AHHHH!!!!! I Finally Got To Read This And HOLY SHIT! The Ending So Fucking Good Dude!

AHHHH!!!!! I finally got to read this and HOLY SHIT! 😍😭🫠 the ending 😭 So fucking good dude!

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 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 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 empathic 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.”

I want Joel to take care of me when I’m sick too! 😍😍

Sick

Joel Miller x Reader Warnings: Reader is sick, pill taking, food mention (brief), trouble sleeping. A/N: I just wrote this because I'm currently sick AF and would like Joel Miller to look after me pls n thank. It's mostly just fluff tbh. No use of Y/N, no race or gender coding, reader is pretty much a blank slate. 700~ Words | [AO3]

You groan as you stir awake for the hundredth time tonight, pain arcing behind your eyelids as you struggle to rouse yourself. You’re freezing cold despite the warm body pressed to your back. You desperately pull the covers around you as you try and fight the chill that wracks through your body.

“Hey?” Joel whispers in your ear as you feel him pull you to him, his thin scruff scraping along the plane of your shoulder, “You ok darlin’?”

You curse yourself inwardly at the soft voice in your ear. The thickness in his voice sends a pleasant shiver through you as you wrap your arms around his strong forearm as it holds you firm against him.

“No,” you whimper feebly as you hear the cloying distortion to your voice, even with just one syllable it’s obvious you’re sick. You’d been feeling under the weather all week, but it seems it’s finally caught up to you. On a Saturday no less.

“Shh,” Joel hushes you softly as he wriggles his other arm free, you feel his strong palm press against your forehead from behind as he shifts up on the pillows behind you, “Shit, you’re burning up.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you grumble as you let out a hacking cough as your chest burns.

“Stay here,” he says softly as he places a gentle kiss to your temple.

You whine as he slides out of bed before tucking the covers around you tightly. You grunt helplessly as he shuts the door behind him, missing his body heat already as you burrow down into the sheets. Your eyes flutter shut and your brow furrows at the pain in your skull, amplified only by the way your rattling cough seems to jostle your head.

It could have been minutes, or hours, but when Joel comes back you smile feebly up at him from the cocoon you have crafted around you. He’s a vision of tan skin and grey boxer briefs as he carries in a tray with water, cold medicine, and a few bags of your favourite snacks.

“Poor baby,” Joel coos softly as he sets down the tray on the nightstand, “Can you sit up for me?”

“Sure,” you say meekly as you shuffle yourself up into a seating position, “Thank you.”

“Don’t need to thank me,” he says as he smiles fondly at you, “But you do need to take your medicine,” he frowns playfully at you as he wags a finger in your direction. Your heart swells as you look up into his deep brown eyes as he looks you over. Worry forms in the crow’s feet around his eyes and the semi-permanent crease in his brow. Your stomach flutters and you can’t help but smile.

“Ah shit,” you groan as you realise what day it is, “The party at Maria and Tommy’s.”

“Don’t fret, I’ve already called Tommy,” Joel says as he hands you a couple of cold and flu tablets and a glass of water, “Poor bastard wasn’t even awake yet, I forgot to check the time before I called.”

Once you’ve got a secure hold on the medication and water Joel sits on the edge of the bed before dropping a broad hand to your knee. He rubs soothingly up your thigh as he watches you intently. You sigh peacefully at the ministrations of his hand as you gulp down the water and tablets.

“What time is it?” You ask as your head spins, you relax immediately as you feel Joel slide into bed beside you, sitting up as he pulls you back against his chest. You lay there, head lolled back on his shoulder as you close your eyes.

“Early,” he hums as he gently lays down, pulling you with him, “But don’t worry about that now, get some rest, I’m right here.”

“Ok,” you sigh as another cough rocks your body, prompting Joel to hold you tight against his chest.

“Love you darlin’, get some sleep.”

“Love you too,” you mutter as the lure of unconsciousness becomes too hard to ignore.

You’re not sure if it’s the cold medicine, or the way that Joel nuzzles into the crook of your neck, but you finally feel a little relief as you let out a shuddering sigh before falling into a deep sleep.

Gi 😍 I just now had time to read this! I love Joel and Baby Love so muuuuch!!!!

The Rite of Movement | drabble

“Your Pussy is God”

A/N: happy international women’s day to you, my baby loves! Cooked y’all up something real good on this special day celebrating all women 💗 pornstar!joel is here to worship each and every one of you ;) big thank you to my baby love bug @strang3lov3 for this moodboard and @itsokbbygrl for doing a quick beta read!

~word count: 655~

Summary: your pussy is god, baby love

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: none, fluff, smut, domestic intimacy, established relationship, pussy eating, unprotected piv, body worship, pussy drunk Joel, filthy talk, language, soft vibes!, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, readers nickname is baby love, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

You feel the gentle scrape of his beard along your cheek bringing you back down to reality, ears ringing, breaths mingling as he presses a kiss to your lips, lashes fluttered, chests rising and falling in sync.

Sweat slicked, sticky skin adhered together like glue. He pulses inside of you, cock dully throbbing around your fluttering cunt.

There are no cameras this time. Just you and Joel in the shared comfort of the early morning where the sun has barely begun to rise along the horizon. The mourning dove coos outside of the open window, soft cream colored curtains billow in a cool breeze that kisses your exposed skin.

He lets out a grunt, low and deep as he slowly eases his cock from between your thighs. One strong arm loops around your waist, hugging you to him as his lips brush across your jaw. His movements are languid, no rush behind them as he trails his lips further, and further.

He kisses the column of your neck, tongue dragging across your pulse point, licking up your salt and perspiration, tasting the familiar tang on his tongue. He groans, nose pressing, dragging downwards.

“What’re you doing, baby?” You hum, lashes still fluttered shut as your hand slides upwards, resting along the back of his head and carding your fingers through his sweat stained curls.

“Tastin’ you, baby love.” He rasps, dragging his lips further to kiss the edge of your shoulder, between your breasts, tongue dragging down your sternum, stopping just above your belly button.

“Mmm.” You sigh contentedly, “continue.”

His lips curve upwards against your skin, grinning like a devil at your comment for him to continue. “Can I clean up the mess between your thighs? Let you ride my tongue out before the sun rises?” He pressed an open mouthed kiss against your hip, nibbling gently eliciting a giggle from you.

“Mhmmm. I would love that, baby. Clean up the mess that we made.” You correct him softly, peeking an eye open to watch him.

“You’re so pretty.” He coos, letting his freehand gently grasp your thigh and press it open as he sinks down further. “So pretty in this light, so soft, all mine.” He babbles, mind fuzzy and pussy drunk.

Your hips shift, making room to accommodate him comfortably. He wraps one arm around your stomach, gently pulling you down closer to his mouth while his freehand teases through your folds, spreading your inner lips open, messy and sticky with yours and his cum.

“Such a pretty little messy pussy, baby love.” He hums, smacking his lips together in anticipation because there isn’t a moment in the day where he’s not thinking of tasting you on his tongue. It’s his fuel, his energy, his life source—

“I love it when you talk about my pussy, Joel. Makes me feel so good inside that you think she’s so pretty.” You open both of your eyes, meeting his gaze just as he drags his tongue from your weeping hole, through your folds, and up to your clit, his eyes never leave yours. He gathers up your combined releases on his tongue, swallowing it down like he was quenched with thirst.

“Mmm. That’s what you deserve, baby love. To feel good, to feel loved, worshipped, admired, fuck—ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love.” He makes your heart and pussy clench, and he doesn’t even have to try.

“Dude.” You giggle. “Who the fuck is cutting onions? How can you go from filthy to romantic in—oh” you sigh softly, head falling back against the roused pillows as his tongue flicks back and forth across your clit, lips wrapping around the nub, sucking gently with the intent to make you come undone all over again.

“Like this.” He chuckles, continuing his ministrations and taking you apart with his tongue, coaxing you to give him just a little bit more of his favorite meal.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💗

Please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications

Paint with Me

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You have a crush on the dad of your daughter’s best friend.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos and cursing

A/N: @beefrobeefcal issued a prompt and I jumped at the chance. She also helped beta this along with @strang3lov3. As always, I gotta tag @jay-zzle, who once again was kind enough to make a moodboard for this little story of mine, is my main cheerleader and listens to me rant all the time about stories I’ve read and my own 🥰

Masterlist||AO3 Link||Parents to Lovers

“Hello and welcome to those who are new to the class! Go ahead and find a spare seat” The woman at the front, Miss Janice said, “This is a very basic painting class and please parents. Let your kids get messy! Art isn’t clean!”

All the kids cheered and you sighed thinking about the stains you will now have to be washing out from Nora’s clothes. Your ex had decided the white sundress was the perfect outfit for her today. Dropping her off here with no time to go home you just had to cross your fingers hoping that Miss Janice had a spare smock for her.

“Mommy!” Nora said, grabbing your hand and tugging you along to a table, “I see Missy!”

Nora dragged you along to the table where Missy and her father sat. This had become a weekly thing, coming to the paint with me class and sitting with Missy and Frankie.

“Hi Nora!” Missy squealed, “Daddy was starting to worry you guys weren’t coming.”

“Missy,” Frankie hissed, looking at her while you could see his cheeks starting to gain a warmer shade.

“No, Mommy was mad at my dad because of my dress.”

“Nora!” You said, looking at her wide eyed.

“Your dress is very pretty, Nora.” Frankie said, letting out a low chuckle.

“Thank you! Mommy always wants to look pretty for these classes so I wanted to try too!”

You could feel your face getting warm. It wasn’t like you intentionally did it or anything but you couldn’t deny having formed a crush on Frankie within the past few weeks of attending this class. If you wanted to spruce up your looks a little, so what? You just didn’t think your kid would take notice of it. Oh god, has it been obvious? Has Frankie noticed?

“Nora, do you need a smock?” Miss Janice asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“No, I—“

“Yes, she does!” You say, giving Miss Janice a pleading look. Miss Janice smiled and handed one to you to help Nora put it on.

“No one will be able to see my dress!” Nora said, furrowing her brows and crossing her arms across her chest.

“Aw, come on now,” Frankie said, “You don’t want to ruin your pretty dress!”

“Fine,” Nora said, rolling her eyes.

You smiled at him and mouthed a thank you while putting the smock on her. He winked at you with a slight nod of his head. Miss Janice began to show everyone how to paint a rose. Frankie had his brows furrowed, focusing on his paper instead of watching the board like everyone else.

“Daddy!” Missy scolded, “You’re supposed to be painting a rose!”

“Don’t feel like painting a rose.” Frankie stated lowering his voice, “Flowers are boring.”

“Then what are you painting instead?” Nora asked curiously, leaning over to look at his paper.

“It’s a surprise!” Frankie said, hovering his hands over his paper to keep anyone from trying to peek. “Can you hand me that yellowy color?” He asked, nodding his head towards the tube in front of you. Careful of your rose painting you reached for the tube and handed it over.

“Ever heard of goldenrod?” Frankie asked, reading the tube and looking at Missy.

“Been years since I had one of those,” You think out loud. Frankie whipped his head to look at you. “Oh my god!” You say slapping your hand over your mouth.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Frankie eyes you suspiciously while continuing to talk to Missy and Nora. You and your big fucking mouth. Sure, it’s been a while since you got laid but you are in a painting class with your kid, her friend, and her friend’s incredibly attractive dad. Kids being the main focal point. Thankfully they were too into their paintings to hear what you said. You zero in on your own painting of a rose. Gliding the paint brush over and over until you feel like the petal is to your liking.

—

“Alright everyone, time is up for the day!” Miss Janice announces, “We need to start cleaning up. Parents please grab the paint brushes and water cups, kiddos grab the paintings and clip them to the board so we can all see them!”

Nora starts cackling along with Missy looking at Frankie’s painting. Frankie furrows his brows while you both begin gathering up the paint brushes plopping them into the water cup.

“What the heck is that?!” Nora asked, holding her stomach from laughing so hard. You decide to take a look at what was so funny. You’re not sure what it’s supposed to be. It just looks like a yellow peanut with what you think might be wings and some McDonald’s Golden Arches in the background.

“It’s a bird,” Frankie says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh,” You say, nodding your head subtly, “That’s what it’s supposed to be?”

“It looks like a peanut!” Missy said

“It does!” Nora shouted, beginning to laugh even more.

“Yeah, yeah. Go hang the paintings up you goofs” Frankie said, shooing them away.

“Least you tried,” You smile, with a small shrug.

“I guess. Missy’s right though, it does look like a peanut,” He grinned, walking with you over to the now free sink to help clean brushes.

“Hey, you said it— not me,” You laughed.

You dumped the water into the sink, while Frankie grabbed the soap, squirting some in his and your hands. Making small conversation about Nora and Missy, your weeks ahead of you, what you plan to do for the rest of your weekend.

“So,” Frankie started, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “Haven’t had a golden rod in a long time?”

“Oh my god,” You groaned, “Listen, I’m so sorry about that. I swear, I didn't even mean to say it out loud.”

“Nah, it’s all good. I could probably help with–” Frankie said, then began to panic, “I mean, like, if you wanted to go do something sometime, or not that’s cool too, not like I’m saying we should have sex or something cause that’s not cool. I’m sorry it was just a stup–”

“Frankie,” You giggle, grabbing his hand to make him stop. He looked up at you bashfully.

“It’s been a while since I’ve tried asking someone out,” He admitted. “My friends keep giving me shit because I keep talking about you and they said I should try asking you out, but I’ve been too nervous to and wow, I just won’t shut the fuck up. What is wrong with me?!”

“I’d love to,” You say before he can start speaking again.

“Really?” He asked, raising his eyebrows, “Go out? With me? Like a date?”

“Duh,” You said, squeezing his hand and winking, “Is there a golden rod included?”

“Haven’t had any complaints before,” Frankie said with a shrug, blushing.

I cannot recommend @auteurdelabre ENOUGH!!! Oh my fucking god. Everything put out is absolute bangers!

A lot of people have already recommended others that I was going to mention so I won’t repeat.

I will also self rec myself cause I am SUPER proud of my story I posted earlier this week called Memories ❤️❤️

hi everyone!!

i’m in the market to catch up on some fic reading!! please reblog with your fav new/old reads!! I love anything that involves pedro’s characters!! if you have anything tlou related (ellie, abby, dina, etc.) I would also love to read your stuff!!

and pls rec your own works!! I wanna put my teeth into everything!

thanks in advance!!

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You have a crush on the dad of your daughter’s best friend.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos and cursing

A/N: @beefrobeefcal issued a prompt and I jumped at the chance. She also helped beta this along with @strang3lov3. As always, I gotta tag @jay-zzle, who once again was kind enough to make a moodboard for this little story of mine, is my main cheerleader and listens to me rant all the time about stories I’ve read and my own 🥰

“Hello and welcome to those who are new to the class! Go ahead and find a spare seat” The woman at the front, Miss Janice said, “This is a very basic painting class and please parents. Let your kids get messy! Art isn’t clean!”

All the kids cheered and you sighed thinking about the stains you will now have to be washing out from Nora’s clothes. Your ex had decided the white sundress was the perfect outfit for her today. Dropping her off here with no time to go home you just had to cross your fingers hoping that Miss Janice had a spare smock for her.

“Mommy!” Nora said, grabbing your hand and tugging you along to a table, “I see Missy!”

Nora dragged you along to the table where Missy and her father sat. This had become a weekly thing, coming to the paint with me class and sitting with Missy and Frankie.

“Hi Nora!” Missy squealed, “Daddy was starting to worry you guys weren’t coming.”

“Missy,” Frankie hissed, looking at her while you could see his cheeks starting to gain a warmer shade.

“No, Mommy was mad at my dad because of my dress.”

“Nora!” You said, looking at her wide eyed.

“Your dress is very pretty, Nora.” Frankie said, letting out a low chuckle.

“Thank you! Mommy always wants to look pretty for these classes so I wanted to try too!”

You could feel your face getting warm. It wasn’t like you intentionally did it or anything but you couldn’t deny having formed a crush on Frankie within the past few weeks of attending this class. If you wanted to spruce up your looks a little, so what? You just didn’t think your kid would take notice of it. Oh god, has it been obvious? Has Frankie noticed?

“Nora, do you need a smock?” Miss Janice asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“No, I—“

“Yes, she does!” You say, giving Miss Janice a pleading look. Miss Janice smiled and handed one to you to help Nora put it on.

“No one will be able to see my dress!” Nora said, furrowing her brows and crossing her arms across her chest.

“Aw, come on now,” Frankie said, “You don’t want to ruin your pretty dress!”

“Fine,” Nora said, rolling her eyes.

You smiled at him and mouthed a thank you while putting the smock on her. He winked at you with a slight nod of his head. Miss Janice began to show everyone how to paint a rose. Frankie had his brows furrowed, focusing on his paper instead of watching the board like everyone else.

“Daddy!” Missy scolded, “You’re supposed to be painting a rose!”

“Don’t feel like painting a rose.” Frankie stated lowering his voice, “Flowers are boring.”

“Then what are you painting instead?” Nora asked curiously, leaning over to look at his paper.

“It’s a surprise!” Frankie said, hovering his hands over his paper to keep anyone from trying to peek. “Can you hand me that yellowy color?” He asked, nodding his head towards the tube in front of you. Careful of your rose painting you reached for the tube and handed it over.

“Ever heard of goldenrod?” Frankie asked, reading the tube and looking at Missy.

“Been years since I had one of those,” You think out loud. Frankie whipped his head to look at you. “Oh my god!” You say slapping your hand over your mouth.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Frankie eyes you suspiciously while continuing to talk to Missy and Nora. You and your big fucking mouth. Sure, it’s been a while since you got laid but you are in a painting class with your kid, her friend, and her friend’s incredibly attractive dad. Kids being the main focal point. Thankfully they were too into their paintings to hear what you said. You zero in on your own painting of a rose. Gliding the paint brush over and over until you feel like the petal is to your liking.

—

“Alright everyone, time is up for the day!” Miss Janice announces, “We need to start cleaning up. Parents please grab the paint brushes and water cups, kiddos grab the paintings and clip them to the board so we can all see them!”

Nora starts cackling along with Missy looking at Frankie’s painting. Frankie furrows his brows while you both begin gathering up the paint brushes plopping them into the water cup.

“What the heck is that?!” Nora asked, holding her stomach from laughing so hard. You decide to take a look at what was so funny. You’re not sure what it’s supposed to be. It just looks like a yellow peanut with what you think might be wings and some McDonald’s Golden Arches in the background.

“It’s a bird,” Frankie says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh,” You say, nodding your head subtly, “That’s what it’s supposed to be?”

“It looks like a peanut!” Missy said

“It does!” Nora shouted, beginning to laugh even more.

“Yeah, yeah. Go hang the paintings up you goofs” Frankie said, shooing them away.

“Least you tried,” You smile, with a small shrug.

“I guess. Missy’s right though, it does look like a peanut,” He grinned, walking with you over to the now free sink to help clean brushes.

“Hey, you said it— not me,” You laughed.

You dumped the water into the sink, while Frankie grabbed the soap, squirting some in his and your hands. Making small conversation about Nora and Missy, your weeks ahead of you, what you plan to do for the rest of your weekend.

“So,” Frankie started, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “Haven’t had a golden rod in a long time?”

“Oh my god,” You groaned, “Listen, I’m so sorry about that. I swear, I didn't even mean to say it out loud.”

“Nah, it’s all good. I could probably help with–” Frankie said, then began to panic, “I mean, like, if you wanted to go do something sometime, or not that’s cool too, not like I’m saying we should have sex or something cause that’s not cool. I’m sorry it was just a stup–”

“Frankie,” You giggle, grabbing his hand to make him stop. He looked up at you bashfully.

“It’s been a while since I’ve tried asking someone out,” He admitted. “My friends keep giving me shit because I keep talking about you and they said I should try asking you out, but I’ve been too nervous to and wow, I just won’t shut the fuck up. What is wrong with me?!”

“I’d love to,” You say before he can start speaking again.

“Really?” He asked, raising his eyebrows, “Go out? With me? Like a date?”

“Duh,” You said, squeezing his hand and winking, “Is there a golden rod included?”

“Haven’t had any complaints before,” Frankie said with a shrug, blushing.