling with the electrifying need coursing through you. You can’t fucking think. 

You take a long, steadying breath, prying your arm away from your face to find him still looking down at you with that stupid, beautiful face. 

You’re about to offer him an out but the earnestness in his eyes makes you say something honest instead. 

“What if you don’t like what you see?”

The confusion on his face dissolves into something like shock as he huffs out a disbelieving laugh. You frown, embarrassed, and Frankie quickly reins himself in.

“Corazón,” he says, working to sound more serious even as a smile continues to pull at the corners of his lips. He grabs your arm and much to your surprise, places your hand over his crotch. Your mouth falls open with a sudden gasp. 

“Feel that? Feel how fucking hard I am?” Frankie murmurs gruffly and you do. Even through his jeans, the thick, prominent outline of his cock is firm and solid under your touch. You don’t think you can speak without moaning, so you just bite your lip and nod in answer to his question. 

“Créeme,” he grunts, pressing your hand down into his bulge like he’s trying to prove his point. “I already like what I see. Are you gonna let me see me more?”

You nod frantically, the evidence of his arousal all the convincing you need for now.

“Yes?” he presses expectantly.

“Yes–yeah, Frankie.”

You think you hear him say, ‘kay, under his breath, and then he’s shifting, considering the couch around him like he’s trying to decide how he wants to do this. 

“C’mere,” he suggests, not really giving you much of a choice as he guides you towards the corner of the sectional, maneuvering your body until your legs are dangling off the end of the couch. He locates a cushion and places it under your neck and then he falls to his knees on the floor before you. 

You’re now face to face with the muted porn on your TV screen, the actors having now advanced from cunnilingus to rabid fucking. It’s kind of a debauched backdrop, you guess, but no more debauched than the sight of Frankie throwing his cap off and darting his tongue out between his plush lips as his fingers make their way under your waistband again. He starts to tug, and this time, you let him. 

“Lift up just a bit for me, babe,” he instructs you gently when the fabric bunches around your ass. You angle your hips up and Frankie hums appreciatively, carefully pulling away your leggings and underwear. He keeps his eyes on his hands while he strips you from the waist down, moving without an ounce of haste. 

You bring your knees together out of habit once you’re fully bare but Frankie isn’t even looking where you expect him to. He’s looking at your ankles and shins as he draws a line up your legs with his hands, that same up and down pattern he’d painted on your thighs earlier. 

“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he marvels softly.

Your heart rate quickens into overdrive when his hands eventually move up to rest on your knees. Something seems to overtake him then as his soft eyes darken and go a bit glassy, dull fingernails digging into your skin with barely-contained desperation. 

“Shit, baby,” he breathes, his voice almost a whine. He leans forward into you, teeth grazing at the flesh of your thigh as he peeks up at you from under his dark lashes. “Can I please look at your pussy?”

“Yeah, Frankie,” you squeak. How could ever say no when he sounds like that?

You urge your muscles to slacken as Frankie coaxes your knees apart, pulling back to look at you when he does. You can’t help it; you squeeze your eyes closed and hold your breath, waiting nervously for the moment he decides to end this.

“Fuck me,” Frankie groans. 

What does that mean? Is that good? 

“Holy shit, baby,” Frankie continues, shaking your leg a bit to get your attention and against your better judgment, you open your eyes. You look at him, rather than your own body laid out like this, because it’s easier that way. 

He’s ogling you, sitting back on his haunches with his hands on your knees, mouth agape as he takes in your pussy for the first time.

“You’re so wet,” he revels quietly, glancing up at you curiously. He looks…thrilled about it. “Do you always get this wet?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever been so wet in your entire fucking life actually.

“Mm-mm.”

Frankie smiles. 

“Just for me, huh?” he hums, then he’s looking at your pussy again and it’s like it entrances him. He growls, hinging to kiss your inner thighs. He inhales deeply through his nose and you try not to get too embarrassed at the thought of him breathing in your scent. Anyway, he seems to like it, if the ragged sigh he exhales and his fluttering lashes are anything to go by.

“Oh my god, you’re gonna taste so fucking good,” he grits through his teeth.

You’ve imagined your first kiss with Frankie thousands of times. But you’ve never imagined it quite like this. Never imagined his lips on your knees or his scruff on your thighs, his fingers tracing the stretchmarks around your hips like he’s drawing a map across your skin. Every touch, every patient, adoring graze of his hands and his mouth and his teeth both calms and excites you. 

“Can I tell you something?” he whispers after several long moments. 

“Yeah.”

“You have a perfect pussy.” The smile in his voice is audible and it quickly breaks the spell.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, playfully kicking a leg out at him. “You don’t have to do all that.”

“Do what? I’m being so fucking serious,” he retorts, his sweet smiling fading. “It’s…so pretty. I’m not lying. Okay?”

You nod and choose to believe him. “Okay.”

It’s getting hard to argue with him now, as his hands glide up towards the apex of your thighs, spreading you open wider as he slowly nears your centre. Your heart pounds in your ears, chest light with anticipation as his thumbs brush your outer lips and your eyes snap shut again. 

“Can I touch you, baby?” he asks, his voice all low and husky in a way you’ve never heard him sound before. 

“Please.”

He sucks in a long breath, which you mirror unconsciously, and then he’s swiping two thick fingers through the seam of your folds, spreading wetness from your hole to your clit. 

“Oh,” Frankie sighs reverently as you melt under his curious touch. 

Your breaths come fast as he plays with your pussy, running his fingers up and down through the mess of it, getting to know you here just like he had with his hands on your body. This part you know, most men have at least put the effort in to finger you. But the fact that it’s Frankie touching you makes every sensation more electrifying and new. 

Never mind that no one’s ever touched you with as much patience and attentiveness as Frankie does, quietly observing every response his fingers elicit from you. He spreads your lips apart and pinches them back together, stroking your clit just enough to make you squirm before pulling away. 

You sneak an eye open just in time to catch him sucking his fingers clean, sighing long through his nose before he refocuses on your cunt. 

Well, he did say he loved it. Maybe you’re starting to believe him. 

He inches closer, broad shoulders finding space between your thighs.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on you now, hermosa,” he tells you. He reaches out to touch one finger to your dripping core. “Right here.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“It’s so wet there, Frankie,” you protest weakly. Why would he want to put his mouth on the messiest part of you? You can’t understand it. Frankie just smiles. 

“I know, baby. I wanna taste you.”

You can only whimper in response, Frankie so close now you can feel his warm breath against your folds. He plants one last kiss to the crease of your thigh and then at last, closes the space between his lips and your pussy. 

You feel him lick a thin stripe through the wettest part of you, the slick contact sending an emphatic jolt to every nerve ending your body. He does it again, widening his tongue this time, and your responding gasp is cut off when Frankie fucking moans. What does that mean?

Your head snaps up and you stare down at him in horror. 

“What’s wrong? Does it taste bad?”

Frankie detaches his mouth from your cunt, confusion mapping the crease between his brows.

“Bad?” he repeats. You just blink back at him with uncertainty written all over your face and he seems to recognize you’re being serious. His features soften.

“No, querida,” he insists. “Just tastes like pussy. Really fucking good pussy. Did it feel good?”

You nod–you can’t lie. 

“Good. I’m gonna do it again. Just relax for me, okay?”

He waits until you nod again and your tense muscles have loosened, then he dives forward for a second time.

Now, you trust that the breathy moan he lets out is one of pleasure rather than disgust. It’s not that hard to believe either; Frankie glides his tongue through the seam of your folds with ravenous interest, up and down, in wide circles around your lips and curious flicks over your hole, peeking up at you with each careful ministration to ensure he’s on the right track.

And, Christ, you may not have any frame of reference but it certainly feels like he is. 

It’s so…wet. So dizzying and warm and all-encompassing. Then Frankie dares to spear his tongue inside you–once, twice, a third time–and you keen at the welcome intrusion, moaning out a sound so pornagraphic you could probably rival the woman currently being railed from behind on your TV right now. 

You feel–rather than really see–Frankie smile against you. 

“Does that feel good when I do that?” he asks and then he does it again. 

“Yes, Frankie.”

He hears the silent plea beneath your words and quickly gets back to work. 

With his tongue still dancing over your fluttering hole, Frankie closes his lips. 

And that’s–oh–that’s so much more overwhelming. His mouth consumes your pussy as his tongue laps and lathes at your core, drinking down everything your body gives him. His eyes close and his brows furrow while his lips move hungrily against you and you imagine this is what it would feel like to kiss him–hot and wet and sloppy and perfect. 

He continues like that, making out with your pussy until your hips involuntarily begin to rock up into his mouth in search of more. Frankie groans, sucking at your folds before pulling away with a wet pop. 

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he groans. He gazes bearlily at your pussy, his lips coated with arousal and saliva. You don’t miss the way he drops a hand to his bulge. 

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs. Usually so controlled and composed, Frankie sounds almost delirious now. “Baby, I’m gonna lick your clit now. Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah–yeah, please, Frankie.”

Frankie makes a wild, guttural noise, leaning in to press a kiss into your pussy. 

“Tell me, baby, tell me where you want my tongue.”

But then he’s teasing his mouth over your hole again, making speech nearly impossible as he swirls his tongue around your opening–like a preview of what he’s about to offer the most sensitive part of you. 

Desperation takes over and any lingering nerves fade away.

“My clit, Frankie,” you beg him. “Please lick my clit.”

The order has him moaning against you again, the vibration alone enough to make you dizzy even before he’s gripping both your thighs to spread you open further and his mouth is moving to find purchase over your nub. 

A sound you’ve never heard yourself make before spills from your parted lips as Frankie begins to deftly work your clit with his tongue. Sparks ignite in your belly at the sensation, so different than how it feels to have someone’s hands on you here. It’s slick and it’s intimate and it’s so much more…concentrated this way. Frankie presses into you harder and flattens his tongue, focusing on drawing precise little circles around your clit that have you seeing stars. 

Jesus–did he go to school for this or something? How does he know to apply just the right amount of pressure? How does he never falter in his rhythm or even stop to come up for air? How does it already feel like you could come at any second if he keeps doing what he’s doing right now?

Fully intent on your pleasure, his messy curls frame his flushed cheeks and his hooded eyes. He’s coaxing towards your end like he’s been fucking training for this his entire goddamn life.

You get lost in it, indulge in the feeling and the fact that it’s Frankie doing this for you. Frankie is making you feel this good. Frankie is going to make you come. 

You grab at his hair and push his face into your cunt, past the point of caring if he’d be upset about that as your orgasm blooms hot in your core. Frankie just groans appreciatively, laving at your clit and giving you just that much more when he puckers his lips and sucks at the tiny bundles of nerves. 

“Oh, Frankie, fuck–fuck, do that again–”

-

Bossy. He loves when you get bossy. You’re so close and, apparently, that makes you bossy.

He smiles. He doesn’t hesitate to do as you ask, sucking hungrily at your clit and swallowing down your salty-sweet flavour. When he feels your muscles begin to tighten he offers you his tongue again, sucking and licking, sucking and licking. He thinks about the man on screen earlier and takes a page out of his book, slowly moving his head from side to side as much as he can with your hands in his hair–and, yeah, you seem to like that, if your wild, needy moans and your breathless little gasps are anything to go by. 

He doesn’t want to leave here ever. He wants to drown and die with his face in your cunt and your hands in his hair. He wants his last breath to be coated with your scent so he can be buried in the ground with it, knowing his life had been worthwhile because at least he’d got to have you this way even one fucking time. 

But your pleas are growing stronger and your chest is heaving faster and Frankie knows it can’t last–because you’re going to come. Suddenly, that’s the only thing in the world that matters. 

“Like that, Frankie,” you cry, when he finds a new rhythm with his tongue, broad, coaxing strokes over your twitching pearl. Your eyes snap open and find his at once, beseeching him. “Don’t stop doing that, Frankie–I’m gonna come.”

He hums against you and heeds your orders, never stopping or slowing the movement of his tongue. You chant for him–yesyesyes–and Frankie just hums and hums his encouragement. 

Come on, baby, come on, baby, he thinks. Let me see what you look like when you come for me. Let me know this part of you. 

“Frankie!”

The drawn-out cry of his name is the last warning he gets before your pussy begins to pulse under his tongue. 

Your climax is even more beautiful than he imagined it’d be. 

You arch up into his mouth and his hands are quick to hold you there, licking you through it as you quiver with the force of it. Wetness gushes from your core and Frankie laps at it greedily, drunk on your taste and your sounds and your writhing form above him. 

Years of service to his country, and somehow he thinks this might be his proudest achievement. He’s never felt more gratified than he does watching you fall apart for him right now. 

Meanwhile, Frankie’s cock aches, leaking and hard in his boxers and begging to be touched. He’s already so close, he could probably come too if he just–

With his mouth still closed over your pussy and your body still shaking with the swells of your orgasm, Frankie begins to palm himself furiously through his jeans, chasing his own high before you can come down from yours. 

But it’s too late. You catch him red-handed. 

“Frankie–stop, honey, don’t come like that.” 

You pry him off your soaking cunt and Frankie doesn’t fight you. You’re sitting up, watching him, gaze smouldering and fixed on the hand he’s currently rubbing against his clothed cock. He should be embarrassed but he just wants to come. 

“How, baby?” he asks you brokenly. 

“Take it out.” 

“Fuck, fuck–” 

He hurries to obey, straightening up off the floor and fumbling hastily with his belt buckle. It takes him three tries to get his fingers to cooperate long enough to figure it out, unzipping his jeans and yanking them down his thighs, completely forgetting this is the first time you’re ever going to see his– 

“Oh my god,” you gasp the second his cock is free from his boxers and he’s wrapping a relieving hand around himself. He looks up at you, momentarily concerned until he sees your eyes are trained on his cock. 

And yeah, fine–sue him–his ego blooms for a second, watching your eyes widen at his size, breath leaving you in this adorable little sigh. 

“Frankie, you’re so–” 

“I know,” he interrupts. You share a smile, something so familiar, as Frankie strokes his cock over your cunt, something so decidedly unfamiliar. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna fuck you with it this time.”

This time. Fuck. He hasn’t even finished doing this with you now and he’s already planning when he’s gonna get to do it again. As if he even knows if you want that, as if he’s not leaving again in just a few weeks–

“You can,” you say hurriedly and the offer pulls him off the edge of spiraling and right back into the moment, cock throbbing in his hand as his head falls forward into his chest with a groan. “Frankie, you can fuck me.” 

He shakes his head. 

“Gonna come in two seconds if I do that, babe.”

He’s also not sure he has the self control to fuck you right now without hurting you.

Plus he really is so fucking close. Your fingers explore his belly and Frankie pumps himself faster. He watches in a lustful haze as your hand moves to hover over his cock, almost curious about it. 

“Can I help you, Frankie?” you whisper. Jesus, do you even know how alluring your voice sounds? He’s gonna fucking explode if you keep talking to him like that. 

You lightly touch your fingers to the back of his hand–and he’s never said yes so fast in his life. 

“Yeah–fuck, yeah, baby, you wanna help?”

“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him sweetly as you take over.

“Oh, shit–fuck,” Frankie rasps the second you wrap your fingers around him. Then you start to stroke him in long, languid pumps and his eyelids involuntarily flutter.

“Yes, baby, just like that,” he sighs. He abandons the urge to come for a moment, letting his eyes slip closed and really trying his best to just savour the feeling of you touching him. His stomach lurches when he feels you swirl your thumb over his slit, smearing wet drops of precum around the head of his cock. His chest warms with something like pride at learning this about you, that you know what you’re doing when you get a cock in your hand. That you’re good at this. 

“Fuck…that’s so good, sweetheart,” he finds himself whispering just because he thinks you deserve to know. 

“Frankie.”

Your voice calls out to him through the fog of bliss and he dares himself to glance down at you. Still working over his length in deep, adoring strokes, you bite your lip and meet his stare with wide, faraway eyes of your own. He cups your cheek in his hand just because he can. 

“Hm?”

You smile and it’s so fucking beautiful and soft and you that he can’t help but smile right back. 

“You made me feel so fucking good,” you tell him earnestly. 

“Yeah?” Frankie strokes your cheekbone with his thumb and you tighten the grip of your fist around his cock. 

“Yeah,” you nod, just as your smile falters in lieu of something darker. “I want–I want you to come for me, Frankie. I want you to come on my pussy.”

“Jesus,” Frankie grits, nodding frantically as he shoos your hand away and takes his cock in his own hand again. “Yeah–yeah, okay.”

The request alone has him hurtling towards release and in a flurry of desperation, he reaches up under your shirt to palm at one of your tits with his free hand while he concentrates the pumps of his fist to the head of his cock. Your head falls back behind you when he gets one of your nipples between his fingers and you moan so pretty for him.

Fucking hell, he’s not gonna last.  

“You want me to come on your pussy, baby?” 

“Mhm.”

That pleading lilt in your voice makes tension coil in his core, heat rising up the back of his neck. He can hear the sound of his own heady grunting as he strokes and strokes himself for you, eager and impatient to give you what you’d asked for.

“Whose pussy is it?” he growls. 

He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe part of him just needs to know he’s really claimed this experience for you. That no one’s ever going to make you feel good as he had. 

Your eyes lock and you tell him exactly what he needs to hear–

“Y-yours, Frankie. It’s your pussy.”

“Yeah…yeah, it is–fuck!”

He comes with blinding force, his cock twitching violently in his grasp as he paints your mound and lower belly with white ropes of spend. Huffed breaths pass through his lips as the waves pass over him, his knees aching against your floor as he shudders and groans and milks himself over your pussy. His pussy. 

Once he’s emptied himself completely, his body still quaking with residual aftershocks, he hooks a hand behind your neck to pull you in closer. Sated, your features shrouded in bliss and gratitude…Frankie’s always loved you, but he’s never loved you more than he does right now. 

“Mi vida,” he breathes, clutching your face between his palms. “Can I kiss you?”

And even though it’s beyond backwards, to share your first kiss with your tang on his tongue and his cum on your skin, you nod, leaning into him willingly as he finally, finally presses his lips to yours. 

Somehow, even after waiting years for this, he finds it in himself to kiss you slow. You don’t seem to be in any rush either, sighing as you part your lips for him and let him spill his tongue between them. You press yourself closer, wrap your arms around his neck to deepen it and a glimmering warmth trickles down his spine. 

Breathless and charged, there’s a change in atmosphere, and suddenly everything feels painfully fragile. Like the moment he breaks this kiss, the earth will crack open under him and he’ll be pulled down into its molten core and it’ll never be like this again. 

So he just kisses and kisses and kisses you, finding his way back onto the couch and holding you hostage against his lips. But you make no attempt at escape. You just mould your lips against his and fist your hands into the fabric of his shirt and kiss him right back with just as much force and finality. 

He wants to tell you everything, but he doesn’t know how or if that would even be the right thing to do. 

I love you. I still have to leave. 

No. He can’t do that to you. 

“See how good your pussy tastes?” he asks between kisses instead. You laugh against his lips, but when he opens his eyes to see your face, he finds your eyes are wet with tears.

Shit.

“You know that’s not why I’m kissing you so much, Frankie.”

Reluctantly, he breaks away. He holds your face between his hands, his lips hovering just above yours. 

“Why are you?” he whispers. Is it the same reason he can’t stop? Is it that same feeling of impermanence he can’t seem to shake? 

The tears in your eyes spill over and pool in the webs of his fingers. 

“Because I’ve always wanted to,” you tell him shakily. And as quickly as his heart swells with the confession does it deflate with your next words, “And I don’t know when I’ll get to do it again.”

Frankie sighs, his forehead colliding with yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. For so many things but mostly–

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, Frankie,” you assure him, scratching your fingernails into his scalp and slanting your head to steal another salty-wet kiss. He thinks he feels you smile, and it almost soothes the ache. “It’s okay now.”

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales

[beskarandblasters]

Bluffing Season

Enemies to Lovers!Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Author’s note: Ya know like “cuffing season” lmao!! Thank you to @pascalispretty, @fhatbhabie, and @hyzer34 for beta reading! 🤍

Summary: Frankie Morales is your next door neighbor of the worst kind. To put it simply, you two can’t stand each other. But when his girlfriend breaks up with him right before the holidays he asks you to be his fake date for Christmas, not wanting to go home to his family single yet again. You reluctantly say yes and as you spend time with him you realize he’s not as terrible as you once thought.

Word count: 14.6k (what the fuck lol)

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, reader is a baker, two years post Triple Frontier, slow burn, enemies to lovers, fake dating, jealousy, made up lore for Frankie/his family tree, reader lowkey got mommy issues (just a shitty family in general), drinking, mentions of drugs, food/eating, Frankie describing his trauma, some Spanish used, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, pet names (cariño), sort of ambiguous time skips, Frankie is either a Libra or a Scorpio!!, no use of y/n

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

Late October

Beep Beep Beep

Ugh. Another shit start to your day with shit sleep as per usual. Running your own bakery means a lot of early mornings. Normally you don’t mind waking up early since you love what you do. You bought a new house on Magnolia Drive eight months ago which made your commute to the bakery much shorter. However… Your realtor neglected to tell you that it came with the worst neighbor on the face of the Earth. His name is Frankie and you can’t stand him. When you first moved in, he seemed normal, an ex-military, single guy living on his own. The deception didn’t last long, though. Because after about two weeks of living next to him, the shitstorm commenced. And now you wished you picked literally any other house in this city. His friends are at his house all the time, one of them always blocking your driveway with their pickup truck. They stay until at least four in the morning, blasting music when Frankie knows you have to work early the next day. He’s probably the worst neighbor in the entire state of Florida. 

You’re getting in your car to start your morning commute for work when Frankie is grabbing the morning paper from his mailbox. You physically recoil when you see him. There’s a harsh line of demarcation separating your lawn from his because he cuts his grass once in a blue moon. It’s such an eyesore.  

“Have you thought about, I don’t know, cutting your lawn?” you ask before shutting your car door.

He shoots you the middle finger and mouths something you can’t hear. You roll down the window for him to take a few steps closer to your car and repeat, “Stop feeding the fucking stray cats.”

Okay, maybe you aren’t the perfect neighbor either. But doesn’t he deserve it anyway?

“Bite me,” you respond, rolling your eyes and backing out of your driveway.

He rolls his eyes, too, and storms off. You giggle to yourself, feeling proud that you got a rise out of him. If he’s going to piss you off the least you could do is return the favor. 

-

Work is fine, a little busier than normal. But the afternoon exhaustion is hitting. You can’t wait to go home, take a shower, and maybe get some sleep before Frankie’s friends come over. It’s Friday and they’ll be even more unruly than they normally are during the week. Don’t they have lives? Or like… a fucking family to go home to?? Probably not if they’re hanging out with the likes of him. 

But alas, it’s finally time to go home. You close up the bakery and get in your car to drive back, excited to just melt into the couch for a few hours. As you turn onto your street you see that Frankie’s driveway is empty, for now, that is. He’s not outside, either. So that means you get to just slip inside your house without a hostile interaction for once. Score!

You pull into your driveway, get out of your car, and start walking towards your front door when a disgruntled voice stops you dead in your tracks. 

“Hey!”

Not again. 

“What do you want now?” you say, whipping around and using the bitchiest voice you can muster. 

“Cut your fucking tree,” Frankie says, holding up a lemon. 

…Is he fucking for real? 

You have a lemon tree at the edge of your backyard and a few branches hang over the fence and into Frankie’s yard. You never thought to trim it because you assumed you were doing something nice for him, letting him have some of the lemons. But no, apparently he wants to complain about free fruit. 

“You’re complaining about… free fruit?”

He stutters a bit, tripping on his words as if he just realized how stupid he sounds.

“I guess not.”

“That’s what I thought,” you say, turning and heading into your house.

The fucking nerve of that man. 

The rest of the night is pretty uneventful aside from a bitter man complaining about free fruit. You hear Frankie’s friends next door and grumble to yourself. How do they have the energy to party every single day of the week? You turn in early and do your best to ignore how loud they are, getting ready for another busy day at the bakery. Tomorrow’s Saturday, the busiest day of the week, and you need to be well rested. Well rested as you can be with all the noise from next door. 

-

The morning’s been typical so far; wake up feeling exhausted, argue with Frankie in the driveway, drive to work, open the bakery; and the usual stuff. It isn’t until halfway through your business hours that something… interesting happens. A woman enters the shop and browses the cakes in your display case. 

“I’d like to get some writing on a cake.”

“Sure! Which one would you like?”

“That one,” she says, pointing to one on the bottom, a vanilla cake with vanilla buttercream and strawberries in the middle. 

“Okay,” you say, grabbing it out of the case and taking it to your decorating table, “What would you like it to say?”

“Well, it’s for my boyfriend, Frankie so I’d like it to say “Happy birthday, Franklin” with a fish. I guess his nickname was catfish in the military.”

You know for a fact this is for Frankie because of the nickname. You’ve heard his friends screaming it next door when they’re drunk. But you also know for a fact his name is not Franklin, it’s Francisco. You didn’t have to ask him or anything, Amazon has delivered some of his packages to your house in the past by mistake. So this is fucking hilarious. 

“Any specific color for the writing?” you ask, stifling a chuckle. 

“Black is fine.”

You get to work on the writing and have mixed feelings. It’s kinda shitty that his own girlfriend doesn’t know his full name. And it’s also shitty that he’s going to have a birthday cake at his party with the wrong name on it. You should feel bad but… Nah, this guy sucks. 

You glance over at his girlfriend before moving on to the fish. Although she clearly doesn’t know her boyfriend that well at all, you can’t deny that she’s beautiful. And all of a sudden you’re feeling… jealous? Wait, why are you getting jealous of her? For a guy you can’t even stand?

You gotta finish decorating this cake and get her out of here so you can try to deal with your conflicting feelings. You package the cake back up and walk it to the counter to cash her out. 

“Okay, your total is fifty-three forty-nine. Cash or card?”

“Card,” she says, tapping it on the counter. 

The receipt prints out of the machine for her to sign but before you hand it to her you look at the name printed on the bottom; Heather Ryan. 

“Okay, just need your signature and then you’re all set!” 

She signs her name on the receipt and slides it back to you. 

“It looks great! Thank you so much!” she says before grabbing the cake and leaving. 

Now that she’s gone you can process your weird and sudden emotions. You didn’t know he had a girlfriend and to be honest, it kind of surprises you that he has one in the first place considering his… lifestyle. But why are you jealous? He’s the worst. 

Although… When you first moved in, you did think he was kinda cute before he showed his true colors. He got you with his curly brown hair peeking out underneath his hat but the attraction didn’t last long. Once his antic began, the attraction dissipated. 

…Or so you thought.

Stop it, you tell yourself. He has made your life hell for the better part of a year. 

You bury down your weird and confusing feelings for now, trying to continue the rest of the day as normal. The rest of the day is pretty uneventful and soon enough five o’clock rolls around. Just as you’re locking up the bakery, you get a text from your friend, Ally. 

Hey, bestieee!! Drinks tonight?

You know what, why not?

You respond with: 

Oooh, what time and where?

You get in your car and drive home, excited to have something to look forward to tonight. And at least you’ll be gone for some of Frankie’s antics. As you pull into your driveway you notice his friends aren’t there yet, all the better for you. You  check your phone and Ally says;

7:30. Let’s go to the Harp tonight!! I’ll meet you there. 

She’s referring to a bar downtown but to you, it honestly doesn’t matter where you go. You need to blow off some steam and work through your weird feelings with your friend, get her opinion on this random burst of jealousy you’re feeling. 

You take a shower, change into a skirt and fitted tee, and do your makeup before getting ready to leave. Just to find one of Frankie’s friends blocking your driveway, of course. Why wouldn’t they do this shit on the one night you have plans?

Nah, this isn’t going to fly. You gotta say something. You march right over to his door and judging by the noise coming from inside, his birthday party is tonight. Alright, maybe you won’t be a huge bitch about this right now. Especially when you know how his birthday cake turned out…

You knock and someone other than Frankie answers the door. You recognize him as one of Frankie’s friends but you can put a name to his face. 

“Oh, shit! Neighbor girl is here!” he says, calling out to Frankie over his shoulder. 

Before you can ask him about the truck blocking your driveway he says, “I’m Benny. Come on in!”

Yeah, he’s clearly drunk. Whatever this will be quick. You reluctantly step inside and look around. You’ve never actually been inside Frankie’s house before. It’s honestly nicer than you expected considering his lifestyle and the way he keeps his lawn. You’re standing in his living room with Frankie and three other men. You’re feeling anxious all of a sudden but you don’t show it. Who knows what Frankie said about you to these guys? 

“Look who it is, Fish!” Benny says, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Guys, this is my neighbor,” Frankie says. He looks a little… nervous? You’ve never seen him like this before. 

“I’m Santiago,” a man with dark hair says, shaking your hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” you say, forcing a fake smile. 

“And this is Will,” Santiago continues, gesturing to a man with short blond hair. 

“You got anyone else coming, Fish?” Santiago asks, turning towards Frankie, “What about Heather?”

“Uh, she’s not coming.”

“Shit, man. Is everything alright?”

“We’re fine. But actually, can you help me with something in the kitchen?” Frankie asks, making eye contact with you. He looks bothered, like there’s something he wants to say but isn’t letting it come out. 

“Sure,” you reply, following him to the kitchen where he opens the refrigerator. The cake is sitting on the shelf in its box and your stomach drops. Poor guy. 

He grabs the cake from the refrigerator and sets it on the kitchen counter. 

“Can you help fix this? She put the wrong name,” he says, opening the lid to reveal the cake you decorated earlier today.

“I can try. Can you get me a butter knife?”

He opens his silverware drawer and hands you a knife. 

“Well, I think I can smear out the name and make a swirly pattern around the happy birthday?”

“Whatever you have to do,” he says softly. 

You take the knife and swipe away the “Franklin”, making a tie-dye design on the cake but stopping at the fish.

“You want me to leave the fish?”

“Nah, scrap it. Catfish is pretty much the only thing she knew about me anyway,” he says dejectedly.

“Right…” you respond awkwardly, swiping away your hard work from earlier. You can only assume he doesn’t know this birthday cake is from your bakery. But you fix the cake the best you can so it just says “Happy Birthday” with a swirly design. 

“That better?” 

“Yes. Thank you,” he says, letting out a sigh, “I just didn’t want them to see it.”

“I get that-”

“Let’s get this fucking party started!” Benny says, entering the kitchen and slamming a six-pack of beer on the counter. 

“Oh, actually I have to go-” you start. 

“What?? No way, you gotta stay,” Benny says, putting an arm around your shoulders. 

You could stay and just cancel your plans with Ally. But this is Frankie’s birthday party and you weren’t exactly invited. And you’re both aware of how much you painfully dislike each other. You look at Frankie, searching his eyes for an indication of how he’s feeling. 

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” he says softly. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna impose.”

“Nooo, stay,” Benny says, looking at you with a wide grin on his face. 

“By all means,” Frankie says. 

“Fuck yeah,” Benny says, “Can I get you a drink? We have all sorts of shit.”

“Hard cider?”

“A woman with taste. I like it,” he says, removing the arm around your shoulders and opening the refrigerator. 

You pull out your phone to text Ally. It has to be something inconspicuous. She knows you hate Frankie with a passion so you can’t exactly say you’re partying with him and his friends right now. Maybe just lie and say you’re sick? 

You do exactly that, saying your stomach is bothering you. Just as you press send, Benny’s hanging you your hard cider. And now it’s just the three of you in Frankie’s kitchen, standing around awkwardly. 

“I have some of the MMA guys coming, too. That alright?” Benny says. 

“Fine with me. The more the merrier,” Frankie smiles. But the smile seems forced. 

Just Frankie says that there’s a knock on the door and it’s the guys Benny was referring to. A handful of men pile into Frankie’s living room with Will and Santiago, and now you’re the only girl here. And also sort of regretting your decision to cancel on Ally. 

“Let me introduce to you some of my friends!” Benny says cheerfully, grabbing your hand and leading you back to the living room. You exchange hello’s with Benny’s friends, a group of four guys whose names you can’t really be bothered to remember. 

Soon enough the folding table is pulled out and all of the guys are playing beer pong. You decide to just stand and watch, sipping your drink and keeping to yourself… except for Benny, who has been by your side all night. At first, it was kind of annoying but now that you’re talking to him he’s actually pretty cute. Or it’s just the alcohol talking. 

“Can I get you another drink?” he asks when yours is empty. 

“Sure,” you smile, handing the empty bottle to him. 

Now that you’re alone for a moment your eyes are scanning the room again, and they lock eyes with Frankie, who’s playing beer pong but not really paying attention. Benny comes back with your drink, handing it to you and leaning against the wall with his arm raised over his head. 

“Frankie never mentioned just how gorgeous you are.”

“Oh! Thank you,” you respond, caught you off guard. You’re feeling awkward, not knowing what to say back so your eyes are searching the room again. And once again, they lock with Frankie’s, whose eyes are… angry? But why is he angry? Is he… jealous? Nah, no way. He has a girlfriend. But she’s also proved herself to be shitty. And besides that, you two hate each other. Unless… you really don’t?

You decide to do a little experiment. Benny is super hot, but maybe you could turn up the flirting a bit and see just how jealous Frankie gets. 

And that’s exactly what you do. You’re laughing at all Benny’s jokes, falling for every cheesy pickup line, doing the thing where you look from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes, literally anything to flirt. And even though it’s for an experiment, you’re having fun and you could actually see yourself maybe liking Benny.

You look over at Frankie, and to your surprise (and also delight?), he’s looking directly at you. His eyes are almost pleading with you. But at the end of the day, you don’t owe him anything. And he’s taken. So why stop all the fun?

“I just can’t believe this is the first time we’re meeting,” Benny says, shaking his head.

“I didn’t know Frankie had such nice friends!” you respond. 

Benny leans a little closer to you, his eyes fixed on your lips. Oh shit, is he really gonna kiss you? Right here? Right now? In front of everyone? 

But also… why not? 

You lean forward more too, inching closer and closing the gap between you two. Just as your lips are about to meet, Santiago shouts, “Jesus, Fish! What are you doing?!” 

You pull away from each other and look at what’s going on. It seems that Frankie royally screwed up the round of beer pong because he and Santiago just lost. 

“Alright, alright. Don’t yell at the birthday boy,” Will laughs. 

Santiago sighs and says, “Best two out of three?”

The other men shrug but Frankie excuses himself, saying, “I need another drink.”

You can’t help but feel like that was your fault. Shit, maybe Frankie does have some sort of crush on you? Because why else would he get jealous over his friend flirting with you? Wouldn’t he want that to happen, as a means of burying the hatchet between you two?

“I have to use the bathroom,” you say to Benny. 

“Down the hall on your right,” he says.

You set your drink down on the coffee table and walk through the kitchen, but before you head to the bathroom you take a look at Frankie, who’s sipping a beer and looking at his birthday cake. A look of confusion and uncertainty on his face. You just can’t help but feel bad for him in some sort of weird way. But there’s also a nagging feeling deep down inside you that’s telling you that you shouldn’t feel bad for him. This guy has been nothing but a complete asshole to you. Why do you care so much about his feelings? 

You head down to the bathroom and pull out your phone. There’s a text from Ally and thankfully she wasn’t upset about the plans getting canceled. But you look at the time and decide, you should just go home. Besides, it’s getting a little boring watching the men play beer pong and you��re running out of things to talk about with Benny. 

You head back into the living room and say to Benny, “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Aw, okay. I’ll catch you later. But maybe you can come to one of my matches sometime?”

“I’d like that,” you smile. 

You poke your head into the kitchen and tell Frankie you’re leaving.

“Happy birthday by the way,” you say. 

He nods and waves his hand a little before you bid your goodbyes to everyone else and walk next door. And the only thought on your mind is… What the hell just happened?

You flop down on your couch and the room feels like it’s spinning, your mind swirling with all sorts of thoughts and emotions. You’re feeling a weird mix of confusion, pity, and also… apathy? You run through the basics: 

1. Frankie’s girlfriend sucks. 

2. It’s shitty that his birthday cake was messed up. 

3. You really don’t mind Benny at all and can see yourself liking him. 

4. At the end of the day, Frankie is still an asshole. 

And that trumps everything else, no matter how bad you feel for him. 

-

Mid-December 

Several weeks have gone by and you haven’t seen much of Frankie, or his friends for that matter. Lately, it feels like you've been living at the bakery twenty-four-seven. Especially since Thanksgiving just ended. But that also means you’re heading into another busy season; Christmas time. 

The holidays are your least favorite time of year. But running your own bakery means that you get to keep busy during the holidays. It’s always the perfect excuse for when your mother calls and asks why you’re not coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. You can usually get out of one and not the other. This year you skipped Thanksgiving so you’ll be due home for Christmas… unless you can think of another excuse to stay home again. But then you’ll get another phone call from your father claiming that “you’re breaking your mother’s heart” or whatever. 

From what you can tell, Frankie stayed home for Thanksgiving, too. Though you don’t know if his family is around here or not. His friends didn’t come over for Thanksgiving so you assume they were with their own families respectively. And you’re not really sure what happened with his girlfriend. So the two of you were just… alone that day. For some reason, the thought makes you kind of… sad? But like you told yourself weeks ago, don’t feel bad for Frankie, like at all. 

But now that you’re thinking of Frankie… he’s been his typical self, but maybe scaled back a bit? His lawn hasn’t been cut in God knows how long and his friends still come over to party here and there. But it’s definitely been a lot less than usual. Maybe the holidays are tough for him, too. 

Just as you’re leaving to go open the bakery the week before Christmas, you get a phone call from your mom. You sigh and roll your eyes because you already know what this is about. And you’ve been dreading this phone call since Thanksgiving. 

“Yes, mom?” you say as you answer the phone. 

“Is that any way to answer a phone call from your mother?” she says. God, you can already feel the judgment and disappointment seeping from her voice, even over the phone. 

“Ah, sorry Mom. How are you?”

“I’m just calling to see if we can expect you home for Christmas this year.”

“Uhh-”

“You know, since you broke your mother’s heart and didn’t come home for Thanksgiving.”

“I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I’ve just been really busy, uh, with the bakery and all.”

“That’s always the excuse. I’m getting sick of your shit. I need a straight answer as to whether or not you’ll be home for Christmas now.”

As you open your mouth to respond, probably with some poorly thought-out rebuttal since you’re so heated, you spot Frankie walking across his lawn toward you. Perfect escape from this phone call maybe?

“Shit sorry Mom. Gotta go. My neighbor’s coming up to me.”

As you pull the phone away from your ear and hang up, you hear your mom’s angry protests. But you’re too focused on Frankie to care. Because what could he want with you now? You haven’t done anything to piss him off lately. That you can remember anyway… 

“Hey,” he says with a shaky breath.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

“I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Okay…”

“Feel free to say no because it’s weird but I don’t know what else to do. And I’m sorry to drop this on you but-”

“Spit it out.”

“Will you come home with me for Christmas as my date? It would be fake, of course.”

Oh. You definitely weren’t expecting that to be the favor he needed. And for some reason him adding in “it would be fake, of course” is so funny. It’s so funny that you actually burst out into a fit of laughter. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not being serious.”

“I am.”

“But… why?”

“My girlfriend broke up with me right before Thanksgiving.”

“Let me get this straight. She put the wrong name on your birthday cake and you let her break up with you first?”

“It’s not funny.”

“I know it’s not.”

“So, you’ll help me?”

“Why can’t you just go home alone?”

“Because I can’t go home for another holiday alone. I already skipped Thanksgiving. My family’s always pestering me about settling down and I can’t take it anymore.”

“What’s in it for me?” you sigh. 

“Uh, you don’t have to go home to your shitty family? I mean I’m just assuming from that phone call you just had.”

“Yeah and instead I get to go home to yours?”

“My family’s not shitty. They’re nothing like me.”

You can’t lie to yourself and say that the offer isn’t tempting. Because as soon as you mention the word “boyfriend” to your mother she’ll be all over it. Like Frankie’s family, your mom’s been pestering you to settle down, too. If you offer her some sort of crumb to give her the indication that you’re finally “settling down” maybe she’ll leave you alone for once. 

“Just think about it,” Frankie says while you’re contemplating his offer to himself. 

He turns to walk back to his house but you stop him before he goes anywhere.

“Wait!”

He turns around to face you again with a hopeful look in his eye. You can’t believe you’re actually agreeing to this.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess it beats going home to my family.”

“Thank you,” he says, pulling you in for a hug.

“Alright, the fake relationship hasn’t started yet,” you say, wincing at his embrace.

“Shit, you’re right,” he says, pulling away.

“How long are we there?”

“From the twenty-third until New Year’s. That okay with you? I know you have the bakery and all…”

It’s a little earlier than you prefer to close and it’s quite a long time to be gone but you suppose you can make do. Maybe you can catch a short flight home if you need to be back to the bakery by then?

“Yeah, fine with me. Where does your family live?”

“Savannah, Georgia.”

Oof, five hours in Frankie’s truck, just the two of you… But it’s worth it.

“Okay,” you sigh. 

“Great. Thank you so much. We’ll leave around ten, okay?”

“Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

“Oh, one more thing. Can you bake something?”

You let out a sigh. “Yeah, sure. I’ll think of what to make.”

“Thanks again,” he says, putting his hands together like he’s praying before turning and walking back to his house. You’re left in your driveway questioning all your life choices that led up to this moment. But now you get to call your mom and tell her about this mysterious boyfriend you just happened upon. 

You get in the car to leave for work and call your mom again, making sure to act a bit more pleasant this time. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom,” you say, putting on your cheeriest voice.

“What happened with your neighbor?”

“Oh, nothing. He just had a package for me. Got delivered to his house by accident.”

“Oh, okay. So are you coming home for Christmas or what?”

“Actually, I’m not. I’m sorry. But I have a good reason?”

“And that is?”

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s family’s Christmas.”

“Boyfriend? You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”

“Uhh, it’s sort of new.”

“What’s his name?”

“Frankie.”

“Well, don’t fuck this one up. I want to meet him after Christmas, okay?”

Classic mom. She always has to make this about how much you suck.

“Of course. I’ll talk to you later, though. I gotta go open up the bakery.”

“Alright. Love you, bye.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

That’s the best phone call you’ve had with your mom in a while. Maybe pretending to date Frankie will be a good thing?

-

It’s time to go. You're dressed in a comfy outfit for the drive. Everything’s packed and ready to go. You decided to make lemon bars from the lemon tree in your backyard. They’re packed away neatly in your to-go container. You head outside with all of your bags and Frankie meets you in your hard to help you. 

“Jesus, did you pack the kitchen sink, too?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

You’re already questioning why you said yes to this. But then your mother’s nagging voice is deep in the back of your mind. 

It’s better than going home, you tell yourself.

You get into the passenger seat and Frankie backs out of the driveway. You look at his lawn out the window as you leave. Still not cut, of course. 

For the first thirty minutes of the drive, it’s painfully silent. Until Frankie says, “You let me know if you need to stop to pee or something.”

“Okay…” you say awkwardly.

Another fifteen minutes goes by and he breaks the silence again. 

“You know, if we want to sell this we have to act like a real couple.”

You were dreading this conversation.

“Yeah…”

“For one, we’ll probably gonna be sharing a bed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And we have to act like we somewhat like each other when we’re not alone.”

“I know,” you sigh.

“Think you can do that?”

“I said yes to this, didn’t I?”

“Right…”

You can’t sit through another uncomfortable silence again. You’ve still got like four more hours of this drive to go. 

“I guess we have to get to know each other.”

“Right. So what do you do? Oh fuck, I know you have the bakery but I meant tell me about it.”

“Uhh, right. I opened it four years ago. I just make desserts, like pastries and shit.”

“Gotcha.”

“What about you?”

“I used to be in the Army, specifically the Delta Force.”

“Oh, wow. How long were you in the Army?”

“I joined right after I got out of high school.”

“Long time,” you comment, “When did you leave?”

“About three years ago. I was just a pilot for a while.”

“Gotcha. What do you do now?”

“Not much. I’ve been living off my pension for the past two years after some shit happened.”

“We don’t have to talk about-”

“Our friend passed.”

“Oh, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

He says nothing more and you’re so curious for more information but you don’t want to pry either. It falls silent again and then you decide to pry for more information about a less heavy topic. 

“So… if you don’t mind me asking, what happened with your girlfriend?”

“She broke up with me two days before Thanksgiving.”

“That’s rough. What did you tell your family?”

“I pretended I was sick.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t be. I probably should’ve ended things a while ago. I don’t think she had any idea about who I really am.”

“Right.”

“She didn’t even know my full name.”

The cake that you made. 

“Yeah…”

“She put the wrong name and didn’t even get a cake I like.”

“About that.”

“Hm?”

“Do you know where she got that cake from?”

“No.”

“She came to my store.”

“…Did you know it was the wrong name?”

“Well yes, but what was I supposed to say? She’s the customer. I can't correct her. I just have to write what she ordered.”

“I know…” he sighs. 

“Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that she was the wrong person for you, okay?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I felt bad making it.”

“You did?”

“I mean, it’s kinda shitty if your girlfriend doesn’t know your name, right?” You chuckle. 

“Right again,” he nods, looking over at you from the driver's seat. 

“So what kind of cake do you like then?” you ask. 

“Chocolate. I’m a simple guy.”

“Noted. So now I know Frankie Morales used to be in the Army, used to be a pilot, and likes chocolate cake. Anything else I need to know?”

“That about sums me up I guess.”

“Oh, come on! There’s more to you than that. What do you like to do for fun? Besides partying.”

“Oh, uh, I like to play poker with my friends. I’m into cars. And we’ll go support Benny at some of his matches. That’s pretty much all I do these days.”

“And also not cutting your lawn.”

“Listen-”

“And complaining about free fruit,” you tease. 

“Alright, alright. I know I haven’t been the best neighbor in the past.”

“Uh-huh,” you say sarcastically. 

“I guess after what happened I went down a spiral. And I was just… selfish for a while. Only caring about what I wanted to do and not thinking how it affects others.”

“That’s fair. You went through something traumatic.”

He opens his mouth to say something else but no words come out. It feels like he’s hiding something or not telling the full truth. And he wants to tell you, but he feels just can’t, that you’re not ready for that just yet. 

It’s silent again and this time you find yourself dozing off with your cheek pressed up against the cool glass window. Somehow you’re able to fall asleep to Frankie’s music that he put on to fill the silence. You recognize it’s a Tom Petty song, but as you’re trying to put your finger on just what song it is, sleep fully overtakes you. 

-

You were only out for about an hour and a half. It’s hard to sleep for long periods in a truck. As you open your eyes and stretch a little, Frankie says, “Wake up, sleepyhead. You’re officially the worst co-pilot in the world.”

“Whatever,” you say sarcastically, also while stifling back a yawn. 

“I’m just teasing. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t sleep for too long anyway. It’ll mess up my sleep schedule.”

“Oof, my sleep schedule is pretty fucked up.”

You glare at him from the passenger seat. But he doesn’t get why, looking at you and going “What?” with a shrug.

“I noticed,” you say coldly. 

Everyone knows the best time to air your grievances with each other is when you’re trapped in a moving vehicle together!

“Okay… Why do you seem mad?”

“You and your friends are just… loud.”

“Oh.”

“And I have to be up early in the mornings to open the store.”

“Oh,” he says again like the realization is hitting him. 

“It’s alright…” you say awkwardly, even though it’s not. 

“It’s not alright. I wasn’t being considerate.”

“I know, but I didn’t say anything either.”

“You sure said something about my lawn,” he teases. 

“Because it’s a fucking eyesore, Francisco!”

“Be honest. You just wanted to see me mowing the lawn with my shirt off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t lie! I saw the way you looked at me when you first moved in.”

“Oh, shut up!” you say, playfully slapping him on the arm. 

“You’re not denying it,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Maybe I thought you were cute when I first moved in. Didn’t last long, though.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m trying to be better. Ironically enough I think Heather dumping me was what I needed.”

“I think so, too.”

Before either of you can say anything else, Frankie’s passing a sign indicating there’s a rest stop ahead. 

“Can we stop? I have to pee,” you say. 

“Sure thing,” he says, pulling off the highway and into the rest stop parking lot. 

“Meet you back here?” you say, opening the door. 

“I’ll go with you. All sorts of seedy characters hang out at rest stops,” he says, getting out of the car and walking around to your side. 

He helps you get out of the truck and walks inside with you, placing a hand on the small on your back as you cross the parking lot. His head’s in a constant swivel, eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble. 

“I think I’ll take it from here,” you say, stopping in front of the women’s restroom. 

“I’ll be waiting here,” he nods. 

You nod back and look at what he’s wearing; a burgundy t-shirt with a black zip-up sweatshirt, gray sweatpants, and of course the Standard Oil cap. Now that you’re starting to see Frankie for who he really is… you don’t mind him at all? Seven months ago you never thought this would’ve happened, that you’d actually be civil with him. Maybe you just had to give him a chance. 

You do your business and walk back out to the lobby to meet Frankie. He’s on high alert, standing stiff as a board and taking in all of his surroundings. Until he sees you and his face lights up. 

“I got us some stuff for the road!” he says cheerfully, holding up a plastic bag. 

You look inside the bag and “some stuff” was an understatement. It looks like Frankie bought out the entire store. There are bottles of water, soda, different kinds of chips, candy, and gum- you name it, he bought it. 

“I wasn’t sure what you liked. So I just got a few different things,” he says, most likely noticing how wide your eyes got. 

“Thanks, Frankie. That was sweet of you.”

“Do you need anything else before we get back on the road?”

“I think I’m all set,” you nod. 

You walk back to the truck with him and he does the same thing he did before, placing a hand on your back as you cross the parking lot. He opens your door for you and you take the bag from him once you’re settled in your seat. He gets back into the driver seat and soon enough, you’re back on the road.

“So I should probably prepare you for meeting my family,” he says, reaching for a Slim Jim in the bag. 

“Oh god, why?” 

“They’re not bad. They’re just… a lot? But they mean well.”

“Okay.”

“So you have my mother, Rosa, and my father Francisco Sr. But he passed away when I was twenty.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I have three older sisters.”

“You’re the baby of the family?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing. It just tracks.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thanks. My sisters are Ria, Isabel, and Laura. Ria is married to Emmanuel and they have two kids, Luna and Camila. They’re college-aged. And then Isabel is with her wife, Aurora.”

“Okay,” you respond, mentally trying to keep track of all this. 

“And then Laura is married to Rafael and they have three kids, Sofia, Anthony, and Marcelo. Sofia is twelve. I think Anthony’s nine or ten. And Marcelo is four. He’s my favorite.”

“Frankie! You’re not supposed to have favorites.”

“It’s not like I tell them that. I also have two aunts, Aunt Linda and Aunt Maggie. They’re my mother’s sisters. And then my Uncle Tommy, he’s my dad’s brother. And then there’s Cousin Ben, he’s Tommy’s son, around my age.”

You’re doing mental gymnastics, trying to memorize everyone’s names, ages, and who they’re married to. 

“Got all that?” Frankie says with a smirk, noticing the puzzled expression on your face. 

“I think so?”

“Don’t worry. Everyone will introduce themselves when we get there. They’re not gonna leave you alone so sorry about that in advance.”

“It’s alright. It beats going home to my family.”

“What are they like? I’m assuming they’re… not good if you don’t want to go home for the holidays.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it pretty much. My mom is super overbearing and nitpicking. I can’t do anything, or wear anything, or even say anything without her giving her two cents. My dad just sits there and lets her spew her bullshit without a filter. And then my younger sister, Erica, is just… perfect. She can’t do anything wrong in their eyes.”

“That sounds tough.”

“It is. I stopped going home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I try to just do one each year but I can’t take it anymore.” 

“I understand,” Frankie says softly. 

“My sister’s in medical school to be a cardiologist. So to my parents, running a bakery just doesn’t compare.”

“That’s stupid. Don’t they know how hard it is to run your own business?”

“No, and they probably don’t care to be honest.” 

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright. Thanks for getting me a way out of Christmas this year, though.”

“Of course. You’re doing me a big favor.”

The rest of the drive goes smoothly and eventually, you’re pulling into Frankie’s parents' house in Savannah. The second Frankie’s truck is in the driveway, an older woman, probably his mother, is running out of the front door and into the driveway. He parks the truck and you get out to meet her. She immediately pulls Frankie into a big hug. 

“My baby’s home!!,” she says, embracing him and placing her hands on the back of his head. 

“You and that damn hat,” she says, “You have such beautiful hair, mijo. Why do you hide it?”

“You know I like the hat, Ma.”

She pulls away and her eyes are immediately on you. You’re nervous about her first impression of you, even though you’re not even Frankie’s girlfriend. But she thinks you are and you need to play the part. 

“It’s so nice to meet you!” she says, pulling into a hug, too. She gives the best hugs, rubbing your back and swaying just a little, even though you just met. 

“I want you to be comfortable here, okay? My house is your house,” she says, pulling back and grabbing your hands. 

“Thank you so much for having me in your home, Mrs. Morales,” you smile. 

“Please! Call me Rosa. Let Francisco get the bags and we’ll go inside, yeah?”

“Okay,” you nod, following her inside the house. 

It’s a beautiful home, decorated to the nines with the Christmas spirit. She leads you to her living film where there are pictures of everyone Frankie mentioned on the way here. On the coffee table, there’s one of Frankie’s parents with him and his sisters. You can really see the resemblance there between him and his mom. They have the same warm brown eyes and dimples. 

“You have a beautiful home, Rosa,” you tell her, sitting on the couch next to her. 

“Thank you, honey,” she says, “Tell me about yourself. It’s so hard to get Francisco on the phone these days. I feel like I know nothing about you.”

“I live in Tampa like Frankie. We don’t live too far from each other And I run a bakery.”

“Wow, good for you. It’s hard running your own business. Your parents must be very proud.”

“They are,” you say, lying through your teeth. 

“How has my son been? He’s been a little off since he lost Tom in Colombia two years ago. He’s not doing drugs again, is he?”

“Oh! No, to my knowledge, he isn’t?” you respond, stumbling over your words. That was a lot of information to take in, most of it Frankie hasn’t told you about yet. 

“That’s good,” she sighs, “I worry about him.”

“I get it. But I think he’s on an upward trajectory.”

“Thank you, honey. I know he’s a lot to put up with.”

Frankie meets you in the living room and plops down on an armchair across from the couch, letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“Tired?” you chuckle. 

“Yeah,” he pants, “Someone had to pack everything they own and the kitchen sink, too.”

“Francisco! You grew up with all women. Don’t you know this is how we are?” his mother says. 

“Yeah, Frankie,” you add sarcastically. 

“You two are gonna be the death of me,” he says, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. 

“Where did you put the lemon bars?”

“In the refrigerator.”

“You made lemon bars? Francisco told me you liked to bake.”

“Yeah!” you say, turning towards her again, “I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

“Why don’t you both help me prepare dinner for tomorrow night? After you rest, of course. You had a long drive.”

“Oh, yeah. I need a nap,” Frankie says, getting up from the chair and heading up the stairs. 

“Get some rest, honey,” she says, gesturing towards the stairs. 

“Okay,” you say, feeling a little awkward that you’re supposed to just go lay in a bed with Frankie. 

Frankie’s waiting for you at the top of the stairs, smiling down at you. For some reason the sight makes your heart skip a beat. You meet him upstairs and he leads you to his childhood bedroom. His walls are blue and his bookshelves are filled with baseball trophies from when he was a kid up until high school. There are a few car posters scattered on his ealls. The bags are at the foot of his bed that’s tucked away in the corner of his room and thankfully, it’s not a twin-sized bed. Across the room is his desk, a few comic books stacked in a messy pile like he never left. 

“This is my room,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the space around him. 

“Cute,” you say, walking around and eyeing some of the stuff he has on his shelves. There’s a picture in a frame of Frankie as a kid with presumably his father right after one of his baseball games. He was a cute kid, wearing a toothy grin with some holes for the baby teeth he lost. 

“That’s my dad,” he says, noticing you looking at the picture. 

“Now that I’m looking at him, I can’t tell who you look like more,” you comment. 

“Definitely my dad,” he says. 

You turn to look at him and realize he’s right. A lot of his facial features match his father’s, but his eyes- those are his mother’s. 

“Are you tired?” he asks. 

“A little,” you yawn. 

“I don’t have to sleep in bed with you,” he says quickly. 

“I thought you said we were going to? You know, to keep up appearances or something,” you say, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Oh, right. Just making sure.”

He takes off his sweatshirt and his hat, his curls matted down from wearing it on his head all day. He sets them down on the desk and walks over to the bed, pulling back the comforter and slipping in between the sheets. He moves to the side closest to the wall, letting you have the outside and the wall with the outlet to charge your phone like a true gentleman. You crawl in beside him, lying down side by side, mere inches from each other. 

“You don’t sleep naked, do you?”

He doesn’t say anything at first and you take that as a yes. 

“…I won’t while we’re home.”

“Cool,” you say awkwardly, rolling on your side and closing your eyes. 

“Goodnight?” he says. 

“It’s just a nap, but sure. Goodnight, Frankie,” you chuckle. 

…You do your best to fall asleep but to be honest, you’re freezing. You don’t really get why. You’re only a few hours north and Georgia doesn’t typically get too cold. Unless his mom has the air on or a window open; something. That doesn’t make sense, though. Don’t elderly people keep their houses entirely too hot?

“You’re shivering,” Frankie says, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“What? No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I can see you shaking.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t have to be cold.”

“What’s your solution then?”

“I could tell my mom to adjust the-”

“No, do not do that.”

“Or there’s the other option.”

“Uh huh…”

“I could hold you.”

“…You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.”

“…Fine.”

You feel him scooch closer to you and all of a sudden his warm chest is pressed up against your back. The comforter lifts for a second before his muscular arm wraps around you, pulling you even closer towards him. You’re immediately feeling warmer. He’s like a human space heater or something. 

“Better?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.”

As much as you hate to admit it, you’re much more comfortable now. However, there is one thing that’s keeping you from falling asleep. And that’s Frankie’s bulge presses right up against your ass. 

…You don’t hate it, though. If anything it makes you feel… good? Knowing that you have that effect on him. Maybe he really was jealous weeks ago at his birthday party. All of this begs the question; when did his feelings for you begin?

Lost in thought and enveloped in Frankie’s body heat, you drift off to sleep. 

-

You wake up an hour or so later to the doorbell ringing. Frankie wakes up, too, stretching and removing the arm that was slung over your waist. You already miss its absence. 

Frankie’s mom is talking to someone at the door. And it sounds like she’s talking to… a pizza delivery guy?

Frankie rolls onto his back, stretching again and yawning. You fall onto your back, too, lying side by side. 

“I think she ordered pizza,” Frankie says sleepily. 

“That was nice of her.”

“Just so we don’t have to worry about making dinner tonight while we prepare tomorrow’s.”

“Make sense,” you reply, rolling out of bed and stretching once your feet hit the floor. 

“Did you sleep well?” Frankie asks, sitting at the edge. 

“I did. Thanks for keeping me warm.”

“You’re welcome but it wasn’t all for you, though.”

“Oh?” you ask, wondering if he could be referring to the hard-on he had while holding you…

“Yeah, I can’t sleep next to you if you’re shaking like a leaf.”

You roll your eyes and he chuckles, leading you down the hallway and down the stairs, straight into the kitchen where the pizza awaits. 

“Dinner’s here!” Rosa says cheerfully, gesturing to the pizza boxes on the counter, “There’s a salad and garlic bread, too.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Frankie says, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you say, “Are you sure you don’t want anything towards it?”

“Nonsense! When you’re in my house, I take care of you,” she says, waving you off. 

A saint of a woman she is. Frankie’s lucky to have a mother like her. The three of you sit at the kitchen counter eating while Rosa talks about what Christmas Eve dinner will be. 

“So tonight we’ll prepare the pasteles. And tomorrow we’ll do the rice and beans. Ria is bringing rolls. Laura’s bringing salad. And Isabel’s bringing flan.”

“Ooh, I love flan. I can make gingerbread cookies for Christmas Day, too,” you say, finishing your slice of pizza. 

“Thank you, honey. We’ll have a great time tomorrow. And you’ll get to meet all of Frankie’s sisters.”

“How exciting,” you say looking over at Frankie. 

“Frankie’s the baby of the family,” his mother says. 

“I could tell,” you snicker.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You just have little brother energy,” you shrug.

“What about you, dear?” his mom asks. 

“It’s just me and my sister. I’m the oldest.”

“Well you have older sister energy, so how about that?”

“So I’m wiser and more responsible?”

“Whatever,” Frankie sighs. 

“It’s true, Francisco. You can ask Ria.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he says sarcastically, taking all your plates to the sink. 

You clean up from dinner with Frankie before preparing the pasteles. You’re standing at the kitchen island, stuffing the pasteles and listening to Rosa tell stories about Frankie when he was a kid. 

“He was my toughest kid to potty train,” she says, shaking her head. 

“Mom!” Frankie says, shooting daggers at her with his glare. 

“What? You were. And I have the pictures to prove it. For the first two years, you would only use the training potty. I’ll bring out the photo albums tomorrow.”

“No,” Frankie says quickly. 

“Oh yes,” you laugh. 

“Ughhh,” Frankie sighs while you and Rosa share a laugh. 

Soon enough all of the pasteles are prepped for tomorrow and the kitchen is clean again.

“Thank you both for helping me. Now get some sleep! You’ll need all the energy you can get to deal with this family.”

“Goodnight, Ma,” Frankie says, heading towards the stairs. 

“Goodnight. Thank you again for everything,” you say to her. 

“Of course, honey. See you in the morning!” she says. 

As you’re heading up the stairs, she calls out to Frankie, “Francisco! Make sure you show her where the fresh towels are!”

“I will, Ma,” Frankie says, calling down the stairwell. 

“You want to shower?”

Before you can respond he quickly adds, “Not with me of course.”

“I know,” you snort, “But sure. Where’s the bathroom?”

He leads you down the hallway and stops at a door on the right, opening to reveal a linen closet. 

“Towels are here. Bathroom’s over here,” he says, pointing to a door directly across from the linen closet. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, grabbing a towel and heading to the shower. You shut the door behind you and now that you’re alone for once, you let your mind wander…

What happened in Colombia? And what sort of drugs was Frankie on?

You turn on the shower and strip, letting the hot water run down your body as you think about all the possibilities. He did say he lost a friend. Maybe that’s what happened in Colombia. But that doesn’t explain the drugs. 

A knock on the door brings you back to reality. 

“Can I come in?” Frankie asks. 

“Uhh-”

“I just have to brush my teeth. I won’t look.”

“I guess.”

He opens the door and enters the bathroom, keeping his word and looking away from the shower curtain. In fact, he looks at anything else in the bathroom but the shower curtain, picking up a bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet and reading the warnings. You poke your head out of the shower, watching as he brushes his teeth and reads the label on the bottle. And there’s something so… cute about it, so endearing. And now that you think about it, you wouldn’t particularly mind if he saw you in the shower. You can’t believe you’re actually admitting this to yourself. 

But before you know it he spits the sink and rinses his mouth, exiting the bathroom and leaving you with your confusing feelings yet again. You finish your shower and dry off, thinking about his mysterious past again. All of this strange information begs the question… What was he doing in Colombia in the first place? Does he have some dark secrets he’s hiding? And if so, how could he be so cute? 

You look at the toilet and see that Frankie also brought you your pajamas, flannel Christmas pants, a short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of lacy underwear…

That means he went through your bag, which should make you mad but the fact he decided to bring you your pajamas so you didn’t have to walk down the cold hallway sopping wet is adorable. 

You’ll ask him about his past later you decide. For now, he’s your cute pretend boyfriend and you’re going to live in that fantasy for a while. 

Once you’re dry and dressed, you hang your towel up on a hook and walk back to Frankie’s room, where he’s tucked into bed waiting for you. You crawl into bed beside him, lying down on your side and feeling his warm embrace again. His arm returns around your waist and soon enough you’re falling asleep, comforted by his warmth and his scent. 

-

The smell of food cooking downstairs wafts up to Frankie’s room, pleasantly waking you up. Frankie’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded neatly on his tummy. 

You roll over and ask, “You okay?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous for what? Your family sounds awesome.”

“They are. They can just be overwhelming, I guess.”

“I get it. It’ll be fine, though. Like you said, I don’t think they’ll leave me alone.”

“Right,” he says, shaking his head, “It’s stupid. Today’s gonna be fun.”

“Wanna help me with the gingerbread cookies?” you say, getting out of bed and stretching once your feet hit the floor. 

“Sure,” he says, sitting at the edge and yawning, “Do you need to get anything for them?”

“I could just DoorDash some stuff. I don’t want to raid your mom’s kitchen.”

“Ah, she won’t mind. Let’s go downstairs.”

He stands up and stretches, the short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing lifting a little and exposing some of his tummy. His flannel pajama pants are hanging low on his hips and he’s got a little bed-head going on, his curls slightly matted in the back. God, he’s just so… cute. You can’t deny it any longer. As much as you don’t want it to be true, Frankie Morales is a cute man.

You follow him downstairs to the kitchen where his mother is cooking away, stirring different pots and pans on the stove. 

“Good morning you two,�� she smiles. 

“Good morning,” you respond, “It smells amazing down here.”

“Thank you, honey.”

“Ma, I think we’re going to make the gingerbread cookies if we won’t be in your way.”

“Go ahead! By all means. Maybe you can decorate them with the kids tonight?”

“Good idea! Do you need me to get anything from the store?”

“Nonsense! I should have everything you need.”

“Told you,” Frankie says, opening a cabinet and looking through the shelves with you. 

To your surprise, she has everything you need for the cookies. And as you sit down at the dining room table Frankie says, “This kitchen is always fully stocked.”

As you roll the dough you think about tonight, meeting the rest of Frankie’s family. You’re excited to meet them but you’re also wondering what you should wear. You packed a few different options for outfits because every family’s vibe is different. Your family tends to lean more formal when it comes to holidays but Frankie’s family could be the complete opposite. 

“Frankie?” you ask, cutting the gingerbread men out with a cookie cutter. 

“Yeah?”

“What does your family wear on Christmas? Like do they dress up?”

“Oh, we abandoned trying to look nice a long time ago. Especially once my sisters started having kids.”

“Oh, okay. So don’t dress up?” 

“Nah.”

That makes you feel at least a little relieved. For some reason, you’re dying for them to like you. And you don’t even get why. You’re not Frankie’s girlfriend. There’s a large chance you’ll never see them again after you leave and go back to Florida. 

Once the cookies are on the trays, you pop them in the oven and set a timer on your phone. Rosa’s just about finished with dinner for tonight and Frankie’s cleaning up the mess from the cookies. You look at the clock on the stove and ask, “What time is everyone coming?”

“Around five or so.”

It’s already two-thirty now. You should probably get ready soon, in case Rosa and Frankie need the shower. 

“I’ll pull the cookies out if you want to go get ready,” Frankie says as if he read your mind. 

“Oh okay, thanks. Fifteen more minutes.”

“Gotcha,” he says, leaning against the counter beside the stove. 

You go upstairs and into Frankie’s room, going over all of your outfit choices in your head. You decide to wear option 3, light wash jeans and an emerald green sweater, nothing too fancy. You grab your clothes and your makeup and head to the bathroom, taking extra time to get ready. The timer on your phone for the cookies goes off and you hope Frankie remembers to take them out. You continue your shower, anxiously thinking about meeting the rest of his family. 

Eventually, as you’re dressed and putting on your makeup, Frankie knocks on the door. 

“Can I come in?”

“Go ahead,” you say, leaning forward toward the mirror and putting on your mascara. 

He opens the door and looks at you, practically bent over the sink. 

“You look…”

“Huh?” you, turning your head towards him. 

“You look nice,” he says, eyes wide. 

“Thanks. I’m almost done and then the bathroom’s all yours.”

“No rush. Take your time.”

You finish your makeup and gather all your stuff, leaving him in the bathroom and heading back to his room. You plop your stuff down on his bed and think of what to do next. Might as well make yourself useful while he’s showering and get the icing bags ready for the gingerbread cookies. You head back down to the kitchen, where Rosa’s sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. 

“You look beautiful, honey,” she says. 

“Thank you,” you say, sitting down across from her. 

“Francisco’s in the shower?”

“Yes, he is. I think I’m going to get the icing bags ready for the cookies if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she says, springing up from her chair and rifling through the kitchen cabinets. 

She pulls out an electric mixer, confectioners sugar, and food coloring, setting them down on the table. 

“Milk’s in the refrigerator and let me get you some Ziploc bags…” she says, reaching into the cabinet again.

“Thanks,” you say, getting to work on the icing while she sits across the counter and watches. 

“I know I’ve just met you but I want to say thank you, for taking care of my son,” she says. 

“Of course,” you smile, scooping icing into the ziploc bag for makeshift piping bags.

“He hasn’t been the same since Tom died. But now that he’s here, it’s like he’s his old self again.”

Tom. There’s that name again. You have to know what happened if you’re going to keep up this charade. This is the second time she’s mentioned it and you’re playing along like you know what happened. It’s bound to come up again. 

“I’m glad he’s doing much better,” you say, adding food coloring to the bags. 

Eventually, you hear the water turn off which means Frankie must be getting out of the shower. Rosa gets up from her stool and says, “Well now that Francisco’s finally done, I guess I’ll go shower. I’m sure he left me no hot water.”

You two share a laugh and she heads up the stairs. You’re left alone with your thoughts until Frankie comes back downstairs again. So for now, in the fleeting moments of solitude, you think of ways to ask Frankie about his past that don’t sound completely insensitive. You could ask him under the guise of just trying to keep the charade going. This whole thing was his idea. He’d have to understand, right?

“Hey,” he says, snapping you from your thoughts. You didn’t even notice him coming downstairs. 

“Hi.”

“These look good. The kids will have fun decorating them.”

“I hope so,” you say.

You’re both just standing awkwardly in the kitchen, not saying a word. You think to yourself that maybe now would be the best time to ask, in case you need this information for tonight to go smoothly. 

You open your mouth to ask, “What happened in Colombia?” but you’re interrupted by the front door opening. 

“Feliz Navidad!” a woman’s voice shouts. You’re assuming it’s one of Frankie’s sisters or aunts. 

He pokes his head down the hallway and shouts, “Ria!” 

You glance over at the clock and she’s early. Frankie looks over at you and says, “She’s always early.”

“She’s the oldest?”

He nods. It makes sense. 

She comes into the kitchen and pulls Frankie into a big hug. She looks like a younger version of Rosa, a little bit shorter than Frankie. Her husband and kids pile in behind her, her girls hugging Frankie and her husband shaking his hand. 

“So nice of you to show up for Christmas. Not battling some mysterious illness this time, huh?” she teases. 

“I’m not lying! I was really sick.”

You’re standing there awkwardly in the kitchen, not trying to interrupt the family reunion. It isn’t until one of Ria’s daughters looks over at you and asks, “Who’s this?” that your presence is acknowledged. 

Frankie walks over to you and snakes an arm around your waist, proudly saying, “This is my girlfriend!” followed by your name. 

“Nice to meet you!” Ria says, “It’s been such a long time since Francisco’s brought a girl home!”

This is the second family member to refer to him as Francisco and now you’re wondering if you should be doing the same. Before you can continue she motions her daughters over and says, “This is Luna and Camila. Luna’s in her junior year of college and my Camila’s a senior in high school!”

“Exciting times for both of you,” you comment, not really knowing what to say. 

But Ria continues anyway. “And this is my husband, Emmanuel,” she says, gesturing to her husband in the corner. He seems like the quiet type, letting his wife do all the talking in social situations. 

“Where’s Ma?” Ria asks Frankie. 

“In the shower. Are the others on their way?”

“Laura’s almost here. Isabel and Roro will probably be late as per usual. Will you grab the rolls out of the car?”

Emmanuel nods, again not saying much of a word at all before heading out to the car in the driveway. Ria and the girls take off their coats, hanging them on a coat rack by the front door. While Luna and Camila retreat to the living room, Ria takes the rolls from Emmanuel and puts them in the drawer underneath the oven, putting them on a low setting to keep the rolls warm until dinner starts. Soon enough, you’re all sitting in the living room together, awkwardly exchanging glances and waiting for either Rosa to come downstairs or for someone else to arrive. 

And for a while, it feels like the front door doesn’t close, a slew of family members coming in left and right. First, it was Aunt Maggie. Then it was Laura with her husband, Rafael, and their kids, Sofia, Anthony (who insists you call him Tony), and Marcelo, Frankie’s favorite. And Frankie wasn’t lying about Marcelo being his favorite, his eyes practically lit up the moment Laura walked in the door, carrying him on her hip. After Laura’s family, Uncle Tommy and Cousin Ben came. Frankie’s arm around your waist tightened when Ben looked you up and down which made your heart do somersaults. Aunt Linda followed soon after. And finally, last but not least, Isabel and Aurora (who goes by Roro) arrived. 

Somewhere in between all of the commotion Rosa returned downstairs. And you’re left with your head spinning, trying to keep track of everyone’s names and trying to make a good first impression. And you think you succeeded? Laura and her kids are really nice. Marcelo’s been hanging off you and Frankie since he set foot in the door. Isabel is definitely the coolest Morales sister out of the three of them. You don’t really have any complaints about Frankie’s aunts. And Uncle Tommy’s been dozing off on the couch, reminding everyone to wake him up when it’s time for dinner. You don’t mind Ben at all but he definitely has a little crush on you. You don’t spend too much time talking to him, just enough to learn he teaches high school English.

You also noticed that Isabel, Roro, Uncle Tommy, Ben, and his brother-in-law all call him Frankie and not Francisco. But his mom, Ria, Aunt Maggie, and Aunt Linda call him Francisco. And to the nieces and nephews, he’s Uncle Frankie of course. 

Eventually, Rosa announces that it’s time for dinner. Frankie and Ben set up a small folding table for the kids, except for Marcelo who sits on Laura’s lap. You sit in between Frankie and Isabel. Rosa sits at the head of the table and before everyone digs in she says, “Now who would like to say grace?”

“I will,” Tony says, raising his hand from the kids' table.

“Go ahead,” Rosa says.

“Grace. Okay, we’re done. Let’s eat, everybody!”

Everyone shares a laugh and Rosa decides, “You know what? It’s good enough for me!”

The rest of Christmas Eve goes smoothly. After dinner, you help the adults clean up before bringing out the gingerbread cookies to decorate. All of the kids, even Luna and Camila, sit around the table with you, decorating the cookies with your makeshift piping bags. Ria takes a picture of you guys, brows furrowed in concentration as you all try to make the cookies absolutely perfect. 

“Aren’t you gonna do one?” you ask Frankie, who’s standing beside you and watching. 

“Sure,” he says, pulling up a chair. 

He grabs a gingerbread woman and begins to draw a face on her. But before he’s done he gives her a frown and angry eyebrows, holding it up and saying, “Look! It’s you when I don’t mow the lawn!”

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, grabbing your own gingerbread man and giving him not only angry eyebrows but a yellow blob in his hand. 

“Look! It’s you when you complain about free lemons.”

The kids laugh even though they don’t know the full context of the joke. But once the last cookie is decorated, people begin to head out, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and saying goodnight. Once the main level is cleaned up you and Frankie say goodnight to his mom. She tells you that Christmas dinner is at Ria’s and that it starts at two. 

With that, you’re off to bed, returning to your rightful place of being spooned by Frankie. And for once, the two of you are alone again. Your mind goes back to Tom, what happened in Colombia, and Frankie’s drug addiction. You’re just gonna do it, rip the bandaid off

“Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Well, earlier your mom was talking about your friend Tom and what happened in Colombia… I know it’s not really my business but should I know what happened? You know to keep up the act-”

He sighs and you fear you’ve overstepped.

“I figured it was going to come up sooner or later.”

He pulls away to rest on his back, staring at the ceiling and recounting what happened. You lie on your back, too, looking over at him as he begins his story. 

“A few years ago, I developed a really bad addiction to coke. And it cost me almost everything. I lost my pilot's license. Santiago approached me, Tom, Will, and Benny about going to Colombia to steal money from this drug lord, Lorea.”

“I see,” you comment, letting him continue.

“It seemed appealing at the time. I needed the money, you know?”

“I get it,” you say softly.

“The mission was a fucking shitshow. We took fucking two hundred and fifty million dollars and lost all of it. It was too heavy for the helicopter so we crash-landed in a cocaine farm. They thought we were DEA and Tom killed some of them. So then we had to pay them as some kind of reparation. We went through the Andes on mules and two of the villagers followed us. One of them shot Tom and we had to carry him, the rest of the money through the mountains. When we finally reached the coast, the getaway boat was there waiting for us but the town was filled whatever was left of Lorea’s crew. There was no way we could carry all that cash with Tom’s body and make it to the boat without being killed. So we had to dump most of it down a fucking ravine.”

He’s getting more and more upset as he tells his story. And you feel guilty you even asked in the first place. He didn’t need to tell you all the details. He could’ve said his friend Tom died on a military mission in Colombia and that would’ve been enough to quell your curiosity. 

“Somehow we made it to the boat, but not without a fucking car chase and shootouts. By the end, we were left with a little over one million dollars each, but we decided to give it all to Tom’s family,” he says, finishing with a deep breath. 

You roll onto your side and look over at him. He’s not crying but you can tell he’s visibly upset, his eyes misty. 

“Thanks for sharing that with me. I know it’s hard to recount a traumatic experience like that.”

“It’s okay. Figured you should probably know. My family thinks it was some sort of mission for the Army, not that we went rogue. I don’t want them to know the true nature of what it was… greed.”

“Understandable.”

“So after all that I came home with a dead friend and no money.”

“I guess the overgrown lawn and the constant partying make sense now.”

That actually gets him to laugh. 

“I guess it does,” he chuckles, “But thanks for putting up with me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“And thanks for coming here and doing this for me. That happened two years ago and my family has been worried sick about me since. Whenever my mom calls me I just… I just lie. I think if she saw how I was doing now it would break her heart. But here with you, she thinks you’re like my saving grace.”

You don’t say anything because you really don’t know what to say. It’s nice his mother feels that way, but it’s all a lie. 

“I know that was a lot…” he says.

“You’re okay. I’m here to listen,” you reassure him. 

“You should probably get some sleep. You’ll need all the energy you can get to deal with my family for another day.”

“Okay,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side. Frankie spoons you again like he always does. This time you don’t feel something hard against your lower back, instead you feel Frankie’s breath by your ear. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, holding you a little tighter as he falls asleep. 

-

You wake up to Frankie still holding you just as tight. You’ve never had a Christmas like this, one so peaceful. 

And then it hits you… it’s Christmas. Which means you need presents, something you completely forgot all about. You were too wrapped up in pretending to be Frankie’s girlfriend. 

“Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

Has he been awake this whole time? And still holding you just as tight… 

Whatever, worry about that later. 

“I forget to get everyone fucking presents.”

“Already took care of it.”

“Really?” 

“Mhm,” he says, propping his elbow on the pillow and looking down at you, “You’ve never met them before. How could you get presents for people you don’t even know?” 

“Right,” you say, lying on your back. 

“Merry Christmas,” he smiles. 

“Merry Christmas,” you respond. 

“Let’s go exchange with my mom.”

You roll out of bed first and let him grab the presents from his suitcase. 

“What did I get her?”

“A sweater. It’s her favorite color.”

“Ooh, good idea.”

He hands you the present and it’s wrapped like a typical guy would wrap it. 

“I’m telling her you wrapped it.”

“Oh, she’ll be able to tell,” he laughs. 

You follow him down the stairs where his mother is sitting on the couch watching a Hallmark movie. She smiles and wishes you a Merry Christmas when she sees you, grabbing presents from under the tree. 

You give her the present “you” got her and she clocks Frankie’s wrapping job right away. 

“I can tell Francisco wrapped this,” she chuckles, unwrapping the gift and opening the box. She tells you she loves it and pulls you in for a big hug. Even though you didn’t actually buy the gift, you can’t help but appreciate the sense of approval. Your mom would’ve criticized whatever you got her, no matter how great the gift was. 

Rosa got Frankie a wallet with his initials engraved in the leather. She got you an apron with your name embroidered on it. Both presents were very thoughtful and as she’s pulling out the photo albums like she promised the other day, Frankie whispers in your ear, “She’s big on getting things personalized.”

The three of you spend the rest of the morning looking at photo albums until it’s time to get ready to go to Ria’s. For once, Frankie can’t wait to jump in the shower, anything to get away from the “embarrassing” pictures his mom is showing you. 

Once the three of you are ready you drive to Ria’s in Frankie’s truck, with the gifts piled in the back seat. He parks on the street and you head inside to the already bustling house. Everyone shouts “Feliz Navidad” as you’re taking off your shoes before joining them at the table. 

The menu for Christmas dinner is empanadillas, tostones, pernil, and arroz con gandules. And for dessert, there’s tembleque, the gingerbread cookies you and the kids decorated, and of course, the lemon bars. 

Christmas Day goes even better than Christmas Eve. All of the presents got for you to give to his family were a hit, but not without a sly comment from Frankie.

“You know… She did have some help,” he says with a smirk and a wink.

That earned him a smack on the arm.

Eventually, the evening is winding down. The kids are sitting under the tree playing with their toys and the adults are scattered around the house. For once, there’s no one paying attention to you two.

“Come with me,” Frankie says, getting off the couch and grabbing his coat.

“Where are we going?” 

“For a walk,” he says. 

You follow him to the front door, slipping on your shoes and coat. The two of you walk side by side on the sidewalk. It’s silent between you two but it’s a comfortable silence. But as you stop underneath a streetlamp, Frankie says, “I have something for you.”

“Frankie! You didn’t have to.”

“No, I really did. And I wanted to. It’s not just a Christmas present but it’s also a thank you for doing this for me… And also an apology for being a shitty neighbor,” he chuckles.

He pulls out a box from his coat pocket and hands it to you. You lift the lid to reveal a gold chain with a pendant, and a lemon stamped into the metal.

“Aw, Frankie… This is so sweet.”

“Look at the back,” he says softly.

You flip over the pendant and engraved on the back is your street name, Magnolia Drive. You look back at Frankie and his face is nervous, as if he’s waiting for your approval. His brow furrowed, his face dimly lit under the streetlamp, and his curls peeking out under his stupid fucking hat. All you can do at that moment is kiss him. He’s shocked for a second but it doesn’t take long for him to melt into your touch and wrap his arms around you. 

He pulls away for a second to ask, “I take it you like it?”

“I love it, Frankie,” you nod, leaning in for a kiss again.

And for a moment you two stay there, holding each other under the streetlamp on Christmas night. 

“I didn’t get you a present,” you admit, resting your head against his chest.

“You already did. You did me a huge favor. It’s a lot to deal with my family.”

“I didn't just deal with them. I liked being with them.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, like you said before, they’re nothing like you.”

“Shut up,” he says, pulling you in for another kiss. 

After a while he says, “We should probably get back.”

You nod and follow him back to Ria’s house where you bid your goodbyes to everyone and head back to Rosa’s for the night. She turns in early and now it’s just you and Frankie alone again. But being alone with him feels different this time. Not only because you just kissed but also because you think… you have feelings for him. Maybe it’s the holiday spirit talking or how vulnerable he was last night, but you have to admit to yourself that Frankie Morales is not only a cute man but a man you misjudged this whole time. 

Once you’re back upstairs to Frankie’s room, you’re sitting side by side on his bed. The silence is back and you’re wondering if you shouldn’t have kissed him earlier. Maybe all you are to him is someone who did him a favor, someone who’s just his neighbor and nothing more. 

“I’m sorry about the kiss. I-”

“You’re sorry?”

“Well yeah, I-”

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long, cariño.”

“How long?”

“Soon after you moved in next door.” 

“Really? I thought you hated me.”

“No, I never did. I just liked pushing your buttons. You’re cute when you’re irritated.”

Your brain is short-circuiting, in disbelief at what he’s saying.

“Even when you were with Heather?”

“Mhm.”

“Is that why you were so jealous of Benny at your birthday party?”

“...Maybe,”

“Mmm, you’re cute when you’re jealous,” you say, leaning in for another kiss.

This time the kiss is needier, and more passionate, like you can’t get enough of each other’s touch, scent, and taste. His hands caress either side of your face as his body leans into you more, coaxing you to lie down on his bed. His mouth leaves yours, trailing along your jawline and down your neck. Your breath hitches as he nips at your skin, immediately licking the bruised skin afterward. He moves down lower, lips moving along your collarbone, until he’s completely kneeling on the floor in front of his bed. His hands hook around the waistband of your pants, sliding them off in one clean motion before going to remove your panties.

“Frankie?” you ask, resting on your elbows and looking down at him.

“Yeah?”

“What about like… your mom?”

“She sleeps like a rock,” he says bluntly, returning to what he was doing before. 

He pulls off your panties and spreads your legs, looking at how wet your cunt is already. 

“Mm, so wet for me, cariño,” he muses, his warm breath tickling your core.

Before you can respond, he licks one long, slow stripe up your cunt, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you breathe out, eliciting a chuckle from him.

He goes back in for another, licking up and down your entrance slow, enough to drive you crazy. And then, he moves to your clit, tongue swirling around it as your back arches up off the bed. He hooks his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place as he gets to work, nose grinding against your clit while his tongue licks your cunt. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, his face taught against your cunt as you do so. 

Once you’re done, he rests his head against your inner thigh, admitting the mess he just made. The lower half of his face is soaked, his patchy facial hair glistening. He returns back to your cunt for one more lap of his tongue, just to taste you one more time before rising from the floor and taking off his clothes. You sit up and take off your sweater and your bra, tossing them on the floor and lying back down. You inch up a little higher on the bed to make room for him as he hovers over you. 

“I have a confession to make,” he says, looking down at you with a sly grin.

“Oh??”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you naked.”

“Uhh-”

“Your bathroom window faces mine.”

“...It does?”

“Mhm. Saw you drying off one day.”

“Oh yeah? And then what?”

He bends down and whispers in your ear, “Jerked off in the shower to the thought of you.”

Your whole body shudders.

“Touch me, Frankie, please,” you whine.

“Are you begging, cariño?”

“Fuck. Yes, I am,” you whimper.

“Good girl,” he whispers in your ear, his hand caressing the outline of your breast before moving to your nipple. His other hand gathers some of your releases and strokes his cock, getting extra hard before sliding inside you, all while he plays with your nipple. You gasp at the sensation, feeling his length stretch your walls; feeling like you’re being split apart.

“You can take it,” he softly commands, bringing his face away from your ear and looking into your eyes again. He studies the expression on your face; the open mouth and the tears in the corners of your eyes, and his lips curve into a smirk. He draws his hips back and thrusts into you again, your cunt feeling completely full. Your soft moans are like music to his ears but he needs to hear more, not necessarily more sounds but a confession from you, too.

“Be honest, cariño. You’ve thought about fucking me too, haven’t you?”

It’s actually insane that this is the same sweet man who gave you the most thoughtful Christmas present earlier tonight. The same man who confessed to jerking off in the shower after seeing you naked.

“Y-yes…” you confess.

“What was that? Didn’t hear you,” he says as his hand to your other breast, taking your nipple in between his fingertips. 

“Fuck, Frankie yes, I’ve thought about it.”

“When?” he presses further, keeping the same pace with his thrusts.

“All the time. Even when you piss me off.”

“Knew it,” he teases, slamming his hips back into you. He rests his elbows on the other side of your head, face to face with you as he fucks you relentlessly.

“Frankie, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Let me feel it, cariño,” he says, studying your face again.

You close your eyes as you cum but that just won’t do for him. He wants you to look directly into the eyes of the man who made a mess of you.

“Look at me,” he softly commands.

You open your eyes, locking with his as you cum around his cock, feeling your walls flutter and pulsate in rhythmic patterns.

“Good girl,” he praises, thrusting into you one final time before coming, too. He paints your insides with his cum before pulling out of you and lying down on the bed. You roll over and situate yourself in the crook of his neck, resting your hand on his chest.

“You’re amazing,” he says, taking the his hat off his head and propping it on the bed post before wrapping his arm around you. There’s his sweet side again.

“I can’t believe you saw me naked,” you tease, still sort of in disbelief.

“Two times now. It’s a Christmas miracle,” he jokes.

You have to agree with him. He feels you twitch against him and he whispers, “Goodnight. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper back, letting sleep consume you.

New Year’s Eve

You’re spending New Year’s Eve at a bar with some of Frankie’s friends from high school. Ever since the night you got together, you’ve been leaning into the girlfriend role more, feeling like it’s not a charade anymore. Frankie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he welcomes it. This is what the two of you wanted all along, even if both of you didn’t know it.

You’re watching the ball drop in New York City on the TV at the bar with Frankie’s arm snaked around your waist. As the clock strikes midnight, you kiss, feeling like you’re starting the year off right for once.

“Look at you,” you whisper against his lips, “Ending the year in a fake relationship and starting the new year in a real one.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” he whispers back. 

Tag list: @wannab-urs @noxturnalpascal @hiddenbabynyc @littlegrungegirlaf @hyzer34 @catchallfangirl @pamasaur @paleidiot @runningmom94 @butiknewyoudlinger @sydneyinacoma @yorksgirl @wilderwizard @hnt-escape @axshadows @fanficlover1414 @lavema @yazsos @tarot-freader @dundienominee @pedropascalfan221 @khindahra @janaispunk @tuquoquebrute @perotovar @clawdee @immarocketman @whoreofabuckethead @grogusmum @idungoofed @fluffygoffpanda @meveispunk @beefrobeefcal @magpiepillsjunior @pr0ximamidnight @elvinaa @survivingandenduring @lincolndjarin @missladym1981 @heavennumber2 @covetyou @anoverwhelmingdin @hellfire-state-of-mind @joels-shitty-puns @stevie75

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction

[fettuccin-e]

The First Time

Kinktober Day 15: Size Kink

Tags: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids), fingering (r!recieving), oral (r!giving and recieving), Frankie's monster schlong, yeah he's got a giant dick we all know it (w/c: 1.5K)

A/N: Part of the rapid-fire Kinktober catch up! My absolutely massive size kink really let itself free with this one (get it?? massive?? hehehe) but anyway please enjoy my ramblings about taking Frankie's gigantic schlong. (I have been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings for Kinktober!)

The first time you undress Frankie, really see him for the first time, bare and open to your gaze, you think you’re fucking hallucinating. He’d been so shy when you’d first met, so unassuming next to Pope and Will and Benny. Tugging the brim of his cap to cover his eyes, a timid little smile playing on his face as you flirted with him, not his friends. 

You couldn’t have expected the fucking monster between his thighs the first time you have him naked in your bed, his cock so thick you can barely wrap your hand around him. You don't expect the way you choke on him when you try to blow him, only for you to realize that you hadn't even made it halfway.

He doesn’t fuck you that night, the both of you too high on each other’s bodies and too tipsy from the bottle of wine you’d shared earlier.

“Need time to get you ready, hermosa,” he whispers in your ear, fucking you so hard and deep on his fingers you nearly cry. “Next time baby, next time.”

The first time he fucks you, he doesn’t make it all the way. You think you're ready, despite Frankie’s protests, begging him to fuck you, grinding into his mouth, into his fingers as he works orgasm after orgasm out of your heaving body. Through your blurry eyes, you can see the way his hips thrust gently into the mattress, fucking himself into your sheets as he eats you out, groaning into your pussy as you gush down his face. It’s fucking maddening.

He lines himself up, pressing into you gently, so gently, but God, it’s already too much. Too fucking much. You gasp as the thick head of his cock presses into your entrance, spreading you so much wider than his fingers, wider than you’ve ever been stretched. It fucking stings, and you dig your nails into Frankie’s shoulders as you try to take it for him.

He only sinks in halfway before your body just can’t take it anymore, squeezing him so tight that he can’t possibly move deeper. Tears spring to your eyes at the feeling of it, and you try to apologize, but Frankie only leans down to seal his mouth to yours, kissing the breath out of your lungs.

“Feels so fucking good,” he mutters against your lips, sounding so fucking wrecked, and you throb around him at the sound of it. “Your little pussy is so fucking tight.” 

You feel lightheaded at the destroyed rasp of his voice, and when he moves, you feel lightning rocket up your spine, whining loudly against his lips. He grins, the shy boy from the bar long gone as he thrusts until he’s halfway in again, fucking you on only half his cock as you keen beneath him. You have no idea how he’ll ever fit inside completely, how just half of him fills you up more than anyone else ever has. “Wanna take all of you,” you gasp, “want it all inside, fuck, Frankie, please.”

He shushes you gently, smoothing his hands down your sides. “Mi amor, we need more time to get you ready,” he murmurs softly. “Next time, baby, next time.”

He fucks you just like that, breaking you open with just half of his cock and fisting the base in a large, warm palm until you squeeze around him with your orgasm. When you beg him to cum inside you, he groans, pumping you full, gripping tight to your thighs. You promise yourself that next time you'll take all of him.

The first time you take Frankie, really, truly take him, you think that he’s more affected than you are.

You’re so wet, dripping down your thighs from Frankie’s endless preparation, his lips shiny with your slick as he leans down to kiss you slowly, deliberately. You find that you don’t mind the taste of yourself.

He’s been fucking you on his thick fingers for what seems like hours, spreading you so wide, wide enough that you thought you’d break.

You don’t know how many times he’s made you cum, how many times he’s told you that it’ll make you looser, get you ready. You think he just likes watching you fall apart, his eyes blown wide as you tremble against the sheets. 

When he finally, finally notches the thick tip of his cock against your entrance, pushing forward slowly, you try to brace yourself for pain. It’s so much, he’s so much, and it should hurt, fuck, you should feel like you’re being ripped apart. 

But your mind is foggy with desperation, your need to finally fit him inside, that you can barely feel the pain at all. You can only gasp for air as his cock stretches you wide, pressing in so deep it’s like you can feel it in your lungs. And he just slides in, easy as that, as if it was easy all along.

And as much as you moan and gasp, your fingers clutching into the skin of his back, it is nothing compared to the way Frankie fucking whines at the feeling of it, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he stills his hips, pressed in as deep as he can get.

“Fuck me, please, oh my God, Frankie,” you gasp, grinding your hips against his on pure instinct, desperate to get him in deeper, somehow. But his hands tighten on you, gripping so hard you think he’ll leave bruises.

“Stop,” he says, deep and raspy and fucking primal. “Stop fucking moving, shit, ‘m trying not to fucking cum.” He sounds goddamn sinful, and your pussy throbs at the sheer idea of him filling you up just from finally fitting inside you. You let him breathe through it, raking your nails gently up his back. He shivers at your touch.

You suck air in through your teeth when he pulls out, just barely, only to fuck back in. He does it again, and again, and again, thrusting so deep into you that his cock fucking drags into your sweet spot, not even trying. You’ve never felt so fucking full before.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so goddamn tight, don’t even know how I can fuckin’ fit,” he mutters, pulling your thighs tighter around his hips and pulling you down onto his thick cock with every thrust. “This little cunt is just sucking me in, ‘s like she can’t get enough.”

“God, yes, Frankie please,” you choke out between labored breaths, your vision blurring at the edges. All you can fucking feel, hear, smell is Frankie above you, warm and towering over you, filling you up so perfect.

“So goddamn pretty wrapped around my cock,” he growls, pounding into you hard enough that tears start to pour down your cheeks. “My greedy baby, am I big enough for you?”

“Fuck! Yes, it’s so- it’s so fuckin’ big, Frankie, I can feel it in my fucking stomach.” You’re slurring your words, your brain turned to mush as Frankie breaks you apart so viciously. He reaches between you to rub quick circles into your clit with a calloused thumb, and your body locks up, your back arching so far it presses your tits into Frankie’s strong chest.

“That’s right, honey, just fuckin’ feel it. Nobody else can fill you up like I can, right?” he snarls, and you can only nod frantically, choked moans punched from your throat every time he thrusts inside you. “Cum, sweetheart. Show me how much you love my big cock.”

And you have no other choice but to fucking scream, pulsing violently around him as you cum. You’re fucking lost in it, broken apart in the best way possible, and Frankie groans, stilling inside of your as he fills you up with cum. It’s pure bliss, a goddamn revelation, and you don’t think it’s ever going to fucking stop. He smothers your cries with a kiss, licking into your mouth and soothing you like a wild animal as you both ride out the aftershocks. 

When you finally feel yourself start to breathe normally again, to find it in yourself to blink blearily up at him, smiling softly when you see him already staring down at you. As he pulls out of you, you feel the emptiness immediately, whining as he shushes you gently. “I know, honey, I know,” he murmurs, falling beside you and pulling you into him. “You did so good for me.”

“Damn right I did,” you murmur, sleep already weighing down your eyelids. “Who else is going to take that monster dick of yours?”

He laughs, loud and gruff in the most perfectly Frankie-way you could possibly imagine. “Don’t act like you didn’t fucking love it, hermosa.”

And, well, you don’t really have arguments for that.

#oh frankie #sweet husband with a big heart and even bigger schlong #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie x reader #frankie catfish morales #catfish x reader #triple frontier x you #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fic

[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

[endlessthxxghts]

Full

Frankie Morales x afab!Reader

Summary: You want Frankie to knock you up, and fuck, does he wants that, too. W/C: 1k. (I actually stuck to the word count this time… but at what insanely hot cost?😵‍💫) 18+ MDNI: Implied established relationship. Literally 0% plot and 100% PORN. Unprotected P in V sex. MAJOR BREEDING KINK. Cumming inside. Slight daddy kink (in the sense that you wanna make Frankie a daddy🫶🏼). One (1) pussy slap. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation kink. Finger fucking. Pics for aesthetic purposes only.

A/N: This lil drabble is a part of my 1k follower celebration in response to this yummy request made by @javierpena-inatacvest😵‍💫 Please take a deep breath and get comfortable while you read this… ANYWAY, happy Valentine’s Day everyone!!! What better way to celebrate than with Frankie and his breeding kink?😋 Hope you guys enjoy, and please do let me know what you guys think!!!! I love love love your feedback (or- in other words) !!!🤭

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG || 1K CELEBRATION

“Fuck, Frankie…”

“Taking it so good, querida, fuck-”

“Please- shit- please, Frankie, don’t stop.”

“I’m not, baby,” he moans, eyes threatening to succumb to the back of his skull, “Not gonna fucking stop until you’re full of me, baby, yo prometo.” I promise. 

“Sh-shit, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, ohmygod-” your eyes clamp shut, your jaw hangs open, ass up in the air as your tears and drool soak the pillow beneath your face. 

Frankie speeds up, pummeling into you hard and fast, his large hands coasting the surface of your ass and your back, groaning at the way you twitch and writhe underneath him. His hands settle at your waist, gripping you tightly, accentuating the arch of you. He’s so fucking deep at this angle, you can feel him hitting your cervix with each thrust forward. It’s an addicting sensation right now—and it will be even later, when the dull ache overtakes you. “Give it to me,” he breathes, “cum all over my cock, querida, needa feel you.”

His hand snakes around to your front, the pad of his fingers meeting your clit, rubbing it in the perfect motion that sends you reeling. Fireworks—no, dynamite, explodes behind the dark of your eyelids, your head adopting that fuzzy feeling, your body following suit not long after. “So fucking good, you feel so fucking good, Frankie, oh my God- oh fuck-” you ramble partially incoherently. 

Your thighs are jello, unable to keep yourself up as Frankie continues fucking into you; his arm wraps around your middle, his other pawing at your breast. He pulls you up to be flush against his chest as he begs your alter for his own release. “I’m c- mierda- I’m close,” he whimpers right at your ear. 

Mustering up as much strength as you can, you twist your head to face him, your hand reaching up and rooting yourself at the back of his messy curls. You yank his head towards you, crashing his mouth against yours. It’s sloppy and wet, swallowing each other’s tongues whole as the thickness of your shared breaths melt into one. Breaking away with a bite to his kiss-swollen lower lip, you whisper into his mouth, “cum inside me, Frankie, please.”

“Baby-” he chokes, his hips speed up, arousing him beyond what he thought was possible. “Want you in me for days, Francisco,” you whimper, licking a stripe on his neck, collecting the salty liquid running down. His hand makes its way back to your throbbing bud. 

Your body goes lax in his hold, you secure your grip at the base of his neck, keeping your faces close to each other. He watches with heavy eyes as you struggle to keep your gaze on his, your brows furrowing slightly as your eyelids begin to flutter. “Need you-” you start, a throaty moan cutting you off. “Need you inside me- need you to fuck it so deep, baby,” you sob, “that it has no choice but to fucking take- fuck-”

Frankie’s heart stutters and his cock twitches. “Yeah?” he grits between his teeth. “Want me to fuck you full?” A particularly hard thrust sends you cross-eyed, your nails digging into his neck. “Want me to fucking get you pregnant right now, baby?” 

An appreciative little slap to your slippery clit jolts your eyes open, his lustful gaze with a hint of something more—like adoration, like pure devotion—stares you down. You pull him into you once more, a clash of spit and teeth and tongue—you can even taste a hint of your own arousal from when he ate you out before you were begging him to knock you up. “Please- fuck- yes, baby, yes- fucking- let me make you a daddy, baby, please- want you- need it- need you so fucking bad-”

Fuck. Frankie’s pace falters, his hips stammer as his orgasm consumes him—his cum painting your warm walls, filling you up to the brim. You moan at the sensation, your hips thrusting backwards into him, and before you realize it, you’re cumming again, both your bottom halves an utter mess of each other’s arousal. 

Frankie softly slips from your heat, and you both hiss at the loss. He releases his hold on you, guiding you onto your back, his hands settling on the insides of your thighs to keep you open for him. His eyes can’t leave the way your pussy looks right now—completely fucked out, shiny with your slick, and filled with his cum. You feel it start to leak out of your hole, and you whine, the feeling so sensitive but dizzying, knowing you’re overflowing with Frankie. 

Before you know it, his fingers are collecting the dripping spend, bringing it back to your entrance, and slowly, his fingers enter you, the initial push inward causing more of his cum to seep out of you, but he’s quick to catch the leakage, pushing it back inside of you, where it needs to be. 

With one hand holding one thigh down and the other inside of your sex, Frankie’s entranced, starting up a delicious pace fucking into you with his fingers. You’re a moaning mess of curses mixed with his name, overstimulation taking over your body, but you don’t want him to stop. 

He couldn’t even if he tried. He’s too caught up in the notion that after this, his sperm could latch, and in nine months from now, you’d be big and round and glowing carrying the product of your love. Fuck, he needs this to work. He’ll fill you up every fucking day if that’s what it takes. 

He’s pulled from his trance when a heady moan roars from your throat, “F-fuck, fuck, Frankie, I’m gonna fucking cum again! Oh my god, baby- fuck-” 

His eyes are on your face: pure ecstasy, he’s seeing, in the way your head throws back into your pillow, only the white of your eyes showing, as the veins pop out your neck as you scream out in pleasure. 

He slides his fingers out, slick with a mixture of both of your arousal, and brings it up to your mouth. He knows how much you love to taste. 

Immediately you open up, lapping up your combined flavors greedily, a content, blissful smile plastered lazily on your face. 

“Am I full, baby?” You mumble. 

“So full, querida,” he whispers, laying his body over yours, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. 

“Do you think…” you trail off softly, nervous. 

“I don’t know, mi amor,” he breathes, kissing your chest. “Guess we’ll just have to keep you full everyday until we can check, huh?” 

Your cheeks heat up, your exhausted pussy already fluttering in anticipation. “Y-yeah. I guess so.” 

End note: LOLOL GUYS I, UH.. I REALLY WENT HARD ON THIS ONE, I'M SORRY BUT ALSO I'M NOT SORRY ASDFGFDFH PLS LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK <3 YOUR GUYS' WORDS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME, I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH Also how you doing, babe @javierpena-inatacvest?? You alive? Still with me?? I LOVE YOU AHAHAHAH

#L's 1k follower celebration #endless thoughts fics #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #smut #pedrostories #drabble #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales smut #francisco morales

[undercoverpena]

wet n' wild

frankie morales x f!reader

summary: “This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?” wordcount: 1.8k warnings: smut. p in v. frankie doing a bit of dirty talking. reader wears a white two piece/bikini. mutual appreciation of bodies - although slight mention of shyness about 'your' body. an: all thanks to this anon, i hope you appreciate how you made me rot.

As soon as it had begun—you’d hoped it would end like this.

The game of who could break the other started as soon as he'd pushed you into Santiago's pool.

The rules dissolved, disappearing amongst the soft waves made from your legs wrapping around his middle when you finally got him in the water, "jus' wanna float with you" you coo, wrapping it in naïveté as the pool floats moved past you and people shout over the music and sizzling food.

He believed you for all of a few moments. That is until you tightened your thighs, rocking yourself over him, smirking, fingers twirling a strand of his hair around and around. Just like you do at home.

Stop, his eyes said. Make me, you challenged silently, it having become clear that there would be no defined winner or loser.

Just a symphony of soft brushes and lingering glances, ones that make your face burn and your thighs press together as hours tick on by and the teasing increases. Each time he wraps an arm around your waist, you feel you're losing the edge, becoming powerless, desperation creeping up as you dig your nails into your palm, the sun drying your skin and two-piece doing nothing to quell the fire that swirls in your insides.

It's why you'd been cautious to slip from the party, from the laughter and loud yells. Sliding past bodies you don't know, moving between ones you do, as you head up to the house.

To freshen up, compose yourself.

But then you’d felt him follow.

A thrum darting through you, turning the fire into an inferno, it grows, showing no signs of simmering as your flip-flops clap against tiles. Even less so when you hear the backdoor slide open and then shut. Recognising that gait, that walk.

Your pulse thumps in your ear as he follows you, doing so down Santiago’s hallway. A part of you waiting. All on edge. anticipation quickening the rhythm of your heart within its cage of bone as you turn your head, graceful, ear tilting akin to a curious animal, capturing the quiet sound of an opening door just as fingers wrap around your wrist, gently tugging you back.

Game, set, match.

You do your best to hide your smirk—smother it in wide eyes and a blank expression. Innocence, all halo shining and white two-piece gleaming. You know Frankie sees through it—has been aware of each brush of your ass against the strings of his swim shorts.

It's evident in the way he looks at you, and pins you to him, all broad and spectacular as he moves you, back meeting the edge of the dresser as it digs into exposed skin. And, suddenly your throat is dry, unable to tear your eyes away from him if you tried. Because he’s crowding, all but looming—palm resting on your hip, the other cupping your cheek.

It’s brief, the seconds he provides. A flick of his gaze between both eyes, a confirmation requested and given with a smirk of your own mouth.

Then, he's on you.

Hot, wet mouth sliding over yours, tongue pressing past your lower lip, cursing somewhere at the back of his throat that he breathes into your own. Because fuck. A thought that grows, builds, but you do your best to bite back as your fingers grasp at bare skin, palms sliding over the flexing muscles on his shoulders and along his back before you grab a handful of his curls, droplets dripping down your wrist.

You don't fight the moan when he flattens his body to yours. Frankie flush to you, soft stomach against yours—no space between the two of you, nowhere for air to be except around the two of you—as his fingers splayed out on your hip. Keeping you where he wants you; where he needs you.

Here, here, here.

You lose yourself against his mouth. Drown in it; pleasingly overwhelmed by him, and desperate for more. Insatiable, in fact—as you become aware of his fingers at the crease of your thighs, parting them, ungluing them, fingers sliding over your fabric-covered seam.

The tip of his nose slides against your cheek, breath searing against your skin, leaving a trail of fire to your ear before he whispers, “Don’t think your bikini is wet from the pool, is it?”

It's instinct, barely muffled, a murmur of his name escaping—but better that than the moan you have to bite down on your tongue to suppress. More so as his fingers, all expert, competent, slide back and forth over your covered pussy. The thinnest layer being a barrier, keeping him from sliding into your heat and making you see stars.

“This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?”

You can't think, not as he teases the edge of your bikini.

Your name on his lips is elongated. Meaningful.

And, there's an answer forming somewhere, but it won't make it to your tongue. It thought, but barely given—never mind said—but he reads you. Pushing the fabric to the side, fingers parting you, retrieving a moan that does more than kiss the air.

You think you nod. You must do as sounds dull and thoughts silence as he sinks two fingers into you.

"Eyes on me, bonita."

And they pin to him just like he demands. Seeing only slowly drying curls and deep brown eyes. Admiring, mouth parting around silently pleas as he focuses on you, nothing else mattering, as he studies you, moves his fingers and thumb to get the sounds from you he knows he can get you to play.

There, you think. But he already knows. Frankie's attentive like that, swirling his thumb, circling and circling as your own hand slides between the two of you, palming him, feeling every thick inch of him as your teeth nip at your lower lip.

And he gleams as though reading your mind like he’s watching a movie in your eyes. Hand stopping, making your face scrunch before he's retracting it, fabric snapping back into place.

You barely have a chance to ask, never mind speak, before he’s shifting you, moving you with far too much ease until your back is bouncing on a mattress that isn’t your own—staring up at him as he tilts his head.

Fuck, he looks good.

Impossibly good. A thought you have constantly, almost continuously. Because it's him, all yours, forever 'mine'.

It's why shyness is gone, eroded. Hands rising, undoing the top of your swimwear until it parts open at your cleavage, exposing your breasts to him, nipples pebbling in the cool, drier air before you grasp them—take one in each hand and roll, squeeze, parting your thighs further as you mentally wish for his hands to replace yours—

“Or,” he says suddenly, grittier, all low and sounding closer to a grunt.

Jaw ticking to the side, eyes narrowing, as he takes one of your knees in hand, forcing it up, further into your chest.

"Is this what you wanted?”

Your heart hammers in your ears, thunders. It practically dulls all else—mind emptying of a party, of anyone walking in and catching the two of you. Least of all when he slides the fabric to the side, an order—direct and stern—to hold it for him, as you do so, all in awe, watching as he frees himself, swimshorts pooling somewhere at his ankles before he runs his palm up and down as he drinks you in.

And you’ve never felt more seen, more beautiful. Usually, a hand would have slid over your stomach, a thought crossing through your mind about the thickness of your thighs or the slithers of discolour that stretch across your hips.

But there’s none.

Just the sight of him, all handsome and pretty, stroking himself as he admires you undone and waiting.

“I ever told you how good you look?"

His eyes flick to yours at the sound of your voice.

"You do," you continue. "So pretty with your hand wrapped around your cock for me."

Sliding a finger over your soaked folds, breath hitching, you watch his eyes snap to it.

"Fuck Frankie," you whine. "Especially when you’re like this—when you’re doing this?”

It's silky, the way you let each word fall. Let it glide through the air to his ears as you earn a brow twitch.

“I want you, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, your free hand reaches for him, the mattress dipping as he kneels.

"Want you to fuck me so good we have to buy Santi new spare bed sheets, and not just wash them."

Leaning over, he smirks, pink sliding up his neck as his palm flattens to the mattress, all close to your head. "He never uses this room anyway," he retorts, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, forcing your teeth to bite down on the back of your hand. "So, someone should."

Nodding, you murmur something, words, letters at the very leas.

“Fuck, who knew my girl was so dirty?”

Heat flushes through you, spreads—licks across muscles and bone as you stare down at the place the two of you could be conjoined—

“Frankie, please—“ the last letter barely forming as he pushes in, pussy taking him, inch by fucking inch, “—fuck, baby.”

His forehead finds yours, pushing it back as the back of your head meets the mattress as he slides himself into the hilt. All thick, suddenly nothing but full—mouth parted at it, before you begin to move, urging, pleading, before he’s moving.

Palm finding your mouth, you try to smother the moans and whines as he rolls his hips, gripping your hips, bruising, thrusting and kissing that part inside of you that makes his name fall in tandem from your mouth.

Distantly, you can hear him. Mumbling, babbling, lost in it: “I know, s’good for me. Feel perfect—always do. Look so good, querida—wanna fill you up. Touch yourself, come for me, baby. Please come for me.”

Fingers moving, sliding from holding the fabric for him to drawing circles, chin lifting, back arching into him as fire slides up your spine, the knot tightening in your stomach, muscles both tightening and relaxing. And it’s dizzying, vision blurring as you hear him talking you through it, murmurs of “that’s it’s baby, come on baby” as your fingers move on their own and your other hand clamps and digs into your own cheek, "can't believe you're letting me fuck you here, so perfect, mine, all—"

Hissing, moaning into his palm—teeth almost biting, piercing your skin as a tightness forms before you're clamping down. Before you snap, crack.

And you come.

And it's all but consuming, mind-bending and sound melting as he fucks you through it. Hips snapping against yours, skin slapping, as you hear him hissing, grunting, his name painted in spit and hisses against your palm as your legs shake.

You yank him down by the back of his neck, fingers full of curls, mouth slanting over his as you swallow his breaths, all hot and desperate—

“Come for me, Frankie.”

And he does. Hard.

And fuck, you know you're gonna have to replace more than the bedsheets.

an: hides and runs cause for me this was so filthy and I'm unwell from my own words

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #francisco morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

[macfrog]

rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

main masterlist

When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

taglist: @serenaxpedro @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @scarletthefierce @pattwtf @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

[pedge-page]

Crash

Sequel to Cravings

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie is reeling from the night you two had sex and can no longer differentiate between his addictions.

Notes: Great y’all, now he's got feelings . Hope you're proud. Anyway, thank you all for the overwhelmingly positive feedback from Cravings: alas, here’s part 2! There will be a part 3 finale following after this (because it was getting too long and I like making you all suffer). Thank you all again for the love and reading so far!

Warnings: Oral (m and f receiving), F and M masturbation, dry humping, drunk reader, slight dub con drunk sexual activities, references to sex, mentions of drug usage,  language, Frankie is kinda mean in this one :( , poor communication King and Queen

18+ONLY

- - - -

Frankie feels like a stranger who's overstayed his welcome in his own home. When he knew you were deep asleep, he crawled out of bed and sat on the couch for what felt like a simultaneous eternity and quantum leap of time, wrestling in his mind over what just happened.

He knows you'll be waking up soon, and the thought of seeing you now makes him feel so anxious. In direct contract to how he's felt seeing you every morning since you moved in. How much of last night stuck with you? You were tipsy, but not as fucked up drunk as he was. Did he come on to you too strong? Misread your signs? Did he force it on you? Would you regret it?

And even if you wanted it, was it just all for him? Was this just another "helping Frankie get over his coke problem"?

He can't just go back to seeing you as a substitute for his "problems". His hands shook at his side, leg bouncing. You were slowly transitioning from being the solution to his problems to becoming the reason for his new problems. He's never been afraid about how to act around you before, and that even includes trying to touch and kiss you in front of some guy you were flirting with at the bar.

God, what a shitty friend he is. You should have had the chance to go home with that guy, not have to deal with your coke addicted friend so he hog your cunt all night for himself.

Then again, why would you want to go home with that fucker anyway? Like he would know your body as intimately as Frankie does. As if he could even come close to bringing to the edge black out pleasure and back over and over all night. Catfish doesn’t pride himself on much except two things: flying a chopper under any condition, and making you cream on his tongue.

He feels even more guilty as his cock hardens in his pants, the memories of your sweet moans and perfection flood his mind. How he'd wanted it for so long and was so sure he was dreaming. But he could never mistaken: the hot tenderness of your sweaty skin, hair sprawled over his pillow, your nails sifting through his curls and scratching along his shoulders, the way your legs shook around his head, the taste of your over flowing juices needing him more than before, the sounds like honey pouring from your lips, the insatiably tight, wet grip of your pussy swallowing around him like a perfect fit, and the way you wrapped yourself around him like you never wanted to let go.

He wants you. Again. And again, and again. So much that he doesn’t think he can trust himself around you anymore.

-

You wake to a cold bed. It takes you a moment to orient yourself, recognizing the room is not your own.

You sigh relief when you hear Frankie shuffling in the kitchen, the smell of burning toast filling the air. You quickly run to the bathroom to freshen up, wiping your messy eyes. And surprised to find the once mess between your legs from last night had already been cleaned, probably while you had slept.

You can't help but feel like a shitty friend, hogging his bed, having him clean up after you when he was the drunk one who needed caring to.

You bounce into the living space, announcing your presence with an exaggerated yawn.

You rub his broad shoulders over his shirt, feeling him tense at your sudden touch. Slowly, your hands snakes down the chiseled lines of his back, wrapping around his waist. You felt his strong forearms flex the spatula in his hand.

He turned to you, his eyes warm but clearly sleep deprived. His breath is short when looking at you, eyes dilated. He can't stop your hands drifting south and feeling the clear tent in his pants that has been there all morning. He closes his eyes and groans as you palm his erect cock.

"Why didn't you wake me?" You asked, turning off the stove as you stare up at him.

Frankie swallows the lump in his throat. He brushes your hands off his crotch and holds them in his. “I’m okay. Besides, you needed your rest." He leans down to kiss your cheek, lacking his usual affection despite the gesture before coldly turning back to his cooking.

You pull away and sit down at the table, just a moment before he's plating your breakfast.

Frankie cooked you breakfast?

He brushes your hair out of your eyes before leading himself down the hall and into his room without another word.

Sheets, pillow cases, clothes, all of it gets balled up and tossed in the wash. He glances at you down the ball, your feet dangling over the island stool as you catch up on your news feed.

You couldn’t be any more oblivious to how much his heart is shattering—just from doing absolutely nothing.

-

He's annoyed at how well you carry about your business from then on. So much so that he's trying so hard avoiding using you as much. Yes he WANTS to fuck you again, wants to ravish your cunt every waking minute of the day like before, and then fuck you until you're pleading him to stop, tell you how good you look taking him, and how you were clearly made for him. But how much of it did you want for yourself?

After the first night, he’s been doing everything in his power avoiding sex with you because it’s dangerous. Because he can't control what happens next. Can't keep it platonic, and pretend he’s ok with it just staying sex. He almost lost it and confessed everything the first time—and what would happen when you didn't want that from him? If you didn't feel the same?

You'd leave him.

So of course you make it that much harder for him to resist you everyday since.

Did you realize how sexy you looked wearing nothing but panties, bending over your bed with the fan on after a shower to cool off? you left your door open, casually waving to him, breasts smushed between your chest and the soft blanket on your bed. Did you know he swells with pride when can he still see the obvious markings of his fingerprints bruised on to your hips, your thighs, your stomach, after spending so much time holding your shaking body against his mouth? The way your nipples pierce through his t-shirts that you manage to dig out of his closet, and how they do nothing but aide the memory of you underneath him, begging for him to use you?

Every time he sees you, he gets hard. And he immediately tries to ignore you, walks away, goes to do anything other than giving in to the desire of pushing you down, spreading your legs and taking his frustration out on the one who's causing it all now.

He can tell you're starting to catch on. You notice his curt attitude, the way his eyes avoid you when you’re in the same space.

You two were sitting on the couch watching tv as always, but he was uninterested, leaning back against the sofa with his eyes closed almost in annoyance. You had interpreted it as a sign of him holding back his urges. Sliding down the couch, you glide your hand across his chest, starting to undo your buttoned night gown. when he opened his eyes and saw the first sliver of your breasts opening for him he stood abruptly, throwing you off. He only mumbles 'goodnight' and headed straight to his door.

It's been a few days since the last time he ate you out, last time he really cared to touch you. And you should be glad, really. He's getting so much better. Clearly craving you less. That was the whole fucking point of all this.

But FUCK if you aren't needy as of lates. You can feel the hot flush of embarrassment as you drag yourself to your room. Wet and bothered and for the first time in months, left unsatisfied to your own devices without Frankie's tender and a bit selfish care. You don't remember the last you needed to masturbate, let alone wanted to.

It shouldn't be embarrassing. And yet as you dip your fingers down your panties and through your slick folds, you feel wrong. Empty. Like something isn't there thats supposed to be. The idea that you're so used to him getting you off whether you asked for it or not that you're now incapable of doing it yourself is—troubling.

You huff in frustration and try your best to work yourself to a minimal slickness, remembering all the times Frankie has brought you over the edge again and again. But thinking about him only makes you slightly perturbed by the fact that he's right down the hall and could be doing this himself, if he only needed you as badly like he used to.

You don't notice your friend is right outside your closed door, ear pressed against the wood as he listens to your hushed sighs. His cock is hard in his hand, pumping it with long strokes to your beautiful yet strained moans. He wants to be buried between your legs. Wants his tongue to lap at your folds, fingers craned deep in that tight hot wet heat thats been calling his name all night. Make you flinch away when the stimulation becomes too much, because he knows you'll still take it like his good girl until he decides to stop. He knows all the right places to push, nothing secret between the two of you. In fact, in the amount of time thats passed with your fumbling attempts to get off and his pulsing dick in his hand, he could have made you cum twice now.

His body has been on overdrive trying not to take you again. Trying to be respectful for a change. Everything hurts, even his cock, which no matter how much he tugs on it, it's nowhere near close to giving him that sweet release. He's feral, nails digging in his thighs with the need to feel you against him again. Needs to just fuck, let it out, and then he can deal with his brain, his guilt, afterwards.

And when he hears you softly moan his name, he can't stop himself from barging down your door, wild eyed, dick slapping against his abdomen as he crawled over top of you and captured your lips.

Stop, stop stop, he's telling himself. But with the way you're wrappings your arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss, delicate hands cupping his aching cock, all his needs he's been denying for days have overtaken his movements. 

You're so bad for him. An unavoidable addiction.

Worse than candy, worse than coffee, worse than cocaine.

He flips you on your stomach, his hand engulfing the entirety of your lower back, pinning you there as his elbows spread your knees. He lies between your thighs, ass up in front of his face, and spreads your soaked folds, enamored with your clit twitching for him. Your little hiccup goes quiet when he presses his face into your mound, nose dragging along the line as his jaw works you open, fingers pulling your cheeks apart so he can suffocate himself properly.

His fingers dig into your waist, and he's rocking your body back and forth, dragging so deliciously against the sheets below you. His tongue is plunging in and out of your hole, and you realize he's fucking you on his tongue. You hum in relief, rocking with his movements, earning you stinging slaps on your ass cheeks. He kisses them better before biting your folds and gorging himself on your slit again, his appetite voracious after denying himself of your sweetness all week.

He ignores that bubble of guilt wedged deep in his stomach as he let's instinct bring him the relief he desperately needed, your squelching cunt and satisfied sighs tampering his cravings for you once again.

He watches you shake with your orgasm, encouraging him to keep taking. You babble: "Thats it, baby" "so hungry today aren’t you?" "Use it the way you like" and he closed his eyes, wishing he could block out the clear direction of how you saw this transaction. You were never this vocal before, but now when he's tossing and turning all night with his thoughts about wanting you, here you are telling him plainly. Almost as if you're reminding him the truth, discrediting his hopes for a different outcome.

He sits upright and slaps his cock between your ass cheeks, grinding down on you so you're still pressed flat on your bed. God, he wants to do it again. Spread your folds and split you in half with his fat cock. Make you weep and pass out, and then fuck you again. "Gorgeous fucking ass, mi hermosa. So pretty under me," He grunts as he slicks his member up with your arousal, just barely holding on the last bit of sanity he has by refusing to enter you. You whine in protest, but he has both hands on your lower spine, crushing your hips into the mattress as he uses your ass. "So good spoilin' me. Always there for me." He grits his teeth, rutting his cock against you, occasionally sliding back down to your folds to lather himself up. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He growls as he spills his cum over your lower back, breath catching in his throat.

The guilt creeps back in to his clear mind, and he's angry at himself again.

He can't stop himself.

"Frankie, why didnt—“

Before you could finish, he was storming out your door and slamming it behind him.

-

He used to be so loving. Used to worship your body, warm praises about how perfect you are for him. Sometimes he'd take his time, and other times he'd be fast, but still always with warm hands, attentive to your reactions, even when he was so fucked out of his mind needing you.

But now he's rougher. More sporadic than before, even as he decreases the number of times he's engaged with you. Silent now, too. fewer loving praises, less warmth behind his touch or his eyes, and in fact, spends more time having you in positions where he doesn't have to look at your eyes. He leaves you cold afterwards every time.

He's been acting like it a lot more lately: ignores you all week, being uncharacteristically polite when you corner him but managing to ditch whenever possible. And then he caves all at once, crashing in on you and takingtakingtaking, before going back to ignoring you. It should be a good thing: that he needed you less. That his cravings were subsiding more and more that he could actually go a while before needing a hit. It really should have been like this from the start: Cold. Transactional. Indifferent.

So why did you feel so awful now?

The only reason you haven't lost all hope is that very occasionally, that sappy, wet puppy dog of a mess shows his warm side again. You were showering when you heard him slip the curtain open behind you and step in, his arm immediately wrapping around your stomach, loving kisses adorning your shoulder, neck, and up to your ear. You sigh, relaxing in to his touches. He just held you there and kissed your body. He didn't even try to touch you, although you knew you were growing a different wetness between your legs. He didn't let you touch his obvious erection either. Just peppered you in kisses, dragging his lips over your stomach, combing through your hair, up to your elbow then down in the palm of your hand. There was no rush behind hid actions. No urgency. All gentle.

All Frankie.

YOUR Frankie.

But incidentally as he brought his eyes to yours, his chest seized with coldness again, and he's suddenly leaving you and the now cold shower without a word.

You didn't know how to make it better anymore.

He was so agitated again recently, and you could tell he didn't get any sleep again. You suggested he take the day off, the two of you could spend it "however he wanted", slyly offering yourself to him to take the edge off. But when he ignored you and went to watch the football game, two beer bottles dangling between his fingers, you rolled your eyes.

So fed up with his change in attitude, you spent an hour getting ready in your room, walking down the hall in heels, your tightest shortest shorts, and a low hanging crop. It had been a month since you and Frankie first fucked: combined with his recent behavior, stress with work, and lack of action, you needed a night out, needed to get wasted. Needed to stop being the baby sitter.

You needed sex.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"Out."

You grabbed your keys and left.

You hadn’t even closed your car door before opening your phone and texting Frankie that you were going out with Santi to help alleviate any worries he might have of the company you're keeping. Pope’s just as close a friend as Frankie is: he shouldn't have any problems about the fact that you’re in good hands tonight and just need some time to drink and be out.

Away from Frankie Morales just for the night.

-

It’s like you’re perfectly doing everything wrong to him.

She's out with Santi. Fucking Pope. The same Santi who told Frankie years ago you're smoking hot, and he wouldn't hesitate to jump on you if you let him. His best friend, the one who knows him better than himself, and yet here he is making a move on his girl—

But you aren’t his.

In fairness, he has been a total ass. He keeps trying to curb his desires, punch away his uncontrollable feeling about you, only caving all at once on you like a bullet train. Then the emotional brick wall of regret builds immediately after release, desperate to shut out his overwhelming feelings and the rough actions he’s taken against you. It keeps repeating. 

He vainly hopes he'll actually stop wanting someone who doesn't want him any more.

He curses himself for only having enough alcohol to get slightly tipsy. It's been a week since the two of you did anything sexual, a month since "the incident" so it's a good thing you're out.

It doesn't make him feel better.

To his annoyance, his phone buzzes next to him as Santi's contact pops up. He puts it on speaker, can hear loud giggles and music outside, barely registering his friend saying you're completely wasted and need to be taken home. He doesn't even send a reply, already throwing his jacket and cap on and walking out the front door.

-

"FISHY!"

You're leaning over Santi outside the bar when you spot Frankie walking towards you two. Your mascara smeared across your eyes like you had been wiping them all night. You're mumbling incoherently, throwing your head back in a fit of laughter. Pope is barely holding you up right, sheepishly smiling to keep your morale up.

"Hey man. I’m sorry, She lost her keys and I walked here. Otherwise I would have..."

"It's fine. Gimme her," Frankie said curtly. How Santi would ever let you drink this badly, he'd have to berate him later.

"M' Pinocchio!" You gasped as Frankie slung one of your arms over his neck and hoisted you up on one of his shoulders.

Why? Full of lies? he wonders.

“I’m gonna be swallowed by a great big FISH." You hiccuped, cackling upside down with a nice view of your besties tight ass. Frankie readjusts your body like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder and stands up, holding your thighs securely. If Santi wasn't here, he'd smack your ass to get you to shut up.

Frankie nods once at Santi and goes to turn around.

"Hey Fish? Take—take care of her. Please."

No shit.

Frankie is pushing open the apartment door as you're mumbling "fishy fishy fishy—hic!— squishy fishy."

He drops you down carefully on your bed. "Get undressed."

You giggle even more, seductively biting your lips as you pull yourself up to his body, hands roaming his abs and down to his hips. "You first."

He stared down at you, your lust ridden eyes meeting his, as you're pulling your shirt off so you're only in a push up bra. He tried avoid staring at your supple tits, the faint bite marks and bruises from his past ministrations almost completely faded by now. A fresh canvas practically begging to be marked up again...

He shakes his head. "We're not doing this. You're getting in your pj's and going to bed," he said, scolding you like a brat.

"Ppfftttttt." You ignore him, lifting his shirt and kissing his belly button, tracing down his happy trail and pausing at his belt. "At least someone here misses me."

He hasn't even noticed how hard he was in his jeans until you were rubbing your cheek against his clothed bulge, doe eyes staring up at him. He hears the soft pop of his pant's button undone, zipper slowly being dragged down by your teeth.

"When was the last time I blew you, Fishy? Let me relax you. I know you've needed this..."

His jaw clenched as he avoided your eyes.

“Know you want me,” you purred.

 Those fucking words again. If you KNEW how much more he actually wanted from you...

"He's positively aching, Fish. Shouldn't ignore a big man in need."

He doesn't stop you when you pull his cock out of his pants, having foregone the underwear in a rush to get you. He closes his eyes when your pretty nails wrap around his thick length, lips ghosting over his tip as you press an innocent kiss to his slit.

You hadn't blown him in a long while, and not often enough as you would have liked. you don't normally take charge, but he's been so distant lately that you can't help but use the alcohol in your system as a newfound confidence to forcibly get him to unwind. Your cunt throbs with need, forgetting just how indescribably big he is until felt him swelling in your mouth. It's sinister how well his dick reacts to your tongue, like you had been practicing as often on him as he had intimately gotten to know your pussy.

Your lips suction his tip into your mouth, causing him groan. His stomach flexes above your forehead. He's resisting again. Your tongue swirls around the tip as you lightly bob your head, swallowing an inch more and pulling out with a pop, teasing him slowly. You needed to get him worked up so he could let go, relax for once.

Maybe not be so cold to you for a while...

He feels your hands gently grasp his own that were down by his side, guiding them up to the back of your hair. You squeeze them in permission before returning your hands to wrap around the length of his cock that didn't fit down your throat.

You experimentally swallow around his shaft, eliciting a soft "fuck" from his breath. He collects your hair in a makeshift pony tail in his hand so that he had a full view of your face, submissively staring up at him as you gulp more of his cock into your inviting mouth.

You feel him twitch against the roof of your mouth, the veins in his v-line in front of you throbbing. Other than holding your hair up, he continues to let you set the pace. His eyes are fixed on you, head slightly titled to the side, entranced by your spell, his tongue just hovering between his teeth.

You push your face a little further, nose brushing against his public hairs, the first jolt of your esophagus resisting the intrusion. y|You hold yourself there, holding your breath for a moment before sucking him again. He's breathing deeply with long, staggered huffs.

You tilt your head back up, eyelashes fluttering as he watches his shaft rest on your outstretched tongue, slowly tracing the veins on the underside of him.

He fists your hair a little tighter, struggling not to grab your face and fuck your throat raw until you choked.

You swallow around him once before letting his dick fall from your mouth with a slick plop.

You stand up, eyes challenging his dominance despite the height difference as you drag him to sit on the bed, and while his eyes are emotionless, body stiff, he doesn't try to stop you. He rests against the headboard as you crawl over his lap. You waste no time to kiss him.

He’s not accepting your tongue, just letting you work over him. What the fuck is his problem? it's never taken him this long to give in. You can tell he WANTS to kiss you back, his jaw clenching so hard he could shatter his teeth. It's never stopped him before.

Truthfully, what you didn't know was that he was tired of you today; from trusting Santi over him for fuck knows what reasons, then having you come home drunk out of your mind, trying to tempt him with more emotionless sex. It's putting him off of your antics mentally. He wanted you, but not like this. He couldn't handle the aftermath of giving in to you again, but not having you.

Sexually, his mind was losing the war over his body's needs.

If it wasn't coke, it was you. And if it wasn't you...

It can only be you.

And Jesus, just when he thought he had a grip on being able to block you out for good tonight, you somehow managed to be an irresistable siren:

"'M so wet for you," you slurred seductively against his lips.

He can't hide the growl rumbling lowly in his chest. His lips part to let out a breath he had been holding and you take the chance to engulf his mouth with the hot kiss you'd been dying to get all week. His lips quickly mold to yours as you whimper pathetically, his hands sliding down to grip your ass in his warm, rough hands. You prop yourself higher on him, cupping his face in your hands, forehead nudging his Standard Oil cap off. You can feel his hot breath panting quickly against your cheek, his resolve crumbling.

He's right there. He's so close to relaxing. Just a little push...

You pull away, his lips almost chasing after yours. "C'mon big boy, wasn't it soooo good?" You playfully bite his ear. "You've got suck a nice cock here," you whisper, fisting his dick once again with the remnants of your spit, pumping his shaft easily. "Shame if it wasn't pounding me tonight...C'mon. Let's do it again."

He finally brings his eyes directly to yours. Your pupils were blown wide, crowded with evident lust. But it was what he could see beyond your eyes that told him exactly what he feared all along:

Nothing.

He doesn't stop the words from tumbling out of his month. "Why? so you can just use me for sex?" he said matter-of-factly, his face relaxing into a mix of coldness and spite.

You stop giggling and pull away, eyes widening with the most seriousness, and hurt, he'd ever seen on you. "And how is that any different than how you've treated me for the past year?"

His jaw is slack with panick, immediately wishing he could take back what he just said. No I—shit, I didn't mean —I didn't mean it like that—“

You get off of him with a hostile sense of urgency, ignoring his hands trying to caress your elbows, to keep you on him. You dig in your back pocket and then you're throwing something hard at his chest. "No, you know what? Fuck you, Frankie." You storm off to your bedroom and lock it.

He covers his face with both hands and leans back against the sofa. Looking down at his lap after a minute, he sees the pair of keys you've had to his apartment for the past year.

What he'd give to be high right now and to forget everything.

-

You spend the entire night packing. He's right at your door first in the morning when you open it, his stomach churning with pain at the image of your eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, hangover, and tears.

You brush past him before he can even apologize, settling your belongings on the kitchen counter. As you toss your scattered items in to your tote, he watches you, fingers twirling in on themselves with anxiety.

Now, now, do it now! he's screaming in his mind.

“I—“

You interrupt him, and it's only now that he sees you're not shaking in anger—you're trembling in tears: "I'm s-sorry that I snapped at you last night. I wasn’t— in the right head. I c-came on to you. You had your reasons for doing what we've done, and last night I was just genuinely u-using you for no other reason other than self interest and I'm s-so sorry." You swallow and take a deep breath before continuing: "I gave up a lot coming here, trying to help you, letting you use me to get better. But I can't do it anymore. I wanted to help you, but then when we had sex, I didn't know if things would change, I didn’t want things to change, and when I woke up, you weren't there, and then you treated me so coldly afterwards. I don't know what I did wrong.” Your voice cracks, sniffling away the running of your nose. “And it felt awful. I just wanted to go back to the way things were. But you s-seem like you hate me now, and I—“ you pause, rubbing your eyes on your sleeve, suddenly changing tone in a polite manner, like you were address a principle and ignoring your previous breakdown. "I'm very happy you're clearly doing a lot better and don't need me anymore. Sorry, I don’t—I don't mean to cry like this.”

Frankie is frozen.

You're crying. You're crying in front of him, which wasn't a first; you've cried to him about stupid boys before. But what IS a first is that you're crying for the first time over the stupid boy right in front of you. You're crying, Because. Of. Him.

Just tell her tell her tellhertellhertellherNOW 

But as he opens his month, his words get caught in his throat, like swallowing a lump of coal and puking a ball of fire all at once. His chest aches unlike anything he'd experience before. All he can say is "I... understand."

Nononononoyoudumbfuckwhatareyoudoing!

You nod and sniffle, clearing your throat. "I'd like to just go back to being friends. Before all of this. I'll still support you, I swear. I want you to still feel like you come to me for anything else. But I need some time. To get myself in check." You calmly collect your things and make for to the door.

"Wait!" he goes to grab your arm but his hand freezes up, like touching you would give you painful blisters. You pause and look over to him as he stands a bit closer. “I—I think you should keep this." He puts your key in your hand. "In case. Something happens."

Your lip quivers with empathy, eyes softening for him. "Please. I don't... I don't want to think about..." I don't want to think about seeing you lying face down OD'd on the carpet.

"Just. Hold on to it. Just in case. I'm asking as your friend. We're still that at least. Right?" The words feel like hot iron in his mouth, a heaviness in his heart desperately trying to convince himself more than you.

He wants to hug you. but if he did, he wouldn't let you leave. The warmth of his hand draws away from you after depositing the key in your palm.

You nod, rub his shoulder affectionately yet with clear distance, and leave.

He stands there like a statue in the hall, unable to comprehend just how much quieter and colder the apartment is now than it has been in months.

- - - -

Tagging people who either requested a part two or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)

Part 3: Insatiable

Series masterlist

Taglist: @paleidiot @pedropascalsbbg @tonakings @nerdieforpedro @thewritermj @ahintofkiwistrawberry @perfectly-imperfect-me23 @sammy-4103 @survivingandenduring @millercontracting @emilyjustemily

#pedro pascal smut #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #triple frontier smut #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie catfish morlaes smut #catfish morales smut #catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction

[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.”

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @amyispxnk @samgirl4life @pigeonmama @pedr0swh0r3

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character #frankie catfish morales #narcos fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #joel miller smut #fransisco morales

[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

[burntheedges]

Is this a date? 💜

Frankie Morales x f!reader | 9k words 18+ (rated E) | my fic list | ao3

a/n: Happy Valentine’s Day, Jenn! @jennaispunk I hope you enjoy my gift for you for the #SpaceSistersSecretValentine. it got a bit long (lol). I loved your prompts – this is the one I chose:

prompt/summary: Everyone is going to the Valentine’s Day party as a couple and it would look stupid if you both went alone, so you and Frankie go as a couple (of course that’s when you're forced to confront your feelings for each other).

tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, banter, food and drink mention, best-friends-to-lovers, kissing, smut, p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), creampie (use a condom, folks), pet names (hermosa, querida, bebita, preciosa, amor, baby, babe), dirty talk (in English and Spanish, translated in parentheses), no use of y/n, reader has no description other than having a vagina, being on birth control, and using she/her pronouns, AU (either no Colombia trip or better outcomes from the trip, you decide), no mention of breasts or bra

Thank you to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta (as always) and to @urmomsgnocchi for looking over and helping with the Spanish dialogue! (check out ali’s tips for sexy talk in Spanish, too)

Is this a date?

Frankie grimaces as he drops out of the driver’s seat of his truck onto his driveway. He takes a moment to stretch his back, knowing it won’t actually help. The tightness he feels isn’t in his back, anyway.

He groans through the stretch and turns to grab his work bag from the backseat before locking his truck and heading inside, where he drops it by the front door. Toeing off his shoes, he shakes his head. He still feels it. He tries to ignore it and heads to his bedroom to change out of his work clothes, which are stained with engine grease from a long afternoon of repairs. It isn’t anywhere near as good as flying the helicopters or planes himself, but at least this way he still gets to work with them. (At least, that’s what he tells Pope whenever he asks.)

A few minutes later, Frankie is flopping onto his couch, beer in hand, no longer able to hide from the worry and the way he can feel it in his body. The way he has felt it, for weeks now.

Two weeks, to be exact.

He’s had the same pit in his stomach ever since Benny told him about the party. The Valentine’s Day party. Frankie sighs, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch, and feels his hat fall off his head. He sighs again.

He doesn’t know what to do. For the first time in years, all of the guys are with someone. All of them, except for him. And all of the women he knows are dating someone. 

Except for you. 

Frankie presses his palms to his eyes and tries not to sigh again. He’s developing a habit and he knows the guys will call him on it. But he can’t help it. Not with his feelings about this, about you. 

You’ll be the only two at the party without a date. And somehow Frankie had agreed that that meant the two of you should go together. As friends. On a friend date. And now the party is only one day away and Frankie feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. Maybe he should just fake sick, try to get out of it. But he doesn’t want to leave you hanging, even if he knows it’s going to be absolutely excruciating to be your fake date. Just for one night. Fuck.

(Pope, the absolute asshole, had been the one to suggest it while you were all out at the bar. Right after Benny invited everyone to the party.

“Well maybe the two of you should just go together, then!” Pope had been grinning as he said it, knowing he was getting under Frankie’s skin. 

Frankie figured most of the guys knew he liked you, had probably noticed the way he couldn’t look away from you whenever you were in the room. But Pope was the only one who knew for sure, who had heard it straight from Frankie himself. He was using that knowledge for evil. “It’ll be fun! Give you a reason to get dressed up, Fish, stop looking so scruffy for once.”

Frankie had wanted the floor to swallow him up, or maybe just to run away. He wanted to look at you to see your reaction to all of this but also couldn’t bear to do it. He’d just stared at his beer, tense. He’d felt like he was one word away from bursting into action, with no idea what that action might be. Maybe strangling Pope with his bare hands. 

But then you’d responded. “Give it a rest, Santi, we all know you just wish you could rock a mustache like Frankie.”

Everyone at your end of the bar had laughed and the conversation had mercifully moved on. Frankie had finally looked up and found you looking at him, too. You were smiling but he could tell you were nervous. He couldn’t think why you would be. 

You both started talking at the same time.

“Sorry about Pope—“

“It’s not a bad idea—“

You both trailed off, and it took him a second to register your words. 

“You don’t have to apologize for Santiago, Frankie, I have met him before. Once or twice.” You were smiling now, but he was stuck on what you’d just said.

“Wait, what isn’t a bad idea?” He reached for his beer. 

“Oh! Um,” you looked nervous again. He tried not to do the same. “We could go to the party together. Since everyone else is paired up. You know, make it more fun.”

Frankie froze with his drink halfway to his mouth. He hadn’t been expecting that. You just meant as friends, right? You had to. In all the years he’d known you, he’d never thought for even a second that you might feel about him the way he feels about you. 

He’d been quiet for too long. Your smile dropped and you started again. “I mean, we don’t have to—“

“No! Wait,” Frankie hastily put his beer down, barely noticing the way it spilled onto his hand when he almost missed the bar top. 

“It was just an idea, I mean—“

“Hold on,” he slid his dry hand closer to yours on the bar but didn’t touch you. “I didn’t say it was a bad idea. It probably would be more fun.” He was trying not to hope you’d mean to suggest a date. No way.

You nodded, still looking nervous. “Yeah, we could, um–” he watched as you took a deep breath. “Maybe do the whole thing, you know? Get dressed up. Make it fun.”

The whole thing. Frankie felt his hope rising and tried to shove it back down. “You mean, um. Do you mean as—”

Your eyes widened and you sat up straight on your barstool. “No!” Your voice was loud and Frankie was a bit surprised. “I mean, not like that.” You laughed but you looked uncomfortable doing it, and he didn’t know how to take it. “Just as friends, right? A friend date. Or something.”

Frankie had felt his heart drop into his shoes. A friend date. The last thing he wanted, and probably the best he would ever get. He’d agreed, trying not to notice your relief when he did. 

And he’d been trying not to think about it ever since.)

You’d barely talked to him since that night and Frankie was trying not to read into it. You’d agreed, before you’d parted ways that night – a friend date. He’ll pick you up at 6, you’ll both dress up a bit. Try to have some fun.

Fun. He scoffs to himself, thinking of it. More like, try not to think too much about how he wishes it was a real date. Try not to make it weird.

Usually you text him daily. Not always for long conversations, but you would share funny or annoying things about your day, and Frankie would do the same. But not since that night. The radio silence is killing him, but he doesn’t want to push and find out that you’ve gone quiet for exactly the reason he’s afraid of.

Sometime in the last two weeks Frankie has allowed himself to face the reality of the situation. Sure, he’s admitted to Pope in the past that he likes you. But the distance between you has given him the space he apparently needed to face up to the truth, something he’s secretly known all along – he’s in love with you. Absolutely head over heels, fully lost, one hundred percent in love. He’s been lying to himself, afraid to acknowledge it. But he is, and now he’s afraid he’s lost you before he can even do anything about it. 

You’re his best friend. You have been for a while now. And you deserve a good date, even if it kills Frankie to give it to you. So he’ll do it. And he’ll try not to hope too much for more.

Frankie doesn’t sleep much that night.

…

On the day of the party, you wake up at 6am. You’re lying in bed, asleep, and then suddenly you’re awake and staring at the ceiling and your first thought is, it’s today. Your friend date is today, and you press your hands to your face to hide from yourself.

You can’t believe you got yourself into this situation. You’d been so close, breaths away from suggesting an actual date with Frankie. And you’d chickened out at the last minute. Like you did every time. You’d wanted to kick yourself the moment the words “friend date” came out of your mouth, but there was nothing you could do about it now.

Not without admitting the truth.

(After Frankie had left, Santiago had made his way over to you and leaned against the bar next to you with a serious look on his face. 

“So I guess you heard that,” you said, groaning.

He nodded. “You should ask him out for real.”

You shook your head in response. “If he wanted that, he would have said so.”

Santiago rolled his eyes at you. “You and I both know Fish isn’t going to do that. He’s all in his head about this.”

You sighed. “I just–” you swallowed and closed your eyes. “What if you’re wrong, Santi? I can’t lose what we have now.”

He’d looked at you, and as always you appreciated that Santiago took your feelings so seriously. He was a good friend. 

“Well, then, you have a couple of weeks to think about it. About what you want. And then at the party you can see. Flirt a bit. You’ll have his full attention, and you know it. And you’re his best friend, you know that, too. You won’t lose him. Either way.”)

It reassured you at the time, but it turns out that something had changed that night. You feel like you’ve forgotten how to be friends with Frankie all of a sudden and it hurts. What if you’ve already lost him? Because of this stupid friend date?

By the morning of the date, you’re in knots. You can barely focus and you have no idea where the day goes – the time flies by and suddenly it’s 5pm and you’re rushing into your bedroom to get ready.

You know what you’re going to wear. You’d pictured it in your mind, the same night you’d gotten yourself into this mess. There’s an outfit you’ve been saving for a special date (a date with Frankie, you try not to think) and it’s time to bring it out. You’re hoping, and trying not to hope too much, that Frankie will be blown away by it. That something will happen tonight. That things will change, but not so much that you lose your best friend.

You look at yourself in the mirror and you know you look good. This is how you were hoping you’d look for a first date with Frankie, and you try to let that be a good sign. You take a deep breath and close your eyes.

Here we go.

Frankie, always punctual, rings your doorbell right at 5:59pm. It makes you smile and you feel some of your nerves fade away.

They all come rushing back when you open the door and see him.

Frankie is wearing dark jeans and a deep purple button up dress shirt, both of which fit him perfectly. His beard is neatly trimmed and he’s not wearing a hat. His curls are loose and styled and your breath catches in your throat. He’s holding flowers. You barely notice the way his eyes have widened as he looks at your outfit, too.

“Your hair!”

“You look amazing–”

You speak at the same time, and then you both smile. It relaxes you a little bit.

“Your hair looks great, Frankie, I can’t believe you’re not wearing a hat!”

He grins a little. “I wouldn’t wear a hat on a first date, come on.” The words send a shiver up your spine and you try not to read into them. But you want to. “Um, or a friend date, I guess.”

“Um,” you reply, and then mentally kick yourself. “Well, it looks really nice.”

He blushes. “Thanks. I mean it, you look amazing. I’ve never seen this number before.” He gestures at your outfit, and you smile wider. “And these are for you.” He hands you the flowers, and you look down at them, overwhelmed. You step inside to find a vase and Frankie lingers near the door behind you. 

“I’ve been saving it,” you say over your shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“The outfit.” You smooth your hands down your sides and try not to look nervous as you turn back around to face him.

“Oh yeah? For what?”

“Oh, um. For a first date.” You can’t believe you just said that. But he said it first, and that means you can say it too, right? You keep talking before either of you can dwell on that thought. “Should we go? Don’t want to be late.”

Frankie steps back to let you move past him and nods. “Sure. Don’t want Benny to give us crap for missing any of his party.” You laugh.

You feel better in the car. This feels easy, as easy as it always does with Frankie. Whatever weirdness has arisen between you hasn’t broken what you already have. It’s a comforting realization.

As Frankie pulls over to park outside Benny’s house, he asks, “so, how do you want to play this?”

You tilt your head at him. “What do you mean?”

He gestures at the house. “They’re going to tease us for this, you know that. About how we’re on a date. How do you want to play it?” 

You consider him, and wonder if this is your chance to test the waters. You turn your upper body to face him and lean against the door of his truck. With a teasing smile of your own, you reply, “well, they’re expecting us to be awkward, right? They’ll tease us, we’ll be weird about it, they laugh. What if we beat them to it?”

Frankie turns towards you and rests his left arm on the steering wheel. He looks confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if we go in there and act like we’re on a date? Not like two friends who are expecting to be given hell for it. Like we’re on a real date. It’ll confuse the hell out of them, they won’t know what to do with it.” You hold your breath while you wait for Frankie’s answer. You have no idea what it will be.

His brow is furrowed as he looks between you at the gear shift. “But…” he trails off and you reach over to nudge his hand to encourage him. He slips his hand over yours slowly and squeezes. It isn’t the first time in your years of being friends that he’s held your hand to reassure you like this but you badly want to read more into it now. “I see what you’re saying. It would probably be pretty funny to see their faces.” You nod. “But what about… after? Since it’s not a real date.”

You meet his eyes and gather your courage. “Who said it isn’t?” And before he can reply, before you can even see his reaction, you open the door behind you and slip out of the car.

“Wait!” You hear Frankie call for you and try not to grin too widely. He comes jogging around the back of his truck and meets you halfway across the lawn of Benny’s house. “Wait, hey, hold on. What do you mean?”

You focus on walking, and he falls into step next to you. You can feel his eyes on you as you step up to the front door. Before you knock you look at him and meet his familiar warm gaze. “I meant what I said, Frankie. Who said it’s not a real date? Maybe it could be.” 

You turn away and knock without letting him reply. You’re vibrating with nerves, surprised at your audacity. You’re certain he can see the tension in your body, the nerves. But maybe this is what you need, to see if you can have what you want. 

Out of the corner of your eye you see Frankie straighten up and shake his head. He goes to run his fingers through his hair but stops himself. Suddenly, he steps closer and slips an arm around your waist to pull you close to him. You gasp at the feeling of his body, warm and solid along your right side. “If you wanted this to be a date, hermosa, you only had to ask.” His voice is deeper, suddenly, and he’s so close to your ear you can feel his breath.

You start to turn your head towards him to respond, but before you can, the door flies open in front of you. You both turn towards it, startled.

“Hey, you two! You’re late!” Benny smiles widely when he sees you waiting on his porch. He’s wearing a bright red dress shirt and holding a pink cocktail. He starts to gesture you inside when his eyes fall to Frankie’s arm, which is still snug around your waist. You can see his surprise and decide it’s now or never.

“Hi Benny,” you reply, leaning into Frankie and smiling. “Where’s the party at?”

His eyes dart between you. “Go straight through to the kitchen. Hey, I thought–” 

You cut him off. “Thanks! Let’s grab something to drink, Frankie, I’m thirsty.” You step forward and reach back to catch Frankie’s hand as he lets it fall from your waist. As you pass by Benny, you know he’s staring at your hands, which are laced together and holding tight. Frankie squeezes your hand and it reassures you.

When you arrive at the kitchen, Frankie crowds behind you, much closer than he ever has before. His hands land lightly on your hips. You have no idea what your face is doing.

You need to focus. This was your big idea and clearly Frankie is shifting into some first-date mode that you’ve never seen before. Get it together. Flirting is clearly on the table, now, and you need to step it up.

As you move into the room, with Frankie close behind, the others yell greetings and welcome you in. You notice that Benny and Steph have gone all out with the decorations – the kitchen looks like you’re inside a Valentine’s card. And most of the food and drinks are red or pink (or made of chocolate). Soon enough you have a drink in your hand and you’re deep in conversation with Santiago’s girlfriend, Yovanna. Frankie stands behind you, left hand on your left hip, drink in his right. You can feel his body heat and you’re trying not to let how flustered you are show on your face. 

After a few minutes, Santiago comes over to pull Frankie into another of the boys’ longstanding arguments about something or other. Before he goes, Frankie suddenly shifts his grip on your hip and squeezes. He leans close to murmur in your ear, “I’ll be back soon, hermosa.” His words send warmth spiraling down your spine and you shiver. You blink and meet Yovanna’s eyes.

She has one eyebrow raised as she takes a long sip of her drink. “So, what’s going on here, hmm?”

You feel your cheeks heat and throw back the rest of your own drink. “A real date, I think.”

“You think?”

You shake your head. “We just said it, or I did, outside. ‘Who said it’s not a real date? Maybe it could be.’ And then it was like he flipped a switch and now Frankie is flirting and I’m still catching up. Even though it was my idea. I guess.” 

She laughs a little, but kindly. “He’s head over heels for you, you know. Of course he’s flirting. You gave him the go ahead and now he’s going all in. He knows what he wants.” She nudges you with her shoulder. “You should get him back. Raise the stakes.”

You tilt your head, considering her words. “You think so? I’m still worried I’m going to mess this up.” 

Yovanna looks around the room before stepping closer to you. She lowers her voice. “You’re in love with that man. You gave him an opening, and he leapt through it. Go get him.”

You knew that, of course. But something about the way she says it to you flips the switch for you, this time. You look over at Frankie, who has his back to you, and you smirk. She nods. “That’s right. He wants you. And I can’t wait to see the look on his face when you show him you want him, too.”

You grin at her and give her a hug. “I think I need to go save my date from your boyfriend.” She laughs and waves you onward.

As you approach, you see Santiago notice you and you wink at him. He grins but doesn’t let Frankie see his distraction. He’s still got his back turned when you step up behind him and slide your right arm around his waist, ducking under his left. “Hey, babe. You want something to eat?” You can feel the way his body responds to yours – he turns towards you immediately, like it’s second nature, and his left arm wraps snugly around your shoulders. He looks surprised, but he meets your gaze with a delighted smile. 

“I could eat.” He runs his fingers down your arm lightly, and you bite your lip. You turn to Santiago, and realize Will and Benny are there, too.

“I’m stealing him, boys.” 

Santiago is grinning, hugely, while Will and Benny both look like someone just hit them over the head with something heavy. They look shocked and you smile innocently at them in response. 

“Come on, Frankie.” He follows easily as you tug him away and you realize how attuned to you he is, like always. 

“Was about to come find you, hermosa.” He leans closer to murmur into your ear and you shiver. “Would much rather talk to you than those idiots.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm, of course.” You feel Frankie’s nose brush against the top of your ear and your breath catches. But you’ve arrived at the table laden with food and he stands up straight. “Seems like we have a lot to talk about.” You meet his eyes again and for a moment you both just stare at each other, knowing somehow that you’re both recognizing the huge shift in your relationship that just happened as you arrived at this party. You start to reach out towards him when Steph comes flying into the room. 

“It’s game time! Everyone in the living room, stat!” She taps you both on the shoulders as she passes, and you sigh.

“I guess it’s game time.” You laugh ruefully as you say it, reaching out to grab Frankie’s hand as you move towards the living room. 

But he uses his grip on your hand to pull you back in and ducks forward to press a fleeting kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be ready to talk whenever you are.” You feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you smile at him helplessly. 

“Smooth moves, Morales.” 

He grins as you tease him. “Only for you, baby.” 

In the living room you find that the group has split, with the boys on one side and the significant others on the other. Steph claps her hands together when you arrive and gestures for you to split up, too. “To your sides, you two! It’s us versus them!”

It turns out Steph has planned a series of games that pit the two halves of each couple against each other. It’s fun – the whole room is laughing, everyone is having a good time.

But it also means that you and Frankie are separated for most of the evening, watching each other from across the room. You know it’s obvious – your friends have elbowed you more than once, and Yovanna waggles her eyebrows at you after you watch (and admire) Frankie drawing so carefully and precisely for Pictionary. You roll your eyes back at her. 

You feel his eyes on you, too. Watching as you read off a clue, tracing down your back as you draw for Pictionary. He’s looking at you, only at you, and it’s washing over you like the tide, pulling you to move back to his side.

It’s a long while before the games are exhausted, and therefore a long while before you find yourself next to Frankie again. The group has dispersed, filled the room, and Benny puts on some music for dancing before pulling Steph into his arms over by the fireplace. You’re smiling and watching them when Frankie steps up beside you. He leans in and you turn towards his warmth like a flower turning towards the sun.

“Dance with me, hermosa?” He wraps his arms around your waist from behind as he says it, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the base of your throat. You shiver as you lean back against him and nod. 

“Yes, Frankie. Anytime.” He grins into your neck and you close your eyes, wondering how you got here so quickly. It feels amazing but you’re also reeling at the change. Frankie just kissed you.

He steps back and grabs your hand to lead you down the hallway to the backyard. “I thought we were going to dance?” You look back and notice all of the other couples are still in the living room.

“We are,” he agrees. “But I want you all to myself, for a minute.” You smile and follow him out the backdoor. Benny and Steph clearly decorated out here, too, and there are twinkling lights everywhere. You can hear the music piping through the speakers on the back porch.

Frankie leads you down the steps and into the yard, and you feel the anticipation building inside of you. He turns to the right to step into the shadow of a tree. You realize you’re now out of sight of the back door and you raise an eyebrow at him when he pulls you back into his arms.

“All to yourself, huh?” Not that you’d rather be anywhere else but here.

He smiles at you as you start to sway back and forth to the music. “Come on, baby, can you blame me? I just found out a couple of hours ago that I’m on a real first date with the woman of my dreams, and I’ve barely had a minute alone with her since.” You feel your cheeks heat as you grin at him and tighten your right arm around his neck. 

“The woman of your dreams, huh?” The idea of it makes you feel breathless, almost dizzy. Of his dreams. 

His gaze softens and he nods. “Yeah, querida. You have to know that by now.” He pulls you closer. “I wanted this, so much. You’re my best friend, and you’re more than that. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I just never thought you’d feel the same.”

You run your fingers through his hair at the back of his neck and watch as he shivers. “I do, Frankie. For a long time, now.” 

He tilts his head, considering your answer. “How long?”

“Well…”

He grins. “Come on, baby, bet I’ve got you beat.” 

You frown at him. “I think…” He squeezes your waist to encourage you and you laugh. “Well, definitely since you helped me build that bookshelf.”

His eyes widen. “The bookshelf? The one in your bedroom?” You nod. “That was years ago. You mean we could have been together all this time?” For a moment he looks crestfallen, but shakes his head. “No, wait, I’m sorry. I did hope for that. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy right now.” You smile at him. That’s Frankie, for you – always so worried about how everyone around him is feeling. 

“It’s ok, Frankie. I know what you mean. But I also love being your best friend. And that took us a while.” 

“... also?” His eyes were locked on yours, intent. You felt your heart rate pick up.

“What?” 

“You said you also love being my best friend. What do you mean, also?”

Shit. You bite your lip, unsure of how to reply. It’s too early, right? Even if you have known for years. You can’t confess your love on a first date. 

Can you?

His gaze drops to your mouth and he smirks. “Hey, baby, it’s ok, I’ll go first. Te amo.”

Your mouth drops open and he grins. “Frankie?” You’re sure you look absolutely shocked. 

“Te amo sin freno, preciosa. Ever since that day you pushed Pope in the lake.” (I love you no matter what (a lot).)

You’re gawking at him now. That was only a month after you met. “Frankie! That was–”

“I know,” he lifts his left hand to cup your face gently. “And I didn’t know it then. But I recognize it now. I was head over heels from the beginning.”

You throw yourself at him before he even finishes speaking, and he laughs as he wraps his arms around you. You press your face into his neck and let him hold you close. You feel like your whole body is tingling, head to toe. Frankie loves you. 

You take a deep breath and say, voice steady and full of emotion, “I love you, too, Francisco Morales.” You feel his breath catch and you grin. “I’m in love with you.”

Frankie suddenly lets you go, and you almost stumble before he grabs your face in his hands to pull you in for a kiss.

It’s not what you imagined kissing Frankie would be like. 

It’s better. 

His hands are large and warm as he cradles your face gently between them. His lips are soft and firm as he presses his mouth to yours. You can feel the heat of his body against your own and you sigh as you let your weight rest against him, wrapping your arms around his waist. His thumb brushes your cheek as his tongue teases your bottom lip, and you start to open for him, eager. You feel more than hear the small moan that escapes you. Frankie smiles against your lips and wraps one of his hands around the back of your neck. 

That’s when you’re interrupted.

“I’ll get it going!” Benny comes barreling out of the back door, shouting about the firepit. Frankie doesn’t step away from you but he breaks your kiss, looking up to watch as Benny jogs past the two of you. He doesn’t seem to notice you standing by the tree.

“Fuck,” Frankie releases a breath and rests his forehead against yours. “Fuckin’ Benny.” You can’t help but laugh, and Frankie joins you. Your laughter seems to finally attract his attention.

“Well, hello, lovebirds.” You look over and find Benny grinning at you, hands on his hips, firepit forgotten. “What are you two up to back here, hiding behind that tree? Hmm?”

You roll your eyes at him as Frankie buries his face in your shoulder. “Well, we were having a pretty good dance, until someone interrupted.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he laughs before tilting his head at you, seeming to consider something.

“So this is a real date, then?”

You nod, and Frankie finally picks his head up to look at Benny. “Our first date.”

“Well, shit.” Benny winks at you. “You know, Fish, if you leave right now you can probably sneak around the side of the house before anyone realizes. Maybe take your date somewhere more romantic. And private.”

Frankie looks startled, and then smiles down at you. “Need anything from inside, querida?”

You bite your lip. “My bag and my coat are in there.” Frankie starts to frown, but Benny moves closer and interjects.

“Oh I can handle a little op like that, no problem.” He claps his hand on Frankie’s shoulder, grinning again. “You two go around the side and I’ll meet you out front. No one’ll notice. They’re all still in the living room.”

You both nod, and you can see the way Frankie relaxes. “Thanks, Benny.”

“Don’t mention it, man. Just go somewhere more romantic. Don’t hang out with us losers on your first date.” You laugh as Frankie takes you by the hand to lead you down the path that circles the house. Benny actually salutes before heading inside to take care of his part of the plan.

It must go off without a hitch, because he hands you your things by the front door and waves you onward, smiling. You and Frankie are both giggling as you sneak around the corner and run across the lawn. You practically leap into the passenger seat of his truck, grinning as you watch Frankie start it up and throw it into drive. He peels away from the curb so fast the tires squeal.

He reaches over to grab your hand once you’re on your way, lifting it to press a soft kiss to your knuckles that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Where to, hermosa? Want to go get a drink? Maybe some dessert?”

You turn and let your temple rest against your headrest as you consider it. Consider him. You’d love to go out with him on a real date, but right now there’s only one thing on your mind. 

“Come home with me, Frankie?” 

He grins at the road and squeezes your hand. “You sure you don’t want to go out for real, first?”

You lean forward and rest your elbows on the center console. Your joined hands fall into his lap and you smile as your hand comes to rest on his thigh. “I do want that. But we have all the time in the world to go out. I know what I want, Francisco.” You pause and he turns to look at you as he pulls to a stop at a red light. “You.” You watch as his eyes darken and you smile. “Take me home.”

Frankie nods eagerly and turns right when the light turns green, in the direction of your house. Only minutes later he’s pulling into your driveway and you’re out of the truck almost before he pulls the key out of the ignition. 

He meets you as you round the front, arms snaking around your waist as he backs you up against the side of your garage. 

“Hey, baby.” He leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips. You run your hands into his hair. “Shit, it feels so good to hold you like this.” He kisses you again, and this time you both get swept away in it. Until a car passes by on the street and you remember you’re still outside. 

“Frankie,” you breathe his name as he presses soft kisses down the side of your neck. “Frankie, let’s go inside.”

“Mmm, in a minute.” He nibbles at a spot just below your ear and you whine, so quiet you can barely hear it. 

“Francisco.” You try to sound stern, but you miss it by a mile. He laughs.

“Alright, alright.” He steps back and grabs your hands as they fall from his hair. “Let’s get inside, querida, I got plans for you tonight.”

You follow him towards your door with a grin. “Oh yeah? What plans are those?”

He tugs the keys from your fingers and opens the door for you, ushering you inside. “Well, the first item on the agenda tonight is licking your pussy until you come for me.”

You stumble, bracing yourself on the wall as you slip your shoes off, almost face-planting on the floor. You turn to look at him, incredulous. “Frankie!”

He’s looking at you with a cocky half smile and you feel the arousal pooling in your underwear. “Please, baby? I’ve been dreaming about it. For so long.” His words are a plea but his tone is something else entirely. He sounds so sure of himself. Your head spins and you turn to let your back fall to rest against the wall. Frankie is only this cocky when he knows, without a single doubt, how good he is at something. You know that, and you’ve heard the guys tease him for how much he likes doing it. The promise that underlies his words makes your legs feel like they might give out.

“Y-yes, Frankie,” you breathe and he steps forward to wrap you up securely in his arms. “Yes.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He kisses your cheek and starts to walk with you towards your bedroom. Before you can even catch your breath he’s easing you down onto the edge of your bed and kneeling in front of you. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on you, hermosa. Lo necesito.” (I need it.)

Sitting in front of him, you reach for your clothes and smile as you tease him. “Lo necesitas? Really?” (You need it?)

“Sí, querida,” he helps you remove your clothes until only your underwear is left. “Estoy desesperado.” (I’m desperate for it.) He winks and then leans forward to press a kiss over your underwear. “Por favor? (Please?) Let me make you feel good. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good. Lo prometo.” (I promise it.)

You shiver at his words and move to slip your underwear off. As you do he leans forward and pushes your thighs apart. His gaze is locked on your pussy as you reveal yourself to him.

“Baby, you are so fucking beautiful. Every bit of you.” His eyes raise to meet yours and your breath catches at the look on his face. “Relax, let me take care of you.”

You fall backwards onto the bed at his urging. Frankie leans forward again and presses a soft kiss to your slit. Your fingers tangle in his hair without you even realizing you were going to do it. He slides one hand upwards from your thigh and gently opens up your pussy under his gaze.

“Hermosa,” he breathes, and you feel it on your clit. You squirm. “Lo sabía. Estás tan mojada, bebita. Es todo para mí?” (I knew it. You’re so wet, baby. Is this all for me?)

You lift up on your elbows to meet his gaze and nod, grinning. “Always for you, Frankie.”

“Mm,” he hums and moves forward to lick a devastating stripe from your entrance up to your clit. “Que cosita tan linda. Tan deliciosa.” (What a pretty little thing. So delicious.) And then he stops talking, focusing fully on eating you out with devastating precision.

His tongue teases at your clit before pressing down firmly, sending a spike of pleasure shooting up your spine. His fingers tease at your entrance while he finds a rhythm with his tongue that has you clutching at this hair. “Yes, Frankie–”

He presses forward lightly with one finger, slipping inside of you, and you moan. You’ve caught yourself staring at his hands so many times and the stretch is better than you ever imagined. He curls it and presses inside of you at the same time as his tongue circles your clit, and you shiver. His tongue and his fingers work together to push you higher and higher as you struggle to keep from closing your thighs around his head. 

Fuck, he really is good at this. He slips another finger inside of you and you gasp, arching your back.

Frankie reads you like a book – he learns from every moan, every breath, and soon you’re almost there. You feel it, just out of reach as he holds you on the edge.

“Frankie, I’m– I’m gonna–” Your voice is breathy as you thrust your hips towards his mouth. He hold you down with one hand while he fucks you with the other.

He leans back for just a moment, moving his thumb up to replace his tongue, drawing gentle circles around your clit. “I know, querida. I can feel it. Dámelo.” (Give it to me.) He dives back in and opens his mouth against your pussy, and you cry out.

He hums, and you feel it through his tongue and his lips. He thrusts his fingers inside at the same moment and you feel yourself start to fall over the edge.

“Frankie–” You arch your back and tug at his hair. He suddenly moves his mouth downwards as his fingers take over teasing your clit, and your breath comes out like a sob when he pushes his tongue inside of you. “Yes, please–”

One more thrust of his tongue and a clever movement of his fingers and you’re gone. You rocket over the edge into an orgasm that feels years in the making, like Frankie has been stoking the fire and then set it ablaze for you now. You think you say his name, but you can’t be sure. Your entire body is trembling as it washes over you.

You take a great, heaving breath, and lift your head up to look for Frankie again. He has his chin resting on your pelvis, clearly waiting for you to come down. He’s smiling, eyes half open. His hair is a wild mess. His face glistens with evidence of where’s been.

He looks so fucking smug. You look at him and you feel something tug at your heart. 

“You’re fucking beautiful when you come, querida.” His lips are quirked in a half smile but his voice is deep, almost gravely. He dips down swiftly to press a gentle kiss against your clit, and your legs twitch. “Better than I ever imagined. Never seen anything so pretty in my life.”

You cup his face in your hand and smile. “Shit, you really are good at that.”

He tilts his head. “At what?”

You roll your eyes but indulge him. “At using your mouth.”

Frankie grins, clearly delighted. “Well, when you’re properly motivated, it’s easy to practice until you get it right.” He winks at you. 

You laugh and shake your head. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmm,” he hums as he pushes himself up, crawling over you on the bed. “Of course. And you know I have to keep my skills up. Keep practicing.”

“Is that an offer, Francisco?”

You feel him press his grin to your neck and you smile at the ceiling. “I’ll eat your pussy any time you like, querida. Just say the word.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Best thing I ever tasted. Only thing I want to do from now on, put my mouth all over you.”

You squirm a little, overwhelmed by his praise. “How are you still fully dressed?”

He laughs and sits back, straddling your hips. “Want me to strip for you baby?”

You nod and push at him lightly until he stands up. “Give me a show, Frankie.”

Frankie stands back and smiles, a little shy as he raises his hands to his buttons. “Am I supposed to dance?”

You tilt your head to one side and smile at him. “Frankie, you know I love the way you look. You could just pull your shirt off normally and I’ll be staring, totally distracted. It’s what happens every single time anyway.”

He furrows his brow. “How have we never noticed?” He’s deftly undoing his buttons now and you’re watching intently as each one reveals more of his chest to you.

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

He smirks as he shrugs his shirt off, and you bite your lip but keep staring at his arms anyway. 

“I mean, querida, how did we never notice we’ve been looking all this time? I mean, I know I was looking at you. Shit, the way you look in your bathing suit? Those little shorts you wear around the house on your days off?” He sighs, closing his eyes like he’s picturing it, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. You laugh at yourself, just a little, because you’re sitting naked in front of this man and you still react to his teasing like this. “You’ve been killing me, hermosa. And you’re saying you’ve been looking at me, too?”

You reach for him as he undoes his belt and help him with the button and zipper of his jeans. “Maybe we were both too scared of getting caught. To see what was right in front of us.”

Frankie strips off his jeans and the sight of him in just his black briefs stops your breath. You reach out and run your hands down his broad chest and hips, sliding around the back to squeeze his ass in both hands. You grin up at him. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

He smiles back and steps closer. You can see how hard he is in his briefs and you move to tug at the bottom hem, hand on his thigh. “One last act in your show, Frankie.” You start to pull and he lets you, moving his legs apart to make it easier as you slide his briefs down his legs. His cock springs lightly from the waistband and your eyes widen.

You knew Frankie was big. You’ve been swimming together, after all, many times. His body isn’t a total mystery to you. You’ve also heard the guys teasing him for it. But you’ve never seen him hard.

He’s big. His cock is beautiful – long, yes, but really what’s blowing your mind is how wide it is. How much girth it has.

“Shit,” you breathe, and without your conscious input your hand moves from his briefs to his cock. You lightly brush your fingers down his length and smile as it sends a shiver up his spine. When you look up and meet his eyes they’re dark, and hungry. “Frankie, you’re huge.” You punctuate your statement with a firm grip of his cock, and his hips thrust forward as you slide your hand up and down, once. You watch as his eyes flutter closed and his mouth drops open.

“Fuck,” his voice is deep, deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Yeah? Big enough for you, baby?” You can hear it in his voice again – he knows. He knows how big his cock is and you feel your arousal growing as you think about how he probably knows exactly what to do with it.

“Francisco.” He looks down to meet your gaze. He’s breathing hard already, cheeks tinged pink and mouth wide. “Fuck me.” You say it firmly, steady, no hesitation. A slow, cocky grin takes over Frankie’s face and your eyes widen.

“Querida, I will give you everything you want.” He crowds you back onto the bed, shifting so you’re lying in the middle with him hovering over you. You brush your hands across his shoulders and marvel at how beautiful he looks like this, holding himself up, surrounding you. The head of his cock brushes against your stomach and you both moan. “That’s all I want. All I’ve ever wanted. To give you what you want. Always.” He murmurs the last word into your throat as he runs his right hand down your side, fingers seeking out your pussy again. When he finds how wet you are, even more than before, he nips lightly at your jaw with a smile. “Shit. You think you can take it, hermosa?”

You nod, eyes falling closed. Frankie presses inside you again with two fingers and you sigh. “Let me open you up a bit, first. Get you ready.”

“Frankie–” you try to protest, hands tangling in his hair to urge him onward, and he chuckles, darkly. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby. Not ever. Let me take care of you.” You nod and let him work you open on his fingers, gasping every time he brushes against that spot inside of you that makes you see sparks. After a few minutes he’s thrusting three fingers in and out and the sounds of how soaked you are fill the room.

The feeling of him above you and around you is overwhelming. You run your hands up and down his arms and chest and marvel that you can, that you’re allowed to reach out and touch. Finally. After so long. 

It feels so good, you can’t wait any longer. “Now, Frankie, please–”

He nips at your shoulder again and curls his fingers inside of you. “Now, hermosa? Quieres algo?” (You want something?)

You poke him in the side and he laughs. You feel the love you have for his man start to well up inside of you.  “You know what I want, Frankie.”

“Mmm,” he hums and presses a line of soft kisses down your neck. “Quiero oírte decirlo, bebita.” (I want to hear you say it, baby.)

You nod and pull him into a short kiss. You hold him there, lips brushing yours, as you say, “I want you to fuck me, Frankie. I want your cock. I want you to stretch me open. I want to feel you, everywhere.” He shudders and you can’t tear your eyes away from the effect your words have on him. His arms tremble and his shoulders hitch up by his ears. His hips stutter forward and he presses quick kisses to your mouth and chin and neck and mouth again.

“Shit. I know you’re on birth control, baby, do you have a condom?” You both know how long it’s been since either of you had sex. He is your best friend, after all. 

You don’t hesitate. “Don’t need one.”

“You sure?”

“I just want you, Frankie. Always have.”

“Fuck,” he breathes the word into your mouth before pulling you into another kiss. “How’d I get so fucking lucky, huh?”

As he speaks, Frankie reaches down to spread open your pussy. He slides his cock against you, nudging your clit with the head. You pull him into another kiss. For a moment he just thrusts against you, and the slide of his length against you makes your head spin.

On the next thrust, he moves his mouth to your ear as he pulls his hips back. “You are so fucking beautiful, you know that? I can’t believe you’re here, with me. Can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

The head of his cock notches against your entrance and you both suck in a sharp breath. 

“Fuck, querida, if I’d have known? That you wanted this?” He begins to thrust forward and you feel the head of his cock stretch you open. Your next breath sounds like a sob. “All I want is to take you apart. To make you feel so fucking good you can’t think of anything but my cock inside of you, my tongue on your pussy.” He thrusts inside shallowly, and you wrap your arms around his neck. He presses a kiss to your neck under your ear and you whine, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

“Look, querida.” He lifts up and looks down your bodies, pulling his hips up until just the tip is still inside of you. You stare. “Mira como me toma.” (Look how she takes me.) He thrusts back inside and you moan as you watch. He fills you up completely, this time, and you’re so fucking full you can barely breathe. You can feel every inch of him and it’s everything you’ve wanted. 

“Yes, Frankie, yes—“

“Yeah?” He finds a rhythm and you feel it start to build inside you again, climbing up your spine. “Así no? Así te gusta?” (Like that yeah? You like that?)

You nod, and he kisses you. His hips keep up their devastating rhythm and you try to rise to meet him. You can feel yourself getting closer, and Frankie must sense it, somehow, because he slides his right hand down to gently circle your clit. You arch your back at the touch and he slams into you again, hard. 

“Yes, I—“

“I know. I can feel it. Come on, baby. Come for me. Just like that.” 

And you do. When Frankie tells you to, you do — you feel it like a lightning strike down your spine. It washes out your vision and steals your breath. You cry out, maybe his name, maybe something wordless, and you come back to yourself and realize he’s murmuring in your ear as his thrusts pick up speed.

“… no sé cómo es posible que tengo tanta suerte. Que eres mía. Ay, hermosa, mi preciosa, mi— fuck—“ (I don’t know how it’s possible that I got this lucky. That you’re mine. Oh, beautiful, my precious, my— fuck—)

You tangle your hands in his hair again as you feel his hips stutter forward. “Yes, Frankie. Come for me, baby.”

He moans and thrusts forward again. You tug at his hair to pull his gaze up to meet yours. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open, wrecked. 

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and murmur, “así amor así. Dámelo.” (Just like that, love. Give it to me.)

You watch as he thrusts forward one last time and his orgasm washes over him. It’s fucking beautiful. You’ve known him for so long and still you’ve seen so much of him tonight that you’ve never seen before. It’s overwhelming and you want more. You want everything. 

“Querida,” he breathes as he lets his head fall forward and gently rests his forehead against your own. “You are so fucking beautiful when you come.”

You laugh, poking him in the side. “You are too, baby.”

He smiles and kisses you softly. “I can’t believe how good that was. It’s gonna be hard to get out of bed, knowing what’s waiting for me.” 

You nod. You know exactly what he means. 

He lifts his hips to gently slide out of you and you gasp. “Sorry, querida, let me clean you up.”

“Hey, wait.” Before he can move too far away, you catch him and pull him so he’s leaning over you again on one elbow. You brush his sweaty curls off his forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Frankie.” 

He smiles so wide his eyes crinkle and you feel your heart skip a beat. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, querida. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

...

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you liked it, Jenn!!

taglist: @jupiter-soups @beardedjoel @morallyinept if you're on my taglist for maintenance request, let me know if you want to be tagged in general?

#frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fic #x reader #SpaceSistersSecretValentine

[swiftispunk]

false god | frankie morales x f!reader

PART TWO

pairing: sub!frankie morales x female!reader word count: 3.1k rating: 18+ minors dni summary: you’re instantly enamoured with frankie morales from the moment you meet him. as you get to know him, you begin to discover exactly what he craves from you. lucky for him, you’re more than willing to oblige.  warnings etc: smut smut smut, sub/dom dynamics, sub!frankie, soft dom!reader, slight humiliation kink (plenty more to come), pet names (mami, baby, honey, good boy), mami kink, praise kink, oral (f receiving, duh), orgasm delay, ruined orgasm, involuntary ejaculation, praise kink, hair pulling, slight pain kink, alcohol, mentions of implied mental health struggles, mentions of the US army (will only be addressing this is a very vague way), one could argue fluff - romance even. please feel free to respectfully correct any poor spanish. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: oh besties here it is. part one of what i hope will be a beautiful journey for all of us. spending this instalment getting to know this sweet couple, laying some groundwork, doing some introductory stuff etc etc fairly tame overall. but hang on tight bc it’s going to get kinky, honies. you’ve been warned.

also see the request where this all began 

You pick up on it the first night you meet him.

Your date’s been boring the absolute hell out of you, the conversation dragging and the watered-down drinks at the bar you think is called Boogie’s doing nothing to keep you interested in his attempts at flattery. He hasn’t even asked you to dance. At Boogie’s. 

Your eyes have been fixed on another man all night anyway. Messy brown curls tucked under a cap, patchy beard and dark eyes that seem to keep finding yours at every turn - that’s the man you want to be sitting across from. And it seems the feeling is mutual. Not even the group of men he shares a table with, clearly old friends, seem to be enough to hold his attention. 

Eventually you tell your date to fuck off, more than happy to pay up your half of the bill if it means you get to be rid of him. It doesn’t take long after that for the other, more enticing, man’s friends to leave, and even less time after that for him to saunter over to you, confident but careful as he sits himself down at the booth across from you.

You can remember a lot of that conversation - it builds the foundation for a special kind of love. The kind that lasts. 

“Your friend’s finally give up on you?” you begin.

“I was kinda itchin’ to get rid of them actually,” he admits. You’d assumed as much, of course but still - 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smirks, eyes flitting down to the nearly-empty pint glass in his hands. Nervous, you realize. “It’s just - I saw you over here and...did your date leave?”

You smile. He must have been watching you a long time. 

“It wasn’t working out,” you tell him with a shrug and a sip of your vodka soda. “I told him to get lost.”

“That bad, huh?”

“He was boring.”

“Well, his loss. What’s it take to hold your attention, hermosa?”

Looking back, that’s definitely one of the first signs.

“You’ve been doing a pretty good job of it,” you say with a toast of your glass and he positively beams. 

The next sign comes much more explicitly later in the conversation. By now, you’ve learned his name is Francisco, preferably Frankie. You’re charmed by his earnest brown eyes and all his endearing little mannerisms, like the way his hand sometimes scrapes over his beard when he talks, or the way he occasionally lifts his cap off his head to run his thick fingers through those unruly curls.

You’re thoroughly enjoying talking with him, letting him buy you a drink and chat your ear off about the men he’d been there with that night - all former Delta Force, just like him, you discover - while you share with him more of the horrors of your mind-numbing date.

“How am I doing?” he checks in when you mention the other man. “Not bored of me yet, I hope?”

You grin, noting the insecurity he so clearly carries under that thin layer of bravado.

“You’re doing good, Frankie. Do you like being told that?”

He nearly chokes around a mouthful of beer, ears and cheeks burning red while he fights to regain his composure.

"I mean, a little reassurance never hurts, right?” he attempts to play it off, but it’s too late. You clock the sign.

“Well, if you really want to impress me, you could ask me to dance,” you tell him.

You don’t have to ask twice. Frankie downs what’s left of his drink without another word, escorting you to the dancefloor with an outstretched hand. 

You share your first kiss there, a giddy, unhurried, perfect thing as your bodies intertwine under multicoloured lights. 

You take him home that night, or at least, you make it as far as the backseat of his truck before you’re tearing into each other. It’s a strangely fitting start to your story, you think.

-

The first few times you sleep with Frankie...well, it wouldn’t exactly be fair to call them average - but they’re nothing compared to now. It’s good, of course - always insanely, ridiculously good. Hell, Frankie’s the most generous lover you’ve ever been with. You learn quickly how much he adores taking care of you, eager to eat you out every chance he gets and reveling in making you come as many times as he can. 

Frankie is also heartbreakingly complimentary, worshipping you inside and outside of the bedroom, more than any man you’ve ever dated. He’s constantly telling you how beautiful you are, how sexy he finds you; he’s the first to say “I love you,” after just one month. And you don’t even mind because you feel it too. 

He’s candid with you about his past, the guilt he carries from his military days and all the battles he’s fought since then. It doesn’t frighten you to know what he’s done because you see him for the person he is; you see his strength, his intelligence, his doubt, his sense of humour. More than all of that, you see his devotion.

He’s so amiable and accommodating when he fucks you, keen to ask permission for just about anything. You love it. You love him. You love his attention to detail and how valued he makes you feel. It’s easily the best sex you’ve ever had - and it just keeps getting better.

Because it’s also around that one month milestone that he drops another very clear sign.

He’s buried between your legs, naturally, tongue greedily lapping at your cunt, hooked nose curved over your clit while his big hands splay out on the backs of your thighs. He’s so good at it, eating your pussy with such tender precision that you’d be able to tell he loved it even if he didn’t tell you all the fucking time.

Your hands are in his hair, gently combing through his curls while his mouth sucks and puckers over your folds, eliciting obscene little moans from you with each masterful stroke of his perfect tongue.

“Baby...” Frankie whispers when he comes up for air, teeth and lips grazing over your inner thigh, eyes hooded over, jaw slack. Totally gone.

“What’s up, Frankie, honey?” you ask breathlessly, softly caressing his scalp, while Frankie moans lowly at the feeling.

“You can...you can pull my hair,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed, lips dragging their way back over your mound. “You can be - rough, if you want. I like it.”

Your breath leaves you in a quick huff when his lips find your pussy again, heart skipping a beat as you ponder his request. Although you don’t have to think about it for long; you could never say no to him.

So, while he works his expert tongue over you in languid licks, you tighten your grip in his hair, fingers tugging deliberately at the thick locks. Frankie moans.

“Harder,” he pleads then. “Make it - you can make it hurt.”

Your lips fall open but Frankie isn’t looking at you, too consumed with his work, focused on bringing you to your second orgasm of the night.  

You're a bit nervous to hurt him but you know he wouldn’t lie about it being something he enjoys. Plus, you think it’s only fair that he should get to feel just as good as he always makes you feel. And if this would do that, you’re more than happy to oblige. 

So you pull at the strands harder, coiling your fingers through the thick mess of hair and relishing at the way it makes Frankie whimper against you, vibrations sending sparks flying to your core as a tightness constricts in your tummy.

“Frankie - shit - I’m gonna come,” you warn him.

Frankie whines against you. “Pull hard when you come, baby - make me feel it -  please,” he begs between hungry circular motions of his tongue over your clit, coaxing you over the edge.

You moan in unison with Frankie when you come, arching up into his mouth and yanking roughly at his curls with forceful little fists, hard enough to make tears prick at his eyes.

Frankie’s cock cries too, you notice, little drops of precum spilling out onto sheets under him as he looks up at you from between your legs with a crooked smile and a faraway gaze. 

-

The next time, a couple weeks later, is what really sets things in stone.

This time, Frankie’s mouth is on yours, kissing you with gentle care while his fingers hook inside your cunt, lying beside you in just his boxers. He’s already made you come twice with his mouth, his fingers now moving in and out of you slowly so as not to overwhelm your senses too much. His lips trail lazily from your mouth, up your jaw and along your neck till he finds your ear, nipping lightly at the earlobe while his fingers, now coated in your wetness, begin to circle your clit.

You’re aware of his hard cock straining against the fabric of his boxers, wet spot on the cotton where precum’s soaked the fabric. But he’d asked you, pleaded with you, not to touch him, not yet - to just let him take care of you. 

“How’s that feel, mami? Tell me...please,” he murmurs into the skin of your neck. 

Mami. That had started some time after the first week. It makes you shiver every time you hear it in his rich, husky voice.

“Good, baby, so good,” you sigh as he draws skillful circles over your clit. Your post-orgasm haze has you feeling foggy, so you don’t think too much of it when you softly add, “Such a good boy for me, Frankie.”

It clearly has an effect. 

The motions of Frankie’s fingers stop and he shudders beside you, breath catching in his throat with a noisy gasp, echoing in the hollow of your collarbone.

“Fuck!” Frankie hisses, quickly backing away from you onto his knees, while you look on with concern.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, sitting up and reaching out to touch him, but Frankie flinches away.

“I’m sorry I - ” he scrambles to find his words, shaking his head in obvious shame. “I...I fucking came.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, realization hitting you when you notice the now-far-more-prominent wet spot on his boxers, the way his shoulders hunch forward in this meek, protective way.

You instinctively try to put him at ease.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, baby, it was just an accident - ”

“It’s not okay,” he protests, shaking his head from side to side, as if to erase the memory of his mistake. “You’re supposed to come first.”

“I already did. Twice, remember? And, what, is that some kind of rule or something?”

Frankie wrings his hands together uneasily, eyes fixed on them. “It’s a rule for me.”

You swallow harshly and Frankie finally lets you rest a hand on his bare thigh comfortingly. You think you understand now.

“I can’t play along if I don’t know the rules, Frankie,” you whisper soothingly. 

He glances at you, destitute but strangely hopeful. Does he think he’s going to scare you away? Not a chance. 

“I forgive you, baby,” you tell him earnestly.

But the look in Frankie’s eyes changes then, something new settling in as the features of his face take on a wrecked, tortured expression.

“Don’t,” he begs, his voice a low whine. “I think - I think you should punish me for it.”

His words should shock you, coming from former Special Ops pilot, Francisco “Catfish” Morales. A man of military prowess, grovelling on your bedspread, begging to be punished for the crime of coming in his boxers.

But you’ve been paying attention to the signs. You’re not at all surprised that you’ve ended up here.

You sit back and away from him, Frankie’s eyes following your hand as it leaves his thigh.

“How?” you ask with conviction. 

Frankie looks up at you helplessly, big brown eyes desperate and abashed, his hands in his lap, cock now soft in his boxers after his unceremonious orgasm.

“You could tell me - you could tell me it was bad,” he suggests. 

Your lips twitch, the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as a tantalizing exhilaration passes over you - a power trip, you realize. Fuck.

“It...it was bad, Frankie,” you assert with feigned confidence and Frankie gasps quietly. “You...you shouldn’t have done that.”

A shiver seems to pass through him and you catch the way his cock twitches in his boxers, already coming back to life just at the sound of your voice. 

“Yeah?” he presses - encourages - looking up at you from under his lashes with this...pathetic gleam in his eyes. 

Holy shit, you’ve got this man in the palm of your hand.

“Yeah,” you repeat, assurance growing at the way he’s reacting. “Bad, bad boy coming so soon like that. Before...mami.”

Frankie actually groans at that - so much for punishment. 

“Sorry, mami, sorry,” he apologizes hastily, maybe both for the response and for his initial wrongdoing.

“You know what I think, Frankie, baby?” you hum, teeth biting down on your lip as an idea comes to you. Frankie looks back at you expectantly.

“I think...you shouldn’t get to come again until I say,” you suggest. 

Frankie is already nodding willingly, eyes sparkling with excitement as his cock begins to harden in his boxers for real now.

“I won’t,” he promises you, making to move back towards you on the bed. You stop him with a hand to his chest.

“I’m not done,” you say firmly and Frankie stiffens. “It could be a day...it could be a week. But not until I say, do you understand?”

Frankie’s eyes widen, like maybe he hadn’t been expecting that broad of a time frame. To be honest, you’re flying by the seat of your pants right now. But the way your words have his eyes glazing over, features of his face going lax as he submits to your rushed arrangement, so willing, so eager...it’s intoxicating. You must be doing something right.

Frankie nods as he sits back on his heels, head cast downwards as he accepts his punishment.

“It won’t be tonight,” you assure him.

Frankie nods again, eyes fixed on the sheets, avoiding your gaze.

“I’m going to finish myself off...and-and you’re going to watch, okay? You don’t...you don’t get to touch.”

Frankie appears as though in a daze, dumbstruck and dizzy with his lips parted as he nods for the third time, still not looking at you. 

“Talk to me, baby,” you plead, because now you’re starting to worry you’re doing this all wrong. “Am I...is this...?”

You’re hesitant to finish your sentence, desperate not to ruin the moment but also not wanting to mess this up for Frankie. 

He finally looks up at you, nodding again - this time with a certainty that confirms you’re on the right track - as he rises off the bed and sinks back to his knees on the hardwood floor.

“Como usted mande,” he says obediently.

Well, shit.

-

It’s clear after that night that you need to set some ground rules, to find out what Frankie needs and what you’re willing to give him. It’s a process, working out all the details, but not a difficult one - because you’ve already built such a strong bedrock with one another. The dynamic you establish now is all love, rooted in Frankie’s yearning to please you and your desire to see him content and cared for.

You also decide on a safe word: Boogie, a tribute to the name of the bar where you’d first met. 

Almost six months have passed since then, and the two of you have your little dynamic down to a science. That doesn’t mean it’s become any less fun - if anything, it just gets better and better.

And it turns out, the punishment you’d conjured up that night, all those months ago now, is one of Frankie’s favourite games - torturing himself while you get off - begging, pleading, aching to touch you. Turns out, you love it too, love seeing how pretty and broken he looks when he kneels on the floor, all needy and hazy like he is right now.

“Can I taste - please - just a taste, baby - ”

You sit on the edge of the bed, hand hovering over your heat, Frankie on his knees before you. His cock stands rock hard between his legs, red and angry and leaking precum onto the floor; he hasn’t touched himself in over an hour, as per your command. 

You tut as you slip two fingers inside yourself, Frankie mewling at the sight as his hands reach out to you, desperate to touch, knowing he’s not allowed.

“It feels so good all on my own, baby, I don’t think I even need you...”

It’s a lie of course and you both know it. But Frankie likes this part, likes when you tell him he’s not good enough. It gives him something to prove when you finally let him show you.

“I’ll do it better, cariño, I’ll make it feel so good,” he pleads, his head falling back when you add a third finger, wetness dripping over your digits. “Please just let me taste your pussy, please.”

“Such a polite boy,” you reward him with a smile. “Come here.”

You sit up, removing your soaked fingers from your cunt as Frankie inches closer to you. His mouth is already open, eyes on yours as you extend your hand out to him. He happily lets you sink two of your fingers into his parted lips, eyes fluttering closed as he tastes your salty flavour. He moans around your digits, sucking gently as your smile widens.

You don’t let him have it for long, slowly retracting your hand after just a fleeting moment and letting your fingers trail over his chin as you do.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” Frankie whines, idly reaching out to you once again, grasping at nothing. “Please let me put my mouth on you, I want your pussy so fucking much - I’ll take good care of her, mami...”

His voice quivers when he speaks, cock dripping feebly as his face contorts in desperation, a telltale sign that he’s taken about as much as he can handle. 

“Do you think you deserve it, Frankie? Think you’ve been a good boy for me?”

You tease him with your line of questioning as you spread your legs wider, Frankie’s eyes going glassy at the sight of your glistening heat.

“Sí, mami,” he says in the form of a choked sigh.

“Take it, baby,” you instruct him at last. “It’s yours.”

Frankie is already lunging forward but you stop him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“What do you say, Frankie?”

“Thank you,” he groans reverently. “Thank you, mami.”

END/for now.

taglist hehe

@atinylittlepain​ @tieronecrush​ @joelsversion​ @johnwatsn​ @h1ghinmiami​ @pr0ximamidnight​

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fanfic #sub!frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #triple frontier smut #frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

[fettuccin-e]

Tag-Teaming

Kinktober Day 5: Threesome

Tags: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Reader x Santiago "Pope" Garcia, afab!fem!reader, tag-teaming, unprotected piv (wrap it up gang dont be dumb), fingering and oral (f!recieving), Santi and Frankie both have filthy mouths how dare they (w/c: 1.1K)

A/N: I have been wanting to write a Santi x Frankie x Reader fic for forever okay and kinktober really gave me an excuse, but writing threesomes is so HARD (in more ways than one hehehe) so props to anyone who can write threesomes regularly because it's so difficult. Anyway these two can sandwich me between them anytime (I have been following prompts from this list by @flightlessangelwings!)

It shouldn’t surprise you how good they are together, how well they work. They’re a team. They've always been a team. Why would this be any different?

But fuck, it’s so much different experiencing it, not just seeing it in the field. Frankie plastered against your back, your legs braced over his thighs as he spreads you apart, spreading you so wide for Santiago. Fucking Santi, his cock pressed so deep inside you it’s like you can’t breathe, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips as he breaks you open around him.

“Fuck her harder Pope,” Frankie grumbles, pinching your aching clit between two wonderfully calloused fingers. “Fuck her like you goddamn mean it.” His voice in your ear, his filthy fucking mouth, make your cunt clench around Santi’s cock, and the man groans at both the feeling and Frankie’s command, pounding his cock into you hard.

Frankie rubs furiously at your clit, sending your back arching against his chest, gasping for air. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Let yourself fuckin’ feel it. Santi’s cock feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“God, yes, oh my fucking God,” you whine. Santi chuckles, all smugness and delirious pleasure. He rocks into you at an angle that has him jamming into your sweet spot relentlessly. “He feels so fucking good, ‘s so fucking big.”

Santi leans forward again, capturing your lips with his. “You think I’m big, hermosa, I can’t wait to see how you take Frankie’s cock. He’s gonna split you apart, stretch this pussy so fuckin’ wide,” Santi mutters against your mouth.

The thought makes you moan, pressing back against the unmistakable length of Frankie's cock, hard and aching, pressed against your skin. You hear Frankie suck in a labored breath, his fingers pausing on your clit. “You wanna cum, sweetheart?" Santi says, his voice dark with promise. "Get all loose to take Frankie so deep in this little cunt?”

This time, Frankie groans from behind you, deep and rumbling. The sound is intoxicating, especially as his fingers start rubbing at your pussy all over again. An endless mantra of “please, please, please,” escapes from your lips, and Santi growls, fucking into you so hard it makes tears spring to your eyes. You claw at Santi’s back, into Frankie’s forearm, gripping onto them both for dear life.

“C’mon, baby, cum on Santi’s cock, bet you look so pretty when you do. Wanna feel this pretty pussy clench around his cock,” Frankie murmurs darkly in your ear. He snakes his other hand up for body, pinching one of your nipples between his fingers. “Don’t you want to see Santi cum, cariño? Won’t he look so pretty?” 

A look up at Santi, his curls drenched with sweat, flush high on his cheeks as his hips work between yours, has you nodding furiously at Frankie’s words, and fuck, you’re cumming at the sight of him, of Santi, so beautiful and debauched between your thighs. Your body locks up with it, your pussy clenching around his length still working into you, Frankie holding you tightly to his chest as Santi fucks you through it.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” Santi growls, pressing himself as deep into you as he can, his hips twitching as he fills you up. And God, Frankie was right, Santi is beautiful, twitching through his orgasm, jaw clenched and pupils blown wide. He leans forward to kiss you in a way that is fucking filthy, licking into your mouth desperately, swallowing your moans. You breathe together through it, and when you finally stop trembling, Santi pulls away from your mouth with a feral grin.

“Wanna give Fish a turn, baby?” he whispers, and you manage to mumble a yes, even though your brain has been turned to mush. Santi chuckles, the smug bastard, and slips out of you, the emptiness making you whimper.

“I know, bebita, I know,” Santi says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Frankie’s gonna fill you up again, I promise.”

You lift your hips, turning  your head to press a kiss to Frankie’s lips as Santi grabs Frankie's cock, pressing the tip to your entrance. Fuck, it’s thick, popping past your entrance as you sink your hips down, down, stretching yourself around him. It seems fucking endless, how deep he reaches into your cunt.

“That’s it, baby, it’s so big, isn’t it?" Santi whispers, "Frankie fills you up so good, yeah? Treats this pretty pussy like it fucking deserves?”

“Santiago.” Frankie growls, his fingers digging into your thighs as you clench around him like a vice at Santi’s words. Fuck, he’s so close already. Watching Pope fuck you already had his cock throbbing beneath you, and now, in the hot clutch of your cunt, he feels like a goddamn virgin. And with Santiago whispering some of the filthiest shit he’s ever heard in his life between the three of you, there’s no way he can last very long.

He’ll make you cum first though. Of course he will.

You nearly scream as Frankie pumps his hips up beneath you, spearing you deep on his cock. He holds tight to your thighs as he pounds furiously in and out of you, ripping you to pieces on top of him. He’s so fucking warm against your back, Santi radiating heat against your front, and you swear to God that you could pass out then and there. Fuck, it’s so good, Frankie’s cock drags against your g-spot with every fucking thrust, unrelenting and utterly debilitating.

And then, Santi lays down on his front, eyes trained on where you and Frankie are connected, and sucks your clit into his hot mouth.

This time, you really do scream, your hands flying down to tangle in Santi’s hair while he licks feverishly at your clit, and you cum, Santi licking between your legs, Frankie pounding up into your cunt. You thrash between them, utterly lost in the feeling of it, hot tears leaking down your cheeks.

“Fuck yes, baby, that’s our good girl,” Frankie groans from behind you.

“Please, please cum Frankie, need you to fucking cum,” you cry, and Frankie has no choice but to follow your orders. He sinks deep inside, biting into your shoulder as he drowns your pussy in his cum. The thought of it mixing with Pope’s inside of you has him shaking through his orgasm.

“God, look at that,” Santi murmurs from between your legs, watching you clench around Frankie so tight he can barely move, cum leaking out around where Frankie is buried deep inside you. His cock twitches at the sight. Later, he thinks, later, we’ll do this again, over and over.

For now, he helps Fish guide you off of his lap, laying you between them. The three of you plaster yourselves against each other, breathing together. A unit, a team. 

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

#i fr need them both right fucking now #santi frankie sandwich <3 #yeah frankie has a massive schlong #frankie x reader x santi #frankie morales x reader x santiago garcia #catfish x reader x pope #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia smut #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier x you #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader