Francisco Morales X Reader - Tumblr Posts

the masterlist | mudhornchronicles

DIN DJARIN | THE MANDALORIAN

that cantina

hands

uh oh

promise

check ups

festivals

reds: maroon | sanguine | brick 

MARCUS MORENO | WE CAN BE HEROES

suits | buckles

FRANKIE MORALES | TRIPLE FRONTIER

dreamboat: part one | part two | part three | part four |

JAVIER PEÑA | NARCOS

strategies

JACK ‘WHISKEY’ DANIELS | KINGSMAN: GC

teamwork

dreamboat | greaser!frankie morales | part one

pairing: francisco “catfish” morales x reader; greaser!frankie x reader

warnings: smoking, drinking, swearing, lewd comments, mentions of racism.

a/n: We got ourselves a series, ya’ll. I cannot wait until chapter 2. I present to you – Greaser!Frankie Morales

masterlist

You gently close the door as your mother leans over to wind down the passenger side window. “You will be fine, sweetheart. It is absolutely normal to feel nervous! It is your first day after all.”

You nod and feel your tied hair bound up and down. The white ribbon falls on your cheek and you push it back. “I understand, mother. It’s just different than my previous school, that’s all.”

“And they taught you how to be a lady, did they not? You are properly educated, unlike these individuals. Now smooth your skirt down before it wrinkles. First impression matter, correct? I will see you after school. I love you!”

You tell your mother you love her too as you smooth down your white full-circle skirt and adjust your two notebooks on your arm. You wave a goodbye to your mother and watch as she drives her 1953 pastel yellow Pontiac your father had gifted her for her birthday.

You turn and take a good look at your new school and you immediately feel out of place. The cream-colored cement building looks old, but the lawn looks taken care of. The sounds of revving engines and the smell of cigarette smoke abuse your ears and nose. You are most definitely not used to those aspects of the place. Your old school was strict about noises and smells. The only smell they wanted lingering the air was that of perfume and the sound of the girls talking about the school curriculum.

What you see here would give the mistresses a stroke. You see couples shoving their tongues down each other’s throats, students smoking on campus, hot rods racing up and down the streets, and the boys throwing such obscene comments. As you walk up the path towards the building’s entrance, your eyes fall upon a group of five boys whose comments make a chill run up your spine.

“Hey paper shakers,” one calls out. “Why don’t cha shake those pom poms over in this direction? I’ll give ya somethin’ good to cheer about!” The guys snicker to each-other as Benny jokingly thrusts at the cheerleaders. The group hollers at the cheerleaders as they shout insults at the boys and run into the school’s building. You notice that four of them continue to laugh and yell other comments at the athletes, but the fifth just looks around and appears to shy away from joining his friends.

Dressed in black jeans, a white tee, and a worn black leather jacket, Frankie tries to hide away from his brothers’ banter. He never understood why they talk to betties the way they do and then complain that they don’t have a doll around their arm. Pope seems to be the one who is a bit like him, but that’s only because he’s felt the uncomfortableness on the receiving of impudent comments. Being Latino in this town wasn’t the most welcoming while growing up. His family was always met with derogatory comments just because of their appearance. He never understood why people thought it was okay to jump his father every other night on his way back home from work. He never understood why his mother was always denied jobs because she had an accent. He never understood why he rarely had friendships that lasted because their parents said that they couldn’t hang out with the “brown boy.”

Once he grew up, he understood what the concept of racism was. When he met Santiago, or Pope as Frankie called him, he learned that Santiago’s family left his town because they were threatened and when they wouldn’t leave, their house was broken into. The pair soon became best friends and were able to fight off their bullies with each other’s help.

Frankie had never been one to initiate a fight, but he would be the one to end it. Benny was always the fighter. Whether it was his battle or not, he would always be up to throw the first punch. When they made it to freshman year, the boys decided it would be best to create a group of friends that they could lean on when times got tough and to their luck, they met the Miller brothers, Will and Benny, and Tom, also known as Redfly.

You took a deep breath and clutched your books to your chest. You slowly walked up the stairs and as you revert your eyes down to the floor as you tried not to bump into someone and walked past the group – that was until you heard “hey there doll face, where’d you come from?”

You look up to see a tall blonde, younger than the other blonde, snicker at himself and wink at you. You look around to make sure the comment was directed at you and the group laughs. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to ya sweetheart. I’m guessin’ yousa newbie?” You widen your eyes and steadily nod.

One of the brunettes steps up to you, takes his toothpick out his mouth and replaces it with a cigarette. He takes a deep inhale and blows the smoke in your face. You wave you hand in front of your face and cough as he lets out a laugh. “You that chick that escaped Saint Catherine’s?”

You shrug and nod once more, but with a grimace etched on your face. He raises his cigarette back into his mouth and puts his hand out to you for a handshake – you reciprocate the handshake.

“The name’s Tom, but you, pretty lady, can call me Redfly. Those two over there is Benny and his brother Will. This one behind me,” he points towards one of the two other brunettes, “this one’s Santiago, but call him Pope. You’re familiar with those religious names, right?” This comment earns him an eye roll from you, but it also earns him a scoff from the final member of his little clique.

Tom turns around and looks at his friend. “You trynna say somethin’, ‘Fish?” The brunette smirks and shakes his head. Tom lets out a “hmph” and nods. “This one’s Frankie. We call him Catfish because he may seem like a kicked puppy dog, but the guy can fuck someone up if he really gotta.” You nod and look over to Frankie and find that he’s already looking at you.

You notice just how right Tom was when he described Frankie as a puppy dog. Frankie’s eyes are brown deep-set eyes are captivating. His lips are pink and plush – making you want to give him a big ol’ kiss. His rugged hair calls out to your hands to run your fingers through it. You suddenly lost the ability to speak, so you resulted in clumsily wave a hello, but resulting in your books falling to the ground.

You began to kneel over to pick them up, but a hand stopped you from doing so. Frankie bent over to pick up your things, dusted them off, and handed them to you. What you didn’t see was the boys smiling at seeing their brother be dumbstruck over a girl.

You took your books back with a shy thank you to Frankie and him saying “no problem.” He caught sight of your schedule you received in the mail the day prior and smiles to himself.

“I see you have World History first. Is it with Robinson? May I?” He puts his hand out for your schedule that is taped on the front of your notebook. You pass him your blue notebook and he starts to analyze your schedule. Once he’s satisfied, he gives you back your notebook. “I have classes near yours. I can walk you if you’d like?” Before you’re given the opportunity to answer, Frankie’s friends burst out into laughing fit so loud, the students passing by look over to see the cause of the sound – looking right back to where they were when they see who it was.

“Whatcha gonna do, ‘Fish?” Will teases, “gonna take the new girl on a grand tour of the school? She don’t look the type to give it up behind the bleachers, pal.” Frankie turns red and stutters his denial of the accusation. The boys laugh at him as he nervously tugs on his leather jacket.

“I’d love if you would, Frankie. I haven’t a clue where I’m going, and I really don’t want to get lost on my first day.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s cool.” Frankie nods and stuffs his hands in his pocket.

“Ya might wanna go now, ‘Fish. Princess here ain’t gonna wanna be late,” Tom teases. Tom nudges his head towards the other side of the building. “Let’s go Bandits. Teach’ aint gon’ misses us too much. We’ll see ya in a bit, Frankie.” The boys walk away with Pope and Will giving Frankie a pack on the back with a chuckle – leaving you and Frankie alone on the steps.

“Are they not going to class? It’s the first day and they’ll make a bad impression on their first period instructor.” You ask. You wonder why the boys wouldn’t go to their homeroom, especially being the first day of class.

“They’ll get there… eventually. We can go though. I don’t wanna make ya late or anythin’.” He gestures for you to start walking in front of him, but you won’t walk until knowing something first.

“Frankie, will you be going to homeroom? They said they would see you in bit. Are you just taking me to my classroom and skipping your first period?”

Frankie gets red and shakes his head furiously. “Nah, I ain’t those idiots. My parents would flip their shit if I had to retake a year.” You smile up at him and nod. You reach out to take his arm, as your old school taught you a gentleman should, and were shocked when Frankie pulled away as you touched his arm.

“Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“I was just taking your arm, is all.” You cocked your head to the side. Every man you’d been escorted by has always given you their arm.

It was his turn to act confused. He knew exactly what you were doing and why, but he had a reputation to uphold and it wasn’t him being a gentleman. “What does that mean? Whatcha takin’ my arm for, doll?”

“Nevermind. Shall we?”

Frankie leads you into the crowded building. Students were running everywhere, and voices drowned the pair of you. He takes you to the second level of the building and leads you down the hall and taking a sharp left. You’re a bit lower than he is, but with each step, you start to really get a good luck at the back design on his jacket.

“What does Bandits mean?” Frankie turns around and by instinct, looks at the back of his jacket.

“It’s our group. Call ourselves The Bandits,” he says with “The Bandits” in air quotations.

You stifle a giggle, and he smiles showing of his dimple on his right cheek.

“Yeah, Pope came up with it. I just ran with it.”

“Do you steal?”

“Nah. Pope just thought it sounded cool. Redfly wanted the name “The Unarrestables,” but got arrested two weeks later for mailboxing 7 blocks.” You let out a loud laugh, covering your face with your notebooks, and Frankie looks over at you and smiles. He hasn’t been able to laugh the way he just did in a long time. As you share a funny story about your former mistress skirt being caught in a window, the two of share more laughs as you ultimately arrive at your homeroom’s door.

“Here we are. Room 249… World History with Lloyd Robinson. I’ll come back for you after class to take you to second period. That cool with ya?” You smile and nod. You’re a bit sad that you made it so soon, but quickly disappears when he mentions coming back for you.

“That sounds great, Catfish. Thank you very much.” He lets out a chuckle and nods at you.

“You can call me Frankie. I like the way you say it, doll.” Just as he starts to walk away, a voice makes him freeze in place and slowly turn back around.

“Mister Morales, will you not be joining us today or is your cigarette of much more importance?”

“Mister Robinson. How’s the new kid?” Frankie nervously scratches the back of his head.

“Frankie, get in this classroom or you’ll receive a failing grade starting now.” Mister Robinson gives you a warm smile in comparison to his frown towards Frankie and goes back into the classroom.

“Wait a minute. You have the same homeroom as I do? You said yours was near!”

He sighs and holds his hands up in surrender. “I guess I’ve been caught. We have the same classes, lucky you.”

“But this is AP World History.”

“Just because the guys I run with don’t give a shit, don’t mean I don’t either.”

You stand in front of him and cross your arms underneath your breasts – eyes narrowed and staring into his. “You are just full of surprises aren’t you, Frankie Morales.”

He looks deep into your eyes and smirks. He adjusts his jacket and runs a hand in his hair. He reaches for the handle and opens the door open for you. 

“Ladies first, doll.”

dreamboat | greaser!frankie morales | part two

diner cred to @thatretrobitch​

pairing: francisco “catfish” morales x reader; 1950’s greaser!frankie x reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking, ya know… 1950s stuff + death and war, and being rude af

a/n: part two of dreamboat

masterlist

dreamboat: part one | part two

“If I didn’t know any better, Francisco, I’d say you were teacher in a past life.” You look up at him and smirk. He looks over to you and gives you a crooked smile. He adjusts his jacket and runs his left hand through his hair.

Frankie taught you a lot more history than the teacher. Frankie had a lot more patience and explained each topic that was covered in much better detail and simply enough to understand. Like when Hattie Wyatt Caraway of Arkansas became the first woman elected to the U.S. Senate in 1932 to fill the vacancy caused by the death of her husband. Frankie compared it to the demonstration of the first long distance telephone service between New York and San Francisco in 1913 – surprising but needed.

You didn’t have Frankie for a third period, just first and fourth, but he made sure to meet you out each of your classes and walked you over to your next class. He had conversed with the boys about asking you to Rosie’s Diner on Friday night. Everyone knows when a guy takes a little darlin’ down to Rosie’s, she’s unavailable. Frankie knows you probably don’t know what going to the diner with him means but he assumes if you did, you wouldn’t go. So he decides that the less you knew the better – well at least that’s what Tom decided.

“Ya know, doll. I like the way you say my name, but how ‘bout ya just call me Frankie, huh? I don’t use the entire thing anymore.”

You cock your head to the side and your smiles turns into a slight frown. “Do you not like the way Francisco sounds?”

He tucks his hands into his jean pockets, shrugs, and looks down at his dirty Chuck Taylors. “Thanks, I do like it, but it don’t… it don’t sound cool, you know? I got a reputation to keep up – all the guys do.”

Frankie stopped using the name Francisco at the start of freshman year. Pope stopped using Santiago around the same time. Their teachers would call them Francis and Saint because they found it difficult to pronounce the boys’ names correctly. Frankie was too shy to say anything and Pope was still unsure about his accented English, so when Will laughed and told the teacher, “Ain’t that a bite? You got a degree, but can’t pronounce an ABC name,” the boys knew Will was going to be a great friend. The boys thought that would be the end of it, but then Benny decided to join his brother and say, “How ‘bout, since ya feel so high and mighty, you call ‘em Frankie and Pope? We got Francisco like that city on the west coast, so call ‘em Frankie. Then we got Santiago. You wanna call ‘em Saint, then give ‘em the highest honor.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” you stopped walking and placed a hand on his arm. “I like your name. I think it suits you very well.”

He smiles and nods. He doesn’t know if he’s nodding because he’s convincing himself he likes it too or if he’s nodding because he’s glad you like it too. He liked your company because you weren’t too invasive, but he could also tell that you wanted to get to know him. He knew he wasn’t the most open to people, he has his father to thank for that.

As young 19-year-old – about a year older than Frankie – his father was drafted and fought in World War 1 in 1918 as a US Army soldier and was then sent off to France a few weeks in to fight with the AEF, the American Expeditionary Forces. Because of this, Frankie’s father wasn’t the most expressive when in public but was easily the most caring when it came to his family. When Frankie was growing up, his father had spoiled his baby boy and made sure he worked hard as a welder so that Frankie wouldn’t want for anything. Frankie remembers his father coming home from work late at night, oil and bits of metal stuck to him, and always turning his frown into a smile when he laid eyes upon his son.

His father’s closure to the world only grew when he saw his family in danger. Frankie figured that by growing up within a military family, it would lead to him serving in the military as his father did before him. When Frankie was coming to the age of enlistment, he told his family about him wanting to go off to the military, but his father was very much against it. All his father wanted for his son was for Frankie to live his life the way he wanted to, so Frankie didn’t enlist. One day when Frankie was at school, recruiters came to the Morales home and were knocking the door down. Frankie’s father had informed them that his son would not be serving. He was told that because Frankie was able, male, and was soon to be of age, he had to enlist whether he was needed or not. His father complied; except he wrote his own name down instead of his son’s.

His father never regretted going to war. He still had nightmares, which Frankie knew all too well. He had met Frankie’s mother when he came back home in 1921 and after years of trying, he was blessed with a son in 1935. All was good in the world until the year 1950 – Frankie was 15 years old. In August of 1950, a letter came in the post reading the following:

SIR: FRANCISCO MORALES SR.

You are hereby notified that you, on the 21 day of August of 1950, have been legally drafted in the service to the Armed Forces of the United States of America. You are to report to the Armed Forces station below and will be transported to Daejeon, Korea.

Frankie’s father never came back.

His body was never recovered – just his ID tags. Frankie’s mother was told that the last transmission received with the whereabouts of Francisco Morales Sr. were near the Nakdong River in South Korea. Frankie always carried his father’s ID tags around his neck no matter where he went. Those tags always reassured him of himself knowing that he was doing what his father wanted him to do.

Frankie walked you down the steps of school building and stopped at the sidewalk. “Ya know, if ya need a ride, I can take ya home – aint no trouble.”

You smile and shake your head. “I appreciate that. I told my mother I’d take the bus back home.” You knew your mother would have a fit if she saw you get dropped off by a boy, but she may still be at work. You looked back at Frankie and saw that he had a slight frown on his face as he played with a necklace hidden in his white t-shirt. You weren’t sure the reason behind it, but he didn’t want to pry. “Actually, I’ll take a ride.”

His eyes lit up and nodded. “Great but I do gotta warn ya, doll. I gotta take Ironhead and Benny back to their place. Pope usually goes back to mines.” A ride home in a car full of teenage boys – what can go wrong?

The pair of you walk down to the school’s parking lot and there you see students laughing in their cars – 4 to 5 in a car – all while having a smoke and others are drinking from beer cans. You have no doubt that it’s beer cans when one gets tossed towards you with left over beer splattering over your white skirt. Frankie takes notice of the yellow stains and the grimace growing on your face. He looks over at the teenagers in a beat-up Chevy.

“Aye watch where ya tossin’ shit, birdbrain.” The teens look over at Frankie and walk over to him. You place a hand on his arm and look up at him.

“Frankie, c’mon. Let’s just go to your car, huh?” you plead. His arm tightens and as the teens arrive in front of him, Frankie protectively put you behind him and adjusts his jacket – a tick of his you’ve taken note of. The three boys who walked over to Frankie look over at you and smirk.

“Well shit Frankie, pal.” One of them takes a smoke and blows the out towards his side. “You already smashin’ up this little new betty? Don’t you work fast… first Michelle, then Tiffany, now this one?”

Frankie’s jaw tightens and his hold on your arm shifts. “How ‘bout you stuff it, Jack? You know you ain’t even supposed to be here. This ain’t your turf.”

Jack removes his hat, a cowboy hat he’s become fond of, and fixes his hair. He puts it back on and laughs. “You’re right, but I clearly don’t care. Oberyn ain’t out the can ‘till Friday, so I call the shots. My boys wanna be here and screw all these chick-a-dees, then they will. I know you ain’t gon’ do nothin’.”

“He will,” you hear a click and quickly turn your head to see Pope and the boys, Benny holding up a pocketknife. “But he ain’t doin’ it alone either.” The Bandits circle the three men and puff up their chests.

“Alright,” Jack holds his hands up. “We’re gone but trust me when I say that Oberyn ain’t gon’ be too happy to hear this.” With that he snaps his head over to his boys directing them back to their car. They turn to leave and Jack walks away backwards. When he’s satisfied with the distance between himself and The Bandits, he turns on his heel and runs to his car. He jumps in the driver’s seat, gives his girl a smooch, and revs the engine – with that he’s gone.

Pope looks at you and gives your shoulder a quick squeeze. “You good? Hope those bumrats ain’t spook ya too bad.” You shake your head and smile shyly. You look down at your ruined skirt and shrug.

“Just a ruined skirt but that’s okay. I wasn’t fond of it.” Will laughs at your comment fluffs yours skirt from the bottom, earning a nudge from Frankie.

“Let’s get her home, huh? I gotta drop off everyone else,” Frankie says. Tom tells Frankie that he’s got detention and to go on without him. Tom goes back towards the building while everyone piles up in Frankie’s Cherry Red 1945 Mustang GT – his father’s gift to him for his 15th birthday, also his last gift.

Per usual, Benny and Will leans the driver’s seat forwards and get in to sit in the back while Pope goes to sit in his usual spot as shotgun. Frankie tuts at Pope and points to the back. Pope scoffs but shoots Frankie a wink. He gets in and sits in between the brothers, being the smallest of the three, and Frankie runs over to open the door for you to sit up front. He grabs your books and hands them to Pope. As you situate yourself and buckle your seatbelt, Frankie gets in and turns on his baby. He revvs the engine and backs up out the school’s parking garage, but not before revving his engine one more time for the freshmen per Benny’s request.

On the drive to the brother’s house, Benny grabs your notebook and looks through your notes of the day. He looks through the math notes you took during 4th period and immediately closes it. “You sure are smart if you’re taking this angle stuff. I’m guessing it’s college prep?”

You look over your shoulder and nod. “I’m currently taking college preparatory trigonometry. They unfortunately didn’t have any other advanced placement for me here.”

The boys let out a harmony of “ohs” and Will shakes Frankie’s shoulder. “Frankie! She’s smart like you, buddy!”

Pope smirks and joins in on the teasing. “Lo vez, hermano! Being smart doesn’t make you un-cool. Being you does! No te hagas ver como el tonto porque no lo eres.”

You see, brother… don’t make yourself seem dumb because you aren’t.

You look at Pope and smile. “I agree with you, Santiago. Frankie is very intelligent so he shouldn’tdumb himself down because he thinks that’s what people think of him.” Pope stops and looks at you. “You know some Spanish, angel face?” You eagerly nod. “I’m very familiar with the language. They had us choose electives at my old school. I took Spanish, Italian, and French. I had a lot of a free time.”

Pope looks at you in shock but happily hollers. “Well sugar you sound pretty good speakin’ ‘em”

You couldn’t explain it, but you felt giddy. You felt happy to be around the boys and you knew you wanted to continue to be around them.

With Frankie getting out of the car and moving his seat forward, Will and Benny get dropped off first, but not without teasing him about “asking the chick.” Frankie flips them off and Pope lets out a belly laugh. Frankie apologetically looks at you and mouths sorry. You blush and mouth that’s okay.

Once leaving the brothers, Pope tells Frankie to turn up the radio. Frankie looks at Pope through the rearview mirror and narrows his eyes. “Switch to 12,” Pope says with a wink. Frankie rolls his eyes and turns the knob so the needle hits channel 12. Once Frankie hears the recognizable melody from “Takes Two to Tango” by Pearl Bailey. Frankie goes to switch the channel, but you stop his hand. He glances over to you and he sees you mouthing the words. He looks back at Pope who wiggles his eyebrows and sings out loud and to Frankie’s surprise, you join Pope singing at the top of your lungs. He laughs at your attempts at dancing in your seat and looks back at Pope who was waving his hands in the air.

Frankie thought that you’d be this proper, shy little thing but here you were having singing and laughing with his best friend. You gave him the slightest nudge and smiled in his direction. “C’mon Frankie. Don’t be a sour puss. I know you know this song!” You were right. He did know this song. He and Pope sang it so much because Pope thought he could woo some girl – he didn’t really know what the lyrics meant so you can guess what happened. If you guessed he slept with her… you’d be correct.

You poked Frankie in the ribs light enough to not affect his driving and giggled as he sang out with Pope. You liked seeing this Frankie – not that big tough guy you saw at the parking lot. He seemed like he had a big heart but was scared to show it and you were determined, but you were ripped away from your internal planning when Frankie politely asked for your address.

“It’s a shame you ain’t hangin’ longer sweetheart,” Pope began. “I think you’d like being around us two mucks. You would definitely like Frankie’s mom’s cooking. She makes the best food in town.” You smiled as the two best friends bickered about whose mom had the best food.

“I would have loved to, but I have to be home and do chores before my mother gets home.”

Frankie looks over to you and gives you a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. Maybe next time, cool?” You smile at the invitation and nod. Frankie continues to drive as you and Pope make a conversation about the possibility of you tutoring him in math. With them being high school seniors, they are not failing one class.

You feel on top of the world, laughing and talking with your new friends, until you spot the yellow Pontiac in the driveway and your mother coming out of it. Your face drops and the boys immediately take notice.

“What’s wrong?” Frankie asks. You straighten out your top and ask Pope for your books as you ready yourself to run out of the car. You look at Frankie and offer a weak smile.

“My mother won’t be happy with me is all.” You’d ask Frankie to drop you off a couple of houses before your own, but you know your mother has already seen you. As Frankie pulls up to your house, the boys’ jaws drop. You wouldn’t say your house was big, but to the boys, it was huge. Your two-story home consisted of 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. The exterior of the home was beige with dark brown trimming and the river rock pathway leading up to your home was lined with grass so green you’d think it was plastic.

Your mother, dressed to the nines in a pale pink dress and white belt, looks at the hot rod parked in front of her home and places her hands on her hips as she sees Frankie run out and open your door. Your mother would normally love seeing her daughter be treated by a gentleman, but she isn’t very happy to see that it’s Frankie. She has always dreamed of her daughter being courted by a young man in polished Oxford shoes and ironed pleated pants not a worn out leather jacket and dirty chucks.

You thank Frankie for the ride and look over at your upset mother. The boys say hello to her as she gives them the ungenuine smile of hers you have seen many times. You wave goodbye to both boys and begin to walk up to your mother. You hear whispers behind you and then you hear your mother say, “Is there something else you’d like to say, boy?”

You turn and you see Pope shove Frankie towards you. His face turns red as he sees your mother staring him down and he knows that this may not be the best time to ask you.

“On with it, young man. My daughter and I have work to do.”

Frankie once again runs his hand through his hair and clears his throat. “I- I, uh, I was wonderin’ if ya wanted to hang with us at Rosie’s on Friday. The shakes are pretty good so we could ma-“

“What’s your name, young man?” You look at your mother. You narrow your eyes at her for interrupting Frankie.

“It-It’s Frankie,” he stutters, “my name’s Frankie, ma’am.”

Your mother gives her less than friendly smile again. “Well, Frankie, you’ll understand where I’m coming from when I tell you this – you are not the kind of person I want my daughter befriending. You just don’t quite… how can I put this nicely? You don’t fit a mother’s standards.”

“Mother!”

“Quiet.” she tells you. “You will not be around these boys again, do you understand? Your father works too hard for you to just ruin your life like this. You asked to be taken out of the pristine private school we paid for you to go to and we allowed you to enroll in public school. Why are you bringing home some… some hoodlum! How can you do this to us?”

You wished this had surprised you, but it wasn’t the first time your mother disrespected your choice of friends. You huffed and you felt tears coming to your eyes as you saw Frankie’s defeated look in his eyes and Pope fighting the urge to get out of the car.

You mother calls your name, and you turn to look at her. She walks to you, heels clicking the pavement, and cups your jaw. “You will not associate yourself with these boys, do we understand each other?” You see Frankie nod to you and walk back to his car. You look back at your mother and nod. “Yes, Mother. I understand.” Your mother smiles at you and gives your cheek a pat. “Good girl. Now… get inside and put that skirt in the hamper. Your allowance is going towards a new skirt.”

She leads you into the house and you look back and see Frankie’s car is still there. You stop in your tracks and look at your mother. “Mother, may I please run back and grab a paper I left?”

“Is it school related?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well. Go grab it and say goodbye and come back in. We have to get dinner going.” You nod and run back to the car and your mother walks into the house.

Pope rolls down the passenger side window and both boys look at you. You smile at Pope and look at Frankie.

“Does Rosie’s Diner have sundaes?” Pope smirks and turns to Frankie while Frankie nods with a confused face. “Well,” you start, “If Friday’s invitation is still open, pick me up by the green house down the street at 6pm. She’ll be going to my grandmother’s house up north.”

“Sounds like a plan, doll.”

The light breeze surprises you as it picks up the more you walk down the street. You walk past two houses and you see the red backlights of the cherry red mustang you seemed to miss.

Your mother, thankfully, left to your grandmother’s home about two hours ago, much earlier than expected. She called not very long ago to make sure you were home and doing homework. You told her that you were planning to retire early as your homework began to give you a headache. She insisted you eat dinner and sleep as she didn’t want to see eyebags under your eyes when she got back tomorrow. She bid you goodnight and said she’d be home by tomorrow’s lunchtime. Once you hung the phone on the hook, you ran to your room and began to ready yourself for the night.

You grew giddy as 6 o’clock crept closer and closer. You had applied your blush and mascara so carefully you’d have thought you were dusting the finest of china. You did not want to wear too much makeup; you didn’t want to seem as though you were trying too hard. You picked out the pins out of the curls on your head you’d put up right when your mother left and watched as the soft and tight curls fell and framed your face. You grabbed your wide tooth comb and brushed the curls out, parting your side at a side so there was more hair and volume on one side. You sprayed a tight hold hairspray all over so you could make sure your hair stood – Frankie wouldn’t want to see frazzled hair, no man would, you thought.

As you went through your closet, you decided that a dress was the best choice as it was simple enough to either be dressed up or dressed down. You went with a white collared black dress with thin white windowpane patterned lines all over. You wore your black flats and added a black shiny belt running across the waist. You get closer to Frankie’s car and you see him get out of his car – you figured he had seen you coming.

“How ya doin’ there, doll?”

“Hello, Frankie.” You wave and get closer to him. Once you’re in front of him you fix his jacket lapel and look up at him. “Aren’t you sight for sworn eyes.”

His eyes widen then starts laughing loudly and your face goes red. He nearly falls in laughter as his hands catch himself on his knees. “W-What’d ya just say?”

“I said aren’t you a sight for sworn eyes,” you frown. “Is that not appropriate?”

He catches his breath and puts a hand on his belly. He reaches over and tucks your hair behind your ear with the other hand. “The saying is a sight for sore eyes, doll; not sworn eyes.”

You feel as if your face is about to burst as you start laughing at yourself. You just cannot believe you’ve messed up your first attempt at flirting with Frankie. “I was really sure it was sworn.”

He smiles brightly and shakes his head. “Hey… can’t say ya ain’t tried right?” You giggle and nod. He look you up and down and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Te vez hermosa.” You look beautiful.

Have you ever had that feeling when there’s a puppy trying to get comfortable, but it can’t so it walks over to you and lays with you – falling into a deep and peaceful sleep? You know how it makes your heart feel as if it’s grown twice in size because the puppy chose you and trusted you to protect it while it slept? That’s how you felt when those words came out of Frankie’s mouth.

“Muchas gracias, Francisco.” Thank you very much, Francisco.

He playfully rolls his eyes at you and lets out a laugh. He points to the car and says, “get in the damn car.” He runs over to your door and lets you in, as per usual, and off you two went to Rosie’s Diner.

Frankie leads you into a bright neon-lit diner not very far from your home, about 25 minutes from your place. The diner stands out from the black concrete parking lot and pine trees decorating its background. He opens the light brown doors and places a hand on your lower back as you walk in – not too low or too high.

“Howdy’ho kiddos.” You’re greeted by a woman in her late 40’s or early 50s – the grey hair and sweet smile give it away. “Hey there, Frankie. Bandits meetin’ ya here?”

Frankie smiles at the woman, gives her a hug, and a quick kiss on the cheek; a kiss she smiles at and hums in content. “Hey Ro. Boys are comin’ in a while. You know they ain’t missin’ your special tonight.”

“There’s a special night every night for my favorite bandits, Frankie. Who’s this, huh? You finally bringin’ a girl for me to meet?” Frankie shakes his head from side to side smiling. He turns to you and introduces you to Rosie, the diner’s owner and one of his favorite people. “She’s new in town and I wanted to show her the best diner in the world.”

Rosie slaps Frankie’s arm and laughs. “Stop talkin’ sweet ‘fore your teeth rot, boy. You’re too pretty to be all gums now. I knew my boys were comin; your usual booth’s open, but take the table next to it, yeah. Ya need the extra seat ‘less you sittin’ the girl on ya lap.” Frankie begins to stutter a protest as you stifle a laugh.

“It’s very nice to meet you Miss Rosie. I’m in awe of your diner and excited to try your food.”

“Well it’s very nice to meet the girl who Frankie finally decided to bring to the diner. It’s a very special moment in his life ya know?” You cock your head to the side and take a quick glance at Frankie.

“Why’s that, Miss Rosie?”

As Rosie was about to explain the beginning of courtships of 99% of the teenagers in town, Frankie dragged you away with the dramatic excuse of being so hungry he can eat a horse and how he’ll drop dead if he doesn’t get a shake.

As you make it to the table Rosie had sent you to, you’d think that Frankie would have pulled out your chair, but a couple of some teens you remember seeing at school look in yours and Frankie’s direction whispering among themselves. You took a seat and looked at Frankie to ask if he knew them but as you were about to ask, you saw his face looking back at them with a deep stare. He gave them a single nod towards the door and to your surprise, they ran. Frankie scanned the room and he knew everyone would be taking in the scene. Frankie had never taken a girl out in public – especially not a girl like you. Sure people knew about other girls he’s been with, but everyone knew they weren’t together.

Frankie sat down after everyone in the diner turned their attention back to where it previously was and he passes you a diner menu, but still tense due to the eyes that locked with his back once more.

When the waitress you learned was named Vi and was obsessed with Will, Frankie had ordered a basket of fries for the two to share, a cherry soda for him and a sundae of your pick for you. Vi was also an older woman, best friends with Rosie, and had an innocent crush on Will’s blonde self. Frankie told you about the time Will brought Vi a bouquet of flowers for her birthday and Vi almost attacked the poor kid to the ground with kisses. Vi was sweet and she made you feel very good about yourself as she fixed your collar and fluffed your hair because “her Frankie needs to see what he’s got in front of him.”

You were nearly done with your sundae as you heard the distinctive pitch that is Benny’s voice as he said “What’s cookin’ good lookin’ don’t you look like a dream,” and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You greet each and every one of the boys as they take their seats around the table – Benny calling dibs on one of the seats next to you. Benny puts his arm around the back rest of your white chair and calls Vi over to place a new order.

As the night continues, you feel free. You feel so relaxed and at ease with the boys around you that you don’t even notice the dirty looks some girls were giving you. Benny puts his head on your shoulder and give his cheek a little pat resulting in Benny playfully trying to bite your hand. Frankie clears his throat and Benny looks over at him and smirks.

“I ain’t trynna steal ya girl, Frankie. If she hangin’ with us, ya gotta get used to us playin ‘round.”

Frankie turns red as Benny calls you “his girl” and rolls his eyes with a chuckle. He looks out the window and immediately tenses. You follow his gaze and see a 1942 black Ford with some boys in it – one of the being that Jack guy from school – revv its engine as it speeds back and forth through the parking lot. He grabs the boys eyes and directs them towards the window and Benny stands up immediately. The boys follow suit and Frankie turns to you.

“Stay here alright, doll? We’ll be back.”

You turn from Frankie to the window and back to Frankie with a worried look painting your face. “What’s going on Frankie?”

“They shouldn’t be here. This ain-“ You both turn at the sound of a crash and see Pope being held against Frankie’s car by a guy in a black tee with its sleeves rolled. Frankie runs out of the diner and you run after him. You know you shouldn’t be getting in between this, but you aren’t going to let anyone hurt your new friends.

Frankie runs up behind this guy, turns him around, and shoves him away from his car and friends. The guy smirks and nods at Frankie. “Did you miss me Frankie?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Oberyn? We already told ya friend there that this ain’t your turf.”

You had to admit, Oberyn had this strut to him that showed his self-confidence and the combination of his flirtatious smile and smoldering eyes only made him more attractive than he already was. Jack came to stand next to him and as he turned to toss some keys over to another friend of his, you caught sight of the word VIPERS with two snakes on the back of his jacket.

“Yeah… he told me ‘bout it. But ya anna know what else Jackie told me? He told me that ya got ya’self a knockout.” Oberyn locks eyes with you and winks. He tries to walk over to you, but Frankie pushes back and away from you.

“Don’t get near her.” Oberyn lets out a sarcastic chuckle and gets in Frankie’s face.

“How ‘bout ya make me, Morales?”

The next thing you knew, you were yelling and crying with Will held you away as you saw Frankie and Oberyn duke it out on the concrete while Benny and Pope tried to pry Oberyn away – Jack and some other guy pushing them away. You caught a glimpse of Frankie’s bruising cheek and Oberyn’s bloody nose. You only noticed the officer’s arrival once Will dragged you back in the diner and making sure Rosie held you back as he ran back to be by Frankie’s side when the local sheriff gets out the car.

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@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @funerals-with-cake @seasonschange-butpeopledont

dreamboat | greaser!frankie | part three

photo credit

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader; greaser!frankie x f!reader

warnings: violence, mentions of racism towards latinos, cursing

dreamboat: part one | part two | part three

masterlist

Frankie has been in this cold and dark cement cell for what feels like months – it has been 19 hours. It was only 3 in the afternoon and would be in this cell until 5 when his mother got off work. He may have been 18 years old, but the sheriff did not care – especially being Frankie. Frankie would not stop pacing to and from one side of the 6-foot by 8-foot jail cell and the sheriff was getting quite annoyed.

“Frankie, ya want a metal cup to rattle against the bars or will ya quit bein’ dramatic? Stop pacin’ or you’ll make a hole through the cement, kid.” Frankie stops pacing and looks at the sheriff sitting at the desk situated in front of the holding cell. “Ya actin’ like ya goin’ to federal prison. Tu madre viene por ti a las cinco, hijo. Relajate.”

Your mother is coming for you at 5, son. Relax.

Frankie sits on the floor, putting his head in his hands. He lets out a sigh as he rubs his face. He looks back up at the smiling sheriff and raises an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

The sheriff takes a drink of his coffee and nods his head over at Frankie. “You are kid. Ya only got in a fight; ya didn’t hold up a bank.” He reaches in his desk’s cabinet and pulls out a silver flask. He pours a generous amount of a golden liquid in his coffee and goes to close the flask. He tuts as he looks back at the steaming black liquid and pours some more whiskey. This causes Frankie to laugh at the sheriff he came to know and like. The sheriff stands and walks over to Frankie, his mug of coffee in one hand and dragging his chair with the other. He places the chair in front of Frankie’s cell and takes a seat. He takes a swig of his coffee and looks at Frankie.

“I hope ya know your mom is goin’ to have a cow when I tell her why you’re in here.”

Frankie smirks and nods. “Ya ain’t tell her, yet?”

“What? That ya gave Oberyn a beatin’ ‘cause he was givin’ ya shit? Hell, that little bastard deserved it. If I don’t tell ya mom, you will.”

“Yeah? Well he was cruisin’ for a bruisin’. He should’a seen it comin’. Next time I see that cat, he’s gettin’ more than a couple’a shiners,” Frankie huffed. All he was able to give Oberyn was a good black eye and a couple of other bruises. The sheriff got called the second the boys went outside. He knew Rosie must have called the sheriff, but Frankie couldn’t be mad. The boys promised Rosie that there would be no confrontations in front of the diner – they did not do that last night. “Why I gotta tell my mom for? Aint you the sheriff? Shouldn’t ya be the one to tell ‘er why I’m in the can?”

The sheriff takes a deep breath and sighs. “Frankie, listen to me.” Frankie scoffs and rolls his eyes, waiting for the sheriff’s spiel about being responsible for his mother’s sake.

The sheriff sits straight and places his mug on the floor. He clears his throat and speaks to Frankie in the tone Frankie knows to shut up and listen. “Francisco, you listen here you little shit. You been in this very cell three times now, Tom having the record of 38, and ya feel like what? Ya feel like ya cool or somethin’? Ya mom already don’t like the friends ya hang with, except for Santiago. Ya think she likes seein’ you behind these,” the sheriff bangs on the metal bars for emphasis, “bars here? Now, I ain’t ya daddy, son. Nobody will ever compare to the man ya father was, but I know good and damn well he wouldn’t wanna see his only kid behind these bars. That man fought too fuckin’ hard for you and ya momma for you to be fuckin’ up ya life.”

Frankie stands up and leans against the cell, holding a metal bar in each hand. “’The fuck ya on about? You said it ya’self! I just got in’a fight. How’s that fuckin’ up my life?”

The sheriff stands up and gets close to Frankie. “Watch ya tone with me, boy. I ain’t one of your little friends to be gettin’ an attitude with, got it? You know that little betty you had ‘round ya arm? Her momma don’t like ya. Her momma got her head way up her ass, she don’t like anyone whose shoes aren’t new every day.”

Frankie chuckles at this.

“Hell she don’t even like me very much and I’m the law. Ya think she wants her daughter ridin’ round town with ya? Ya like her right? The more you get behind these bars, the further you get from her, you got it?”

Frankie nods as he walks away from the sheriff and sits on the concrete bench with a slump. The sheriff lets out a sigh and drags his chair back to the desk, taking a big gulp of his coffee. He grabs his newspaper and flicks it to straighten it out. He looks at Frankie and frowns. He decides to give Frankie one last piece of advice – something he promised himself he’d never use but he knew the young man needed to hear it.

“Francisco,” he says to catch Frankie’s attention. He continues even if Frankie doesn’t look at him, he knows he’s listening. “Tu padre murió por ti. El murió para que tu vivieras la vida que deseabas. Yo sé que este estilo de vida no es para ti y si lo eliges, entonces tu padre murió por nada.”

Frankie’s head snaps up and watches as the sheriff stands and walks out for a smoke. Frankie knew the sheriff wanted to leave the room for air because he would always smoke inside. From this moment to a quarter after 5, Frankie remained silent and still as he pondered on what the sheriff had said to him.

Your father died for you. He died so you could live the life you wanted. I know this lifestyle is not for you and if you choose it, then your father died for nothing.

As much as he wanted to cry and fight the sheriff, Frankie knew that the sheriff spoke only truth. Frankie’s father would have been incredibly disappointed, which only hurts Frankie the more he thought of it. The sheriff said that his father died for him and it’s true. If his father would have put Frankie’s name on that sign up, Frankie would have been dead by now. Instead of drafting 18-year old’s as stated, the US became desperate and sent off 16-year old’s with the promise of compensation for their families – that didn’t ever happen.

Frankie heard rapid heels clicking coming from the corridor and he knew it was his mother.

“Francisco Morales! ¿En qué pendejada te metiste ahora? Fue por ese Thomas, verdad? Ni se te ocurra mentirme.”

Francisco Morales! What bullshit did you get into this time? It was because of that Thomas, right? Do not even think about lying to me.

“Hi Mom.” Frankie sadly says. His mother holds up one finger at Frankie and turns to the sheriff. She offers him a tired smile and a quick hug.

“Ahora que hizo, Javier? Por favor dime que me lo puedo llevar a casa.”

What did he do now, Javier? Please tell me I can take him home.

Frankie hears his mother say. She sounds as if she’s about to burst into tears, her voice pleading and shaky. Frankie immediately feels a wave of guilt wash over him. He saw his mother break apart when they lost his father and was thrown as being the sole breadwinner – he couldn’t put her through pain again.

“Yes, Monica, you can take him. He just had a run in with that Oberyn kid again.” Frankie’s mother lets her head fall back as she groans. She looks back at Frankie and shakes her head.

“How many times do I have to tell you to ignore that boy, Frankie? He isn’t worth getting into it with. Did Tom throw you into it? He can never fight his own battles and he threw Santiago in last time. Pope’s lucky Javier called me and not his mom - poor woman would have a heart attack.”

Frankie shakes his head. “No mom. I got myself in it.” Frankie looks at Javier, the sheriff, and Javier gives him an assuring nod. “The boys and I took the new girl in town out to Rosie’s and Oberyn decided to ruin the night as usual. He just got out the can so he was lookin’ for a fight I guess.”

His mother and Javier stride over to Frankie. Javier unlocks the cell, allowing Frankie to come out and hug his mother. His mother gives him a kiss on the cheek and holds his face in her hands.

“Francisco, I know you thought you were doing the right thing. Did Oberyn lay a hand on the girl?”

“If I hadn’t punched him, he probably would’ve.”

Monica, his mother, gives her son a warm smile. “If you got in here for defending someone because you thought it was the right thing to do, then okay. I suppose what done is done, but I never want to see you behind bars ever again. Tal vez tengas 18 años, pero todavia te doy una paliza, cabrón.” she jokes - well half-jokes.

You may be 18 years old, but I’ll still beat your ass, dumbass.

As Frankie and his mother collect his things and sign the necessary paperwork, Javier calls for Frankie’s attention. He simply tells him “remember our little talk, Frankie. I ain’t try’na see you behind those bars again.”

A little talk Frankie will always remember and think about every day.

Frankie knew he should be going to his fifth and sixth periods, but he had already missed the first four, so why they hell not miss. He wanted to because he wanted to see you after the fiasco, but he was nervous. You saw him fight, get arrested, and get dragged away by Javier. He saw your eyes widen and fill with fear when he spat out blood and get put into handcuffs.

“So ‘Fish… where’s that little dolly of yours? You two get it on yet?” Redfly says. “Oh wait… ya been in the can!” The Bandits all laugh and Santiago slaps his knee while Will wheezes at the thought of Frankie in jail. Frankie takes a drag of his cigarette, staring at his friends and offering an eye roll.

“Alright laugh it up. I made it out, didn’t I?”

“yeah,” Santiago starts, “that’s only cause Javi likes us. If it were Oberyn in there, Javi would’a still had his ass locked up.” Pope gives his best friend a slap on the shoulder paired with a laugh and a quick just kiddin’ buddy.

The bell rings and the sea of people wave into the hallways. The boys bid farewell to each other, Will and Frankie walking to their class together. Will was the first to spot you in the crowd of people. He saw you walk with a student you had all your classes with; Maxwell Lorenzano, or Max Lord as he liked to be called now. The Bandits knew him, they knew him very well.

Max was a soc kid who would hang out with the other popular socs, but in actuality, Max was another Latino kid whose family were more like the Bandits. Both of his parents were greasers, and they knew what it was like to work hard yet not have a lot. His father worked all the time as a mechanic and his mother was a stay-at-home mom. His dad was always working on a motorcycle that would become his son’s first ride, but then something in Max changed. His whole life, Max wore a leather jacket and slicked back hair, not caring what the world thought of him, but as the times went on, the bullying got worse.

Just like Frankie, Max’s family was not always welcomed, but his aunt’s family was. His aunt was a greaser too, but her husband was a complete socialite. His family created and owned an oil business which allowed them to want for nothing. When Max saw the acceptance his aunt had received from her in-laws, it was a flipped switch. He asked to work with his uncle to learn all about the business. His uncle was elated to find out his nephew wanted to leave the “delinquent” life and become a businessman. Max’s face was plastered on the company’s ads and the popular kids wanted to be friends with him. He was accepted as a soc and even though his parents were upset, Max wasn’t entirely honest at school.

Max still worked on his dad’s motorcycle project. He still had his leather jackets and wore them at private family gatherings. He still knew the slang and attitude. He was still loyal to the people who liked him for him.

Max and The Bandits looked after each other as brothers. Even though he was not officially a member, Max had his BANDITS leather jacket at home, hung and clean. In order to keep his soc image at school, Max and the boys pretended to hate each other. Max pretended to be disgusted with their way of life and would throw insults here and there when the other kids would.

When Max saw Will and Frankie coming their way, Will gave him a discreet nod and Max reciprocated.

“Look what the cat dragged in… a couple of worthless hoodlums.” Max said. He turns to you and says, “C’mon, you shouldn’t associate yourself with these… things.” You look up and meet Frankie’s beautiful eyes. He seemed as if he wanted to jump out and say something to you but couldn’t.

“Don’t get yourself twisted up, Lord. Your little petty pants will wrinkle,” Will snickers.

Max rolls his eyes at him. “Move out of our way, Miller. We’ll be late.”

Will laughs and moves out of the way and gestures for him to walk. “C’mon, Polo. Keep it movin’.”

As you walk past the boys, Will offers a quick hey and you answer with a smile. You walk away, but Frankie calls you by name, causing you to stop and take a breath. You ask Max to give you a minute, him checking his watch and agreeing. You walk up Frankie and look at him, silently asking him to continue.

“I… I- Hi. How are you?” Frankie sputters out. He mentally slaps his forehead and cursing at himself. Is that the best he can do?

“I’m doing fine, thanks.” you quietly say.

Frankie tries to put together a mix of words, but none of it is coherent. Will lets out a loud and obnoxious sigh and puts his arm around Frankie’s shoulders.

“Catfish here wanna know if you wanna hang with’im after school. How ‘bout it sweetheart? The guy just got out the can and in need of company.” You raise an eyebrow at Will.

In need of company?

Max lets out a sarcastic laugh and walks to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you away.

“Her mother would have her head if she were caught with you guys again. You already got her in trouble once; no need for it to happen again.”

You look back at Frankie, silently apologizing, but in the end, Max was right.

When you got home that night, Will assured you that nobody would talk about it. The next day, your mother came back furious and you were ultimately grounded for being seen with those boys. Your father was not too happy either, but was mainly concerned about your safety, which was a valid concern. Your mother demanded for you to never talk to Frankie or she would have to take action.

What action? You were not too sure.

No matter how hard Frankie tried to talk to you, Max would either pull you away saying he needed your help, or your teacher would ask him to quiet down. Frankie was not one to give up, but he also did not want to be a pain in your side. He felt as if the odds were against him, but he was going to get you to talk to him one way or another – at least a single hello in the hallway so he does not feel as if he messed up entirely.

It was now Wednesday, and The Bandits sat at one of the outside tables by the cafeteria. They “joked” with people, rough housed as usual, having a good day so far, but when the soc table kept staring, the boys didn’t feel so cheery.

“Fuck ya lookin’ at, soc? You got a starin’ problem?” Tom yells.

“You should get daddy’s money to check that out,” Benny continues. Frankie turns in his seat and looks at the group of the popular rich kids sitting at the opposite table from them. He lets out a sigh, letting it pour out of his nose, as he sees you sitting next to Max at that same table. When he gets a chance to really see you, he sees red.

Michael, the school’s top athlete, has his arm around you and you appear to be uncomfortable – something Frankie never wanted to do. You look around awkwardly as Michael stands up and confidently walks over to the boys, other soc boys in tow.

“Look here boys. A bunch of nothings thinking they’re something,” Michael says. The soc boys all laugh and Tom remains tall, chest puffed out.

“Ya better watch what ya sayin, Mikey. Wouldn’t want ya to get hurt.” Tom rebuttles.

Two of the boys behind Michael walk up to the Miller brothers, a bit shorter than the two but still reeking of false confidence.

“You three must be tired of carrying these two brown boys, huh? Always quiet and only get involved when they’re forced.”

Max walks over to Michael, you trailing behind him, and tells Michael to stop and to come back to the table. Michael refuses, asking Max if he is worried about him hurting his own kind. You gasp and get in front of Max, facing Michael.

“How dare you? You dare call Max a friend and still, you berate him and these boys,” you start, motioning to the Bandits, “because they aren’t “your kind?” I’ll have you know that these boys are some of the most intelligent people I have ever met, a lot smarter than you.”

“Is that so, sweetheart? You think these delinquents are worth getting in trouble?” To this, you give him a confused look. “You think your mom hasn’t gone around rambling about how her daughter was seen with the worst kids in town? These guys bring their parents shame. Well… except Francisco over there… he got his old man killed.”

Michael barely got his final word out before he was on the floor holding his bleeding jaw Santiago caused. Santiago grabbed his hand in pain; it was a while since he punched someone so suddenly like that. No matter the pain, he wasn’t about to let the spoilt rich kid get away with insulting his best friend and his best friend’s father.

You look over to Frankie, who is still sitting at the bench stone faced. How could he just sit there after Michael insulted him and his father? You go to walk to him but Max pulls you, walking away telling you that you’ll talk to him later.

“I’m taking you home after school, okay? Michael called a meeting after school and I told him I’ll be there when I get you home,” Max explained. He talked fast and seemingly out of breath. He knew something was going to go down – no one drops Michael like that without consequences.

“Why are you worried? Max, is something going to happen?” You ask. He looks around and explains to you what has happened when Michael wants revenge. From legal actions to physically hurting someone, Michael will stop at nothing to make himself look strong and important. Max just told you to be careful and to stay inside.

And something must have happened because Max came knocking down your door and asking your mother if it was okay if he took you around town. Your mother oddly was happy to agree and Max piled you in the car. He drove fast and parked inside a green home’s garage. For a second, you were terrified that Max was forced to bring you to Michael, but soon let out a breath of relief when you saw Will come into the garage and greet you.

“Alright, Maxie,” Will said. “What is so important and secretive that you called us all here and brought her along?” Frankie adjusted his hat, a baseball cap that suited him quiet well, and played with his hands.

“We have to hide Frankie’s car. Now.” Max stated rapidly.

Frankie’s head shot up and the boys all together threw questions as to why we had to temporarily get rid of Frankie’s car.

“Max. What are we hiding my dad’s car for?” Frankie asks. His voice is quiet and laced with worriedness.

Max takes a deep breath and apologetically looks straight into Frankie’s eyes.

“Michael’s planning on crushing your car.”

dreamboat taglist:

@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange​ @funerals-with-cake​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​

taglists and requests are open!

dreamboat | greaser!frankie | part four

pairing: frankie morales x reader; greaser!frankie x reader

warning: cursing, talking down, and feels

a/n: listen… I know the song mentioned in this part was released before their time and I’ve tried my hardest to stay within this timeline but it just went so well. sue me. also... do ya’ll like the moodboard i did? c:

part one | part two | part three | part four

masterlist

No matter what you were doing, homework or chores, your mind is always drifting off to Frankie. 

and so did Frankie’s.

The urge to talk to him became stronger every time you saw him in class because you truly enjoyed his company. You liked him because he never tried to be someone he was not - he was true to himself.

You were enamored by the way he spoke so passionately about his mother and his favorite pastimes. You felt a ripple of joy when you had seen his eyes light up when you complimented his father’s car. You also caught yourself giggling like a schoolgirl at the sight of his cheeks reddening at your comment about his “cute dimple.” 

You may have not known Frankie for long, but from the time you’ve spent with him, the more at ease you felt. 

Frankie didn’t miss the quick glances you shot his way, but he also knew you didn’t miss the way he paid more attention to the way you adjusted your pencil when you tried to understand the day’s lesson than to the lesson itself. 

Frankie took a mental note at the fact that you took great pride with your hair. Even though there were endless ways of styling your hair, Frankie’s favorite was your go to up-do with a ribbon that always matched your skirt. It was simple, yet so elegant at the same time. 

You packed your grey spiral notebook and #2 pencils in your school bag and settled the leather strap on your right shoulder. Your class let out early, which you were thankful for. You were tired from running to your first period after missing the bus and having to catch a ride with Max - making him late in the process. You walk into the hallway, ready to take the stairs for your math class when you hear a throat clear behind you. You assumed it wasn’t for you and as you placed a hand on the handrail, you hear Frankie speak your name.

You look back and flash him a tired smile. “Good morning, Francisco.” You check the giant black and white clock and cough up a chuckle. “Actually, good afternoon.”

Frankie looks around to see students’ eyes widen when they hear you call him Francisco. Shit, Frankie thinks. 

“C’mon baby.” Frankie silently chastises himself. “Don’t be runnin’ that pretty little mouth with my government name ‘round here.”

You stood dumbfounded. “Excuse me?” 

Frankie leans back on the cement wall and chuckles. “Y’heard me… Listen sweetheart. I-” He abruptly stops and glares at the gawking students. Freshman, he thinks.

“Was I talkin’ to you? Get the fuck outta here before I give ya a reason to stare.” and with that they scram. You frown and scoff.

“Goodbye, Frankie.”

“No.” He gently grabs your arm and turns you back to him. “Can we please talk? You’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

“Frankie let go of me.” You tug on your arm, trying to set it free from is grasp. “I’ll be late for math class.”

Frankie lets out a laugh, the laugh you liked hearing. “It’s a short day,” he says. “School’s out for the day.”

“Is today Wednesday?” you question.

Frankie nods and smiles, revealing his perfect dimple. “You got a ride home? Lorenzano told me you got him detention.”

Your mouth drops. “He got detention? Oh no! That was not my intention at all! I was let off easy.” You shake your head in disbelief. “If he’s in there I should be too. Excuse me, Frankie.”

Frankie throws his head back in laughter and holds you in place. “I’m kiddin’, doll. I just saw ‘em leave with Goldilocks.”

“Goldilocks?”

“Michael, sweetheart. I gotta teach ya these names. He was your ride, wasnt he? How ‘bout I take ya home?”

You rub the back of your neck and shake your head slowly. “That won’t be the best idea, Frankie.”

“‘Cause of ya folks?” You nod and decide your shoes are much more interesting to look at than the brown swirls of chocolate that rest in his eyes.

“What do they say ‘bout me?” You look back up and your eyes shift to a doe-like look.

“C’mon dolly. Just tell me.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other as you bite your lip, trying to find the words to say. “They said you aren’t what I need to be seen with. That your only goal in life is to ruin what they worked so hard to have. My mother said you were only going to use me for the opportunities I earn and use them for yourself and that I should just forget you.” You let out a deep sigh and look into his eyes.

You see his jaw shift side to side and take in a deep breath. He looks at you and says, “and do you believe them?”

“No. Not one bit.”

Frankie takes one of your hands into his and smiles. “Good. I won’t make you any more late to the bus than I already have.” Frankie gestures to the hallway that stretches down and meets the entrance of the building. 

“But I do have a question for you.” You nod, motioning for him to continue. “You wanna go on a ride with me?

“I thought you hid your car?”

“I never said anything about my car. How ‘bout it, dolly? Let me take you on a joy ride.”

You hesitate and Frankie notices this. “Do you trust me?”

He continues to play with your fingers and you give his hand a small squeeze.

“I do.” you smile. “Pick me up at the same spot as the last time, okay?”

———

You can’t help but feel worried, yet excited all at the same time. When you heard the roar of Frankie’s motorcycle, a smirk crept up and planted itself at your lips. You turned and saw Frankie ride up and park right next to you, kicking the stand and stabilizing the bike before walking over to you.

“So this is what you meant by a ride, huh?” Frankie smiled proudly and nodded. “Yep. This here is Delta. Finally finished her a couple months back. Whatd’ya think? Ain’t she a beaut?”

You walked around the bike, analyzing it and committing her details to memory. “She’s a Harley FL? She looks like a ‘41 or ‘42.”

Frankie looks back at you with an amused look. “You know bikes?”

You smiled and nodded. “My uncle owns a shop upstate.” You comment. “His prized possession is a 1935 Vincent Comet. He’s very proud of it. It doesn’t move, but it looks nice.” You joke. 

“I think I just fell in love with you, doll. You can’t just whip this on me so suddenly.” You laugh with him and smile to yourself.

I think I just fell in love with you, doll. 

“Before we go, I need you to wear this.” He says handing you a silver and red helmet. You frown and pat the crown of your head. “But it’ll frizz and flatten my hair”

He pulls a white bandana from the inside of the helmet and hands it to you. “It won’t, trust me. My mom wears this all the time and her hair is still higher than the empire state.”

“I do trust you, Frankie.” You chuckle. You bring his hands, bandana in between, and motion for him to tie it for you. This brings him close. His face is close to yours - his lips closer than ever. 

He ties it in place and cups your cheek. Your eyes are glued on each other and that feeling of being content flows back into your system. He clears his throat and hands you the helmet, unbuckling it before you take it into your hands.

He helps you onto the back of the bike and before he can get on, you spot his school bag tied to the side of the bike. “What’s with the bag?”

“It has something for us. Don’t worry, doll. You’ll see soon.”

———

Who knew this place had such a view. Frankie drove up through windy roads, the elevation making your ears pop, but the result was breathtaking. He pulled up to a flat section of the mountain, nearly at the top, and you could see the navy image of the mountain range serving as the background of the miniscule outline of the town.

Frankie helps you off the bike, placing a helmet on each of the handles. He unties his bag for the bike, grabbing your hand and leading you towards a grassy area. He opens his bag revealing a squared white tablecloth, snapping it and placing it on the ground. He helps you onto the fabric and allows you to get settled before he sits and re-opens his bag. He snaps his bag shut and looks at you. He calls your name, and you give him your full attention, which he has had from the beginning.

“Would you like to have a picnic with me?” he shyly says. Your cheeks burn at the sight of his timidity. “I would love to, Frankie.”

From his bag, he pulls two glass soda pop bottles nestled in paper napkins, two wrapped sandwiches, candy bars, and a bag of potato chips. He sets your share of the foods in front of you and sets the candy choices in front of both of you.

“I didn’t know what candy your favorite was, or if you even eat candy, but I brought us some options.” He proudly says. In front of you were a plethora of candy: snickers, gummi bears, kit-kats, m&ms, junior mints, and tootsie pops. You grabbed your favorite and thanked him.

You weren’t used to be treated with the amount of kindness as Frankie was giving you. You had been courted before, but they all believed that gifts were the way to your heart, but, you just wanted a good conversation.

“Frankie, can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me anything you want, doll.”

“Why are you so set on being around me?”

Frankie shrugs, opening his sandwich. “You’re a cool chick.”

You nod in agreement and giggle. “Alright… You’re a cool cat too Frankie… well when you’re not getting arrested.”

Frankie playfully rolls his eyes and lets out a loud groan. “That was one time.”

You give him a nudge and when you are certain he’s looking; you start to mock him.

“Please Mr. Jailer…. Won't you let my man go free…”

Frankie lets out a hearty laugh. “That’s unfair!”

“Please Mr. Jailer,” you continue. “Won't you let my man go free.” You both cackle and howl until you’re out of breath.

“C’mon! How ‘bout ya give my criminal record a break and eat your sandwich!”

You looked at the plastic wrapped sandwich and grinned. “Did you make these yourself?” He nods with a mouthful of food and hums uh huh. You enthusiastically unwrap the sandwich and take a big bite. You let out a moan in delight as the flavor of seasonings attack your tastebuds. It’s not too spicy, but it’s also not bland – making it one of the best sandwiches you’ve ever had.

“This is amazing. What’s in it?”

“Um.. swiss cheese, a mayo and chipotle sauce thing my mom put together, crushed chips, and seasoned chicken. My mom wanted to be different and used chicken instead of ham, I guess.”

“Well tell your mom that she’s a genius. This is incredible.”

Frankie sniggered. “I’ll pass it along. She’s an excellent cook. You’ll have to try it sometime.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

You both sat and ate quietly. No words were spoken – simply taking in the scenic view. You look over to Frankie, only to see him in a daze. There was a question that lingered in your mind and although you didn’t want to ruin the moment, you knew you had to ask. You whisper his name, hoping he would hear it, and he did. He slowly turned over to you and uttered a low yes.

“Why do you act differently when we’re together in public than in private?” You vocalized the confusion that lingered in your mind from the moment he flipped a switch at school. “You’re sweet, smart, and caring while we’re here doing this, but all you do at school is curse, skip class with the boys, and disrespect anyone that looks at you a little too long.”

Frankie knew this conversation would come. He didn’t think you would notice his attitude changes, yet here you were. He lets a sigh be exhaled through his nose as he shakes his head. “You just wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I act the way I do because that’s what people expect. They expect someone like me to fail and…You have no idea what this town… what these people… can do to you.”

“Frankie… I may not know what you’ve gone through in life, but what I do know is that you have my shoulder to lean on and my ears to listen when you need it the most. I like seeing this Frankie.” You sit up, resting your weight on your legs, and reach for his hand. “The Frankie that gets good grades and has a great sense of respect and responsibility – not the Frankie I saw at school today.”

He looks down at your interlocked hands and lets out a content breath. Frankie gives your hand a squeeze and gazes at you – not at your eyes… this look goes much deeper than that.

“Does your mother really believe I’d use you and toss aside the one person that decided to get to know me before they wanted nothing to do with me?”

You shrug, knitting your eyebrows. “She can think what she wants to think – just know that’s not the way I do.”

A cool breeze picks up as you continuously play with each other’s hands and sit comfortably in close proximity. Frankie reluctantly lets go of your hand and shimmies out of his leather jacket. He wraps it around your shoulders, making sure your exposed arms are somewhat covered. You take a lapel in each hand, pulling on them to wrap yourself with the jacket. Frankie’s heart skips a beat as he takes a mental picture of the way you looked wearing his jacket.

Frankie sits back down, but you nudge your way closer and closer to him. You feel like melting as you smell his cologne, from the jacket and himself.

“What are you going to do about Michael?”

Frankie looks taken aback from the sudden question. “Don’t worry that pretty little head about him. The boys and I will handle the trust fund baby. I’ll figure it out.”

“Are you going to get hurt?”

Frankie stretches his arm out, a quiet plea for you to come closer. You oblige and he immediately wraps his arm around you, placing a chaste kiss atop you head. “I don’t know.”

You put your head on his shoulder and hug him, both arms around him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“No one will get hurt if Mikey boy plays his cards right.” You look up and see his softened face, but stern eyes. The thought of Michael alone burns a flame in Frankie, a reaction he had no actual reasoning behind.

You stay like this for a few minutes, but you decide to lighten the mood.

“Psst…” you say. Frankie looks down at you with kind eyes.

“I know that no other… One will ever do… And I know that the answer's…All up to you.” you sing.

Frankie sniggers and rolls his eyes, but nevertheless joins you.

“Please Mr. Jailer… Won't you let my man go free.”

———

dreamboat taglist:

@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @funerals-with-cake @seasonschange-butpeopledont @danniburgh​ @curiouskeyboard

taglists + requests are open!

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.”

Thank you for tagging me in this! I loved it! 😍

Dial Drunk - A Frankie Morales One Shot

Young Frankie x f!reader

Rating: Explicit 18+ minors dni, please read the content warnings on this one 

Word count: 7,700 

Summary: Home has always been the boy next door.

Content: This gets pretty dark so please do read the warning, but I promise there is a happy ending, modern day Triple Frontier AU, (mostly) soft!Frankie, some descriptions of reader but she is meant as a universal (however you would like her to be bub), she has hair and there are outfit references, no age gap, reader & Frankie either teens or early 20’s, specific content warnings: references to neglect/poverty, a parent death, references and consequences of domestic abuse, brief violence, drug and alcohol references, addiction, mega angst. The good stuff? we’ve got flirting, kisses and smut; protected PIV (reader is on the pill but not mentioned), oral (f receiving – this is Frankie, come on), fingering, very light dirty talk, pet names (sugar), Frankie POV. I’ve tried to remove any overt British-isms but some may have slipped in. Please note, we’re always Fleabag coded here. Let me know if I’ve missed anything, I know this one isn’t an easy read.  

A/N: This story just flew right out of me, I was like a woman possessed. When I say I listened to Dial Drunk by Noah Kohan about 40 times? I know it covers some really hard topics and I totally get it if it’s not your thing, but I hope the love reader & Frankie have for each other helps you get through it and I promise a happy, fluffy end for them. They’re best friends, idiots in love but we’re going big on the angst. I don’t normally let my reader be rescued by a man but this Frankie did something to me and I let him save the day. I LOVE HIM. 

HUGE thank you to @pascalssbabyy for letting me run one million ideas past her & being so amazingly supportive, and of course to my America consultant @katareyoudrilling. You two are the dream. Big kisses to @luxurychristmaspudding for being an incredible cheerleader! Dividers by @saradika/@saradika-graphics

Listen to: Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan, specifically the Post Malone version, and also there are references to Homesick as well.

DIAL DRUNK

You know it’s a fucking cliche, but you’re pretty sure you’ve been in love with your best friend since you were eight years old. He’s a fucking idiot. Always has been. But he’s your idiot.

Frankie Morales has been the boy next door for as long as you can remember.

It was never a particularly nice area, but as the years wore on, the yards became unkempt, the children more feral, the parents increasingly absent. By the time you were teenagers you were both used to going to school on empty bellies and nipping into each other’s houses for three minute showers whenever the water at home was shut off, again.

You never spoke about the indignities that came with being dirt poor, of the realities of parents that either removed themselves or were far too present. You hated when you weren’t able to scrub the filth from under your fingernails and he couldn’t stand when his Dad had money for liquor. But there was solace in the silence. Comfort in a shared nightmare that you never spoke into existence with each other.

It made you brittle, old before your time. It made him dangerous, impulsive, but also quick to seek out relief in an easy laugh. When you think of Frankie, it’s often a picture of him laughing, heavenly crinkles around his dark eyes and a single dimple which you loved so much, that pulls into your vision. He always saw it as his mission in life to make you laugh, sought it out at all times as he tried to take you away from the harshness of your shared reality and gift you some joy for a few brief moments.

It was easier when you were ten, got significantly harder once the hormones kicked in at thirteen and then downright near fucking impossible once you both hit eighteen. A lot less to smile about then.

Frankie washed through girlfriends like they were going out of fashion, seemingly a different girl squished between you and him on the bench of his ancient pick-up truck each month. You never bothered to be anything more than polite. The worst offenders were the shiny ones, the prissy ones that turned their noses up at you and treated Frankie like a novelty toy. A bit of rough that would fuck them in the parking-lot, behind the bar which cast only a cursory glance over your fake IDs.

He was almost impossibly handsome, it was stupid. Fully aware of the effect he had on women, he always used it to his advantage. You’d watch with sharp eyes as he gave teachers, social workers and truant officers those big brown eyes on full blast, lifting his cap quickly and smoothing his hair to the side in the way he did when he was nervous. Boy could get away with murder if he wanted.

You were hardly an innocent in it all. Maybe you and Frankie were more alike in that respect than you’d care to admit.

Your penchant was for the football boys, preferably rich and dumb, easy on the eye and light on the conversation. You got what you needed and then hot-footed it the fuck out of there. Something from their parent’s well-stocked liquor cabinet or a packet of smokes ‘borrowed’ on the way out. No one ever complained, let the trash take itself out.

It was a minor miracle you’d both graduated high school with no teenage pregnancies and only two or three suspensions between you. Your teachers couldn’t contain their glee that you were both off their hands, but also still in one piece. You’d bowled down those corridors with a capital T for Trouble; Frankie in his signature blue cap and more than a hint of mischief, you in your regulation black boots and permanent scowl.

The thing about your Frankie is, he’s a fucking idiot, but he’s also smart as hell. There was no fucking way he was going to stay in this no horse town forever.

There were plenty of opportunities over the years for your close friendship to cross over but you both held back, something sacred in the secrets you held together, a thread that ran through your lives that the promise of sex would have cut through and left you both dangling alone. It was all too tightly wound, and you were both too frightened to go it alone.

Until you had no choice, until he decided to up and leave you. The fucker.

“I can’t smoke weed no more Sugar, not if I’m gonna get into the army.”

You are stunned into silence, so you take a long drag of the joint you were supposed to be sharing, sitting together on a ratty blanket in the flatbed of his truck. You let the haze settle into your mind, feel your limbs soften, exhale into the night air. Your eyes are heavy already, your mouth dry. You swallow thickly. Take a sip of the cheap-ass can of beer you hated the taste of but was a necessary evil.

“You not going to say anythin’?”

“What do you want me to say Frankie? You’re abandoning me. Just like every other fucker.”

It would ideally have come out as a hiss, but your voice is too low, drowning in the weed and you can’t hide that you’ve had the air knocked right out of you. Your one constant, deserting you. Mother. Fucker.

You use the pot to blank you to nothingness, let yourself go entirely numb, so that you’re giggling like a fool by the time Frankie has to practically carry you out of the truck and up into your bedroom. The house is empty, cold. The lights won’t turn on so you’re in the dark.

Your feet are like lead; you let Frankie pull your DM’s off and you float back down onto the unmade bed, somewhere between this world and the next. You’re soft and pliant as he sits next to you with his knees firm on the bed, takes off your borrowed, too big, plaid shirt in an effort to make you more comfortable. It switches on something in your addled brain.

Maybe this is the right time. Nothing to lose now.

You undo the top button on your denim cut-offs, wiggle out of them in a way you hope is alluring, eyes closed so you don’t have to meet Frankie’s. You can feel his gaze on you. He’s completely still.

You’re just in a tight white tank and black panties now, but the room feels hot and clammy suddenly. A pulse of anticipation. You can feel it in your cunt, a beat of desire that you normally close your ears to. You open your eyes, taking in the look of confusion on Frankie’s face; you lift your hands up to him to stroke at the beginnings of a patchy beard.

“Sugar, what are you doing?”

“Come on Frankie, can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it?”

Your arms are too heavy, you let them fall back behind your head, a delicious stretch so you know your tank top will ride up, giving him a better view of your soft tummy, letting your chest rise and fall with a gentle desperation you know he can feel.

His hands almost, almost, reach to touch your face, but he leans back on his haunches instead, lets his hands fall to his feet by his side.

“You’re high as hell baby, we gotta stop. This… this ain’t right.”

You try to sit up on your elbows, but the movement brings spots to your eyes, makes you feel dizzy. You flop back down again. Instead, you reach for one of his hands, draw it up to your breast and place it on you; his eyes flick back and forth between your eyes and your tits, feeling your nipple pebble underneath his touch. He can’t help but let his fingers curl around you, the softest pinch that makes a gentle whine escape from your throat.

He licks his lips so slowly, runs his thumb over the wetness but doesn’t take his other hand from you. He’s a little stoned too, but not nearly as gone as you, his eyes still bright. Considering all the implications of what this might mean.

There’s a heat at your core you need him to feel, you’re practically burning for him and he needs to know.

“I want you to touch me Frankie.”

“I…”

Your hands are gentle but firm, you pull him down so he’s lying beside you, hand still at your breast, breath caught in his throat.

You watch lazily as he runs his fingers down your body, traces the outline of your waist and reaches your belly button, before hovering just above where your panties begin. Your breath in, so there’s a visible gap between the material and the softness there calling his name, beckoning him to let go of reason. He’s just a man after all.

You’ve never even kissed and all you can think of is what it would be like to have his tongue on your pussy, feel the heat that’s emanating from him, between your soft thighs. As if reading your thoughts, he dips his head down and places an almost chase kiss on your stomach, letting his tongue taste the salt of your skin for just the briefest of moments. Fuck. Your hands are heavy on him, rubbing against the thickness of his dark hair greedily and willing him to take you in his mouth, fuck away this pain you’re feeling with his tongue, make you forget that he ever mentioned leaving.

His hand cups your still clothed cunt and holds you tight, you swear he must be able to feel you pulsing beneath his touch.

“Fuck, I could come just lookin at you sugar, hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You don’t mean that Frankie. You’ve got with plenty hotter girls.”

He shoots you a hurt look, “You seen yourself Sugar? I gotta practically sit on my hands to stop me reaching out and touching that ass, squeezing those tits. You’re… fuck… prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His hand is grinding against you now, you keen at the praise, lift your hips to meet his fingers and let the pleasure thrum through you. He lets one finger slip underneath the cotton and you know he’s going to find you soaking wet for him. He drops his face down so it’s an inch from you, works his finger into your wetness and looks deep into your soft, stoned eyes.

“This all for me Sugar?” He brings his fingers to his lips, licks your slick right off before he dives not one, but two, thick digits back into you.

“Fuck yes Frankie. It’s always been you.”

He kisses you then. So easy, it’s almost like you’re in a dream, wrapped in a lightness that both pulls you down to earth and makes everything feel unreal. Part of you wishes you weren’t quite so high but you know, as he pulls at your tongue with his own and sighs heavily at the way you instinctively twist together, that this never would have happened sober. He tastes like your sex and something else you can’t put your finger in. You hope it’s not regret.

His fingers don’t stop moving in you, his thumb now pressing against your clit, a jangle of nerves rushing through your spine and you can feel yourself tightening around his fingers, as he ruts his hips against you for some friction. Something clears in the fog of your mind for a second and you realise you want to feel him, desperately. You remove your hands from deep within his hair and undo the top button on his jeans so you can stuff your hands down his pants. It’s all a bit teenage but then that’s what you are? 19 and on the cusp of something, the precipice of forever.

Frankie’s dick is everything you dreamed; weighty, thick, so hard in anticipation. And already weeping for you. You wipe your thumb over the top and savour the wetness of his pre-cum, letting your hand trail down his length before taking him firmly in your grasp. He groans as you pump him languidly, but you can’t really concentrate; his tongue in your mouth, fingers in your pussy and dick in your hands, is all too much for your scattered mind to handle, it’s too much for your body to comprehend. It pushes you over the edge into bliss and you convulse around his fingers, an ‘oh fuck’ dropping from your lips and you turn your face from his as you feel heat crash into your cheeks from your orgasm.

Your hand is still tight around his cock and you marvel at how hard he is. Frankie stutters beneath you, “Sugar I’m gonna come right in your hand, can I… can I fuck you?”

“Please Frankie, I want to feel you, I need to feel you.”

He whips his top and jeans off and you’re still pulsing from your orgasm as he lines himself up and slowly pushes in the tip.

“Oh shit, you’re so tight Shug. I’m not gonna last a minute.”

“I don’t care Frankie, please.” You’re practically begging him, it feels so good, the burn of him, that it’s him. Frankie. Finally.

Inch by inch he invades your senses, makes you so full of him, moving slowly, experimentally, before his lips brush yours again. He rests his forehead on yours, skin burning with desire, stilled for a heartbeat so you can enjoy the connection of your bodies melted together.

It’s just about now that you realise this isn’t a crush, that you love him. Something that can’t be undone is ripping apart inside you.

As you stare into each other’s eyes, he begins to move in earnest, fucking into you at a pace that verges on desperate, the noises coming from him are wild; he paws at your breasts, nips at your throat and you lift your hips to meet him with each thrust.

“Jesus Christ sugar, I can’t…” He grits his teeth, stops moving so he can yank you down by the hips and have access to where you need him, your pussy stretched so beautifully around him. He uses your own slick against your clit, rubbing in tight, firm, circles, just the right amount of pressure, not daring to move lest he explode. The look on his face, it’s so serious all of a sudden, it takes you by surprise, his desire to bring you pleasure, the care that pours out of him and you almost feel hopeless at how pure he is.

The warmth rises in your belly and you tip into oblivion; it feels like love.

He comes as you tighten around him, unable to stop himself, crashing down against you in a wave of pleasure, lips searching for yours again in the dark. You lie together like this, entwined, hot and sticky, in a state of bliss and grief all at once.

“Shug, I’m gonna miss you so much.”

He still leaves; nothing changes except your whole world.

Four Years Later

Your mom died. Although it was a shock, she fell down the stairs dead drunk and never woke up again, it had felt so inevitable that your brain had taken months to comprehend it was real. A gradual decline you’d been a witness to your whole life. Something you’d been dreading forever and now the worst thing had actually happened.

Frankie sent flowers and you cried in the grocery aisle thinking about him.

Your much older half-brothers came home for the funeral, but they only stayed for one, very raucous and horrendously drunk, night. With your dad nowhere to be found, they said they wanted you to have the house.

It still had a big old mortgage, so it was a burden as well as a blessing, but the three of them promised to send a little bit of money each month and you had your job at the diner and working as a receptionist at the insurance place to keep you ticking over. It was doable and at least your home was still yours. You felt inexplicably tied to it, both the house and the boy that no longer lived next door.

This damn house was how Jason happened. Things kept breaking in it, years of neglect meant it was practically rotting from the ground up, and he was always offering to help out. Inevitably you fell into old patterns from when you used to make-out at parties in high school. It was fine. He was fine. Useful to have around until somehow, he seemed to have moved himself in and things started to change between you.

Slowly, a kind of cruelty crept back into the house. Maybe it was cursed, maybe you were destined to always be haunted by unhappy people searching for meaning at the bottom of a bottle, or the tip of a needle. Jason became your problem and no matter how many times you threw him out, he wormed his way back in with false hope and the usual addict’s playbook of tricks. You hated yourself for it. Although not nearly quite as much as you hated him.

You’ve checked yourself out of the hospital and there’s nothing to drink in the house. You crash about for a few minutes trying to find Jason’s hidden stash, but he’s drunk the house dry. Again. You let out a little cry of frustration.

The locksmith is coming in a few hours and you can’t bear to go through that process again sober. You know you’re not supposed to drink on the painkillers they’ve given you, but who would you fucking be if you didn’t spice up your pain meds with a little whiskey chaser?

You know you don’t have enough cash for a whole bottle without even having to look in your purse. A perfunctory glance and now you’re certain you’re going to have to go to the bar if you’re to drink anything stronger than some piss-weak beer from the 7-Eleven.

Your right arm is in a brace and you wince when you blink, with dark purple and yellowing bruises down one side of your face. It’s so clear to everyone in the bar what’s happened to you and you jut your jaw in anticipation of anyone saying a single word. One functioning arm or not, you will take any fucker down who says anything. You feel like a cornered cat; claws sharp, no fear, only rage and a snarl for anyone in spitting distance.

Darlene behind the bar shifts her weight uncomfortably, ventures a cautious, “Shit honey. You ok?”

“Fine thanks Darlene. I just need a drink, please.”

Darlene’s generous with her measure and a few extra coins fall into your hand as she passes you your change. It takes everything in your willpower not to break down and cry right there.

You grit a ‘thank you’ through watery eyes and take an empty booth to nurse your drink in silence. You thank the lord that no one comes up to you. You’ve set your bruised face to a firm scowl and stare off into nothingness as you let the whiskey warm your blood and take the edge off the anxiety that’s still coursing through your veins.

You’re aware Jason could have killed you this time. Very nearly did. You lift your glass up to your lips with a shaky hand.

That’s why you don’t see Frankie at first, you’re practically in a trance when he spots you and does an immediate double take.

You practically jump out of your skin when he slides into the booth unannounced, pushing another double whiskey over to you.

“What the fuck happened Sugar?”

You haven’t seen him in years.

There’s a new scar across his cheek, his hair longer than it’s been since he went through that phase at 16. You hate that you know that, still know that. Almost curls poking out from under his baseball cap.

“Jesus Christ Frankie, you can’t creep up on someone like that.” You take the drink without acknowledging it, add it to your already swirling system.

“I tried to get your attention Sugar, but you obviously didn’t hear me.”

“Yeah well, probably got a busted ear drum along with everythin’ else.” You shrug your shoulders in forced nonchalance but it fucking stings and you suck in your breath in a way that feels way too dramatic.

“Shit Sugar, what the fuck? This Jason? That son of a bitch, I always hated him.”

“You always hated him?” You are so sharp he needs to watch himself or you’ll cut right through him. “When he was sweet as apple pie in high school and you used to go out on benders with him all night, you hated him then did you? You didn’t know shit Frankie. Don’t tell me I should have known better.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant at all… I just… I… he was never good enough for you? None of them were.”

“Yeah, ‘cause whole armies have walked over me, ey? Dumb slut was bound to end up with a wrong’un, the way she gets through men? Think we’re done here Frankie. I gotta get back for the locksmith, try and keep your old drinking buddy out of my fucking house before he fucking kills me, or I get done on a manslaughter charge.”

You down the drink in one go, suppress the shiver it sends down your aching spine.

“Shug, let me help? Is there anythin’ I can do?”

“Frankie, you don’t even know me anymore? You haven’t been here for four years. Don’t you dare come riding back into town on a white horse thinking you can make anything better. You forgot about me before, I suggest you do the same again.”

You’d stalk out but it hurts too much, so you just kind of limp away in the saddest fashion. Fuck him. Fuck this.

Frankie’s POV

After watching you slink clumsily out of the bar, Frankie stares at your two empty glasses for longer than is sensible. A rush of thoughts chasing him in circles; this was not how he’d thought seeing you again would go. It was a lot more like a Hallmark movie in his head, all soft smiles and whispered ‘I missed you’s’. But your reality had never looked much like a warm focus, made-for-TV, romance. It was sharp and hard, no promise of a happy ending. He knew he was stupid for creating these scenarios in his own head without consulting the one person who would actually have been able to put him right, tell him to stop being such an idiot. You would have set him straight. You did set him straight; no white horse, remember?

Fucking Jason. He did always hate that guy. Although not for the reasons you thought; it was because it made him feel sick to watch Jason touch you. Jason was always a lowlife, although it was hidden under new, well-fitting clothes and shiny, clean hair. Fucking obnoxious. He can still remember that dizzying moment he’d first seen you making out with Jason at a house party all those years ago. He’d actually thrown up, blamed it on the disgusting home-brewed moonshine that was being passed around.

He meant it when he said none of those boys were good enough for you, but Frankie really, truly, still doubts if he is good enough.

These years he’s been away, he’s done things he’s not proud of. He’s not the man he once was, not the boy that you knew so well.

Yet… maybe that’s a good thing. His boys, his new, found-family of Benny, Will and Santi, they lift him up. Help him to believe that he can be something more, could be enough. Santi practically bullied him about it, always asking about you, getting him to pull out his treasured, somewhat tattered photo of you and warning Frankie if he didn’t make a move soon, he was going to have to come visiting.

You deserve so much; Frankie wants so desperately to be the one to give it all to you. This fear of fucking it up, making everything worse rather than creating a space for the life he’s always dreamed of for you both, it’s paralysing.  

So, instead of doing the right thing, swallowing his fear and marching right over to your place, he’s done as his father always did, and hidden himself at the bottom of a bottle. He was only supposed to be nipping into the bar for a glass of Dutch courage before he went to your house to find you, but as with a lot of Frankie’s plans, that’s been thoroughly derailed.

Four drinks in, he’s practically freewheeling by the time he staggers up to the bar, again. Darlene looks less than impressed. 

“Been a long time since we’ve seen you round these parts, Frankie. What brings you home?”

“My Pop’s going into a home, gotta help him move and sort out the house. And… well…” He nods his head to the door, as if you’re still standing there, scowling at him.

Darlene’s got a tight lipped smile, mouth set in a hard line; “Always been unfinished business between you two. I was surprised when you didn’t come home for her Mom’s funeral? Those brothers of hers caused quite the ruckus.”

“I was deployed, Darlene, couldn’t go nowhere.”

She just hmmms in response, pours Frankie one of her special measures, even with him already so unsteady on his feet. People don’t always know the best ways to show love and care.

He’s knee-deep into a nonsense conversation with some of the old timers around the bar, tongue thick with booze, when Jason makes an appearance. Frankie doesn’t doubt that Mommy dearest bailed out her golden boy without a word of reproach and now he’s tipped himself straight back into the nearest bar. Fucking typical. 

Frankie knew he would be mad if he saw Jason, but the force that descends on him, the pure rage that flows through his veins, it takes even him by surprise.

He’s been in plenty of bar fights before, hell, for a while it was the weekend’s regular entertainment. This is different, this is almost like an out of body experience; he’s watching himself as he literally launches himself at Jason. From 0 to 60 in as long as it takes Jason to clock it’s him and let out an, “Oh! Fuck, Frankie! I…” 

Last time he was in a fist fight with Jason they’d both been skinny delinquents, with only youth on their side. Now Frankie’s been honed into a literal fighting machine, whilst Jason has mostly sat on his ass drinking, when he’s not been picking on women half his size. Frankie knows it’s not a fair fight, that any judge would say Frankie attacked without even the slightest provocation, but there’s not a thought in his head as he pummels Jason. He has him pinned to the floor and there’s an awful wet crack when his fist connects with Jason’s jaw.

It takes three of the old boys to haul Frankie off and even then, he tries to go back, tries to twist himself from their grasp and get to the dazed, bleeding motherfucker sprawled out on the floor.

Frankie bellows at him, “You go near her again, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand?”

Slowly he comes back into himself, can hear Darlene shouting his name, see the blue flashing lights through the bar window. He stops struggling against the older men’s grip on his shoulders, lifts his palms up in submission, lets out a harsh, deep sigh.

Might just have made things a bit worse here. He mutters a ‘shit’, when two police officers come sauntering in.

“Frankie Morales! Long-time no see, buddy! Looks like you’ve been catching up with old friends.”

Frankie offers up his hands to Officer Danny with no resistance, his heart rate slowly coming back to normal. He gives Danny a somewhat sheepish smile while the officer handcuffs him. The other cop gives Jason a little poke with his boot to check he’s still breathing; he groans but no one makes a move to help him. There’s obviously very little community concern about Jason’s welfare.

“Officer Danny. Been a while.” 

It’s hammering it down with rain when they enter the darkness of the evening, Frankie is soaked to the bone by the time he’s sat in the back of the cop car. He leans against the cool of the window, wills himself to feel more sober, for his thoughts to become more ordered and not a jumble of regret, shame and fuck, such a longing to see your face.

Doesn’t think twice about giving you as his emergency contact.

Unfortunately, you have the police department number saved in your phone. It’s practically on speed dial. It flashes up and you pick it up almost instantly, still on high alert.

“Sugar, it’s me. Look, I might just have fucked things….”

You hang up.

You can tell by the slur in his voice that Frankie is wasted, and your stomach drops to your knees as you consider what it could be that he’s done. An uneasy feeling washes around your stomach, this is the last fucking thing you need.

The phone rings again. And again. And again.

You ignore it each time; you’re not here to clean up Frankie’s fucking mess. You’re in enough of a nightmare already without having to deal with whatever the fuck it is he’s done this time. You thought his years away would have at least straightened him out; he was supposed to be a military man now, not being picked up stinking drunk from seedy hometown bars.

A different number flashes up this time. Your old school pal, now a police officer, Danny, who you’re pretty sure is stood next to the drunk tank looking directly at a hammered Frankie sat between the usual reprobates.

“Hey hun, you not going to answer your boy Frankie’s call for help?”

“Danny…. He’s not my boy. He’s not my problem, I got enough of my own…” You pause and wait for Danny to fill the silence, but he offers nothing. “Fine. What the fuck did he do?”

“I believe he was defending your honour, hun. We’re going to let him sober up and then chuck him out, I doubt Jason will be pressing charges any time soon. Thought maybe you’d like to come pick your knight in shining armour up in a few hours? Can you drive with your arm?”

“I can drive just fine…. Jesus Christ.” You can’t help it, your lips curl into a smile. A feeling that might be akin to pride creeps under your skin, tingles in your chest. You wish you’d been there to see it. “Is he ok?”

“Jason?”

“No, fuck Jason. I hope he rots. Frankie? He ok?”

“Not a scratch on him.” You hear it in Danny’s voice too. He’s suppressing a grin and you let one take up residence on your face, it stings but it’s worth it. You haven’t let happiness in for months.

“I’ll come get him in a couple hours. Don’t tell him though, let him stew in his own juices for a bit.” You add a very unconvincing, almost too soft, “Fucking idiot.”

Danny’s still laughing at you when you hang up again.

You’re sat in the police station on the hard, purposefully uncomfortable, scratched plastic chairs. You’ve been here far too often recently, the ladies on the front desk give you an overly warm smile and you find yourself glowering at your black boots. Someone you don’t actually know brings Frankie out to you, deposits him on the seat next to you with his stuff in a brown paper bag resting by his feet. He pulls up his cap quickly, flattens his hair in one smooth move. You’re making him nervous.

He starts to speak, but you don’t want to hear it, don’t want to hear anything.

All you want is his arms around you, to be pressed up against his dirty, blood flecked flannel and smell Frankie, your Frankie. The sweat, the drink, the all of him. He envelopes you, holds you as tight as he can bear, so aware of your fragile physical state. You want to live here, want to forever be pressed up against his hard chest, soft belly, firm arms locking you in. You breathe it all in. 

“Sugar, I am so sorry.”

You don’t move away from him, shake your head into his chest, trying to dismiss any thoughts that he may have about needing to be sorry.

Your voice catches in your throat as you look into those beautiful, soulful eyes, “Frankie, I don’t want to die in the house I grew up in.”

“We’re not gonna let that happen, Shug. We’re gonna get you out of here, I promise.”

Suddenly, every phone in the place seems to be ringing at once, you look around at the frenetic energy that has appeared as if from nowhere. Danny is quickly by your side, frown firmly etched into his forehead.

“Hun, we’ve got reports there’s a fire back at your place, jump in my car with me I’ll take you there.” He tuts, “Don’t just sit there Frankie, you’re coming too.”

“Jason?”

“Jason.”

You’re in Frankie’s new home, a six hour drive from your own.

Even with four boys living in this apartment, it’s cleaner than you could ever get your house; it always had a residue of something unsavoury even after you’d scrubbed and scrubbed.

Not that you’ll ever be on your hands and knees trying to scour that kitchen floor ever again. Now it’s gone. Burnt to the fucking ground. Jesus Christ. It still doesn’t feel real.

Frankie’s bed is so, so, soft. After years of never having proper sheets on the bed you just know he’s gone out and got the finest cotton he could find, and you let yourself sink into it. You’re shaking, it must be the adrenaline leaving your body. You’d slept all the way here in the car. That’s what children do apparently, when they’re scared; they find somewhere to sleep, to escape fearsome things they can have no control over. You do feel like a child again, safe with Frankie by your side once more, letting him cocoon you away from the world.

You’re not tired now; on high alert, your nerves are rattling, and you wish, wish, wish you could stop your body from shaking so violently. You close your eyes and feel a few stray tears run down your face.

You hear Frankie come back into the bedroom and crawl slowly up next to you, trying to be as light as possible so as not to disturb you. He kisses the tears away, holds you against him, solid and warm, as you let the ripples of fear continue their travels through you. He nestles into your neck, breathes you in.

“I was always coming back for you Shug. I never should have left you so long, I just always thought I needed a bit more cash, to get myself more sorted, and then I could make everything better.”

“We never needed any money Frankie, why did you think I wanted that? I just needed you.”

“No… thing is Shug, we do need money. We do. Ain’t romantic, but I don’t want what we had before, I wanna keep you safe, keep you warm, have the lights always on if you want them.”

“I always felt safe with you Frankie. Always.”

“Even when we did stupid shit, like stealin’ Mrs Ramirez’s car?” He stutters a laugh, some of the dumbest shit you’d ever done.

You suppress your own laugh, try to keep your mouth set in a firm line. It may be his role in life to make you laugh, but it’s your job to try and maintain the facade that he’s not funny, doesn’t know exactly how to tip you into giggles even when the sky is falling in.

A simple, opportunist joyride in an unlocked car had turned into a nightmare when you’d both realised Mrs Ramirez’s fucking ancient cat was in the basket in the back. You’d practically wet yourself cackling as you’d abandoned the car and Frankie had slunk back to Mrs Ramirez’s house, making up some bullshit about finding Princess Diana (no word of a lie) abandoned on the side of the road. She was so grateful she’d given you both a load of homemade cookies, that you’re pretty sure were chock-full of her medical marijuana. You damn near laughed until you’d cried that evening; stoned out of your heads and replaying the moment you’d both clocked the fucking cat yowling from her basket, again and again.

“Princess fucking Diana.”

You give into the laughter, let your fingers twist into his hair and enjoy the flash of bright white, even teeth, contrasting so beautifully against his golden skin. You’ve missed the sound of Frankie’s laughter so much, but even more? The sound of your laughter melding together, you mirror each other in the pitch and volume, always. Somehow, over the years, it’s become the same laugh.

The chimes of your laughter, they quickly become tears. You try to hide your face in your hands, to stop Frankie seeing you, you feel so pathetic. But he won’t let you hide from him. There are tears in his eyes as well.

“You’re going to stay here with me Sugar.” It’s not a question.

You try and mull it over, find some way to protest, but you can’t land on a single reason not to. The house is gone, but with that will come insurance money and no monthly mortgage payments to make. You’ve never loved your jobs, won’t miss the town gossip that will surely be circulating for months while Jason awaits trial for his part in burning everything to dust.

You could just be here, safe, with Frankie.

“I’m gonna run you a bath. You’re gonna love the tub Shug, it’s enormous. Santi’s got some bubbles I’m gonna steal.”

He washes it all away.

This new beginning is clean, soft, with Frankie right beside you.

You sit in the bath with your knees pulled into your chest, water almost scalding, just how you love it. Frankie is squeezed in behind you, his large frame somehow wrapped around you and his legs must be uncomfortable, but he doesn’t complain, uses a sponge to sop your skin so you’re soaking. In another time it might have been sexy to have your wet skin slippery against each other, but this feels different. Almost ceremonial, there’s a hushed quiet between you.

He’s so gentle, knows you’re still hurting, cleaning every scrap of your skin until it’s practically shining. He uses a jug to wash your hair; you tip your head back and gaze at him, watch the frown etched into that beautiful face, he’s concentrating so hard he doesn’t notice for a few moments, tiniest hint of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, but when your eyes do connect he gives you a wicked grin.

That’s him, that’s your Frankie.

He uses his fingertips to run the shampoo through your locks, rubbing circles into your scalp with a pressure that feels as close to bliss as you can get. He rinses your hair clean and then repeats the process with the conditioner, twisting your hair into a tight coil to remove the excess water. You’re never felt cleaner in your life.

You let yourself lie back against his broad chest, eyes closed, hand now on Frankie’s knee. Thumb running against the dark hairs and hard bone. Frankie’s chin is resting on your shoulder, a tickle of his scruff against you as he lets his hand trail down your left arm, the right is hooked over the side of the bath as you try and not get the brace wet. 

Something flickers, the energy shifts almost imperceptibly; you stretch out your legs and turn your face with the tiniest of movements so that your lips are a breath away from him.

“Shug….” Whatever he was going to say, you kiss it away.

He carries you, wrapped in the softest of towels, back to his bedroom. Peppering kisses all over your face, naked as the day he was born, golden skin still shiny wet. You’re near hysterical in your laughter when you hear Santi exclaim a ‘holy shit Frankie’ as he catches sight of him in the corridor. Frankie just gives him the biggest grin you’ve ever seen and pushes open the bedroom door with his shoulder.

He carries you over the threshold like a newlywed, “Been dreamin’ about your pussy for four years Shug, I hope you’re ready.”

You wrap your arm tighter round his broad shoulders, lean into the shell of his ear, “Take me to bed or lose me forever Frankie.”

The laughter barrels out of you both, a thousand recollections of movie nights tucked up together to keep warm, empty tummies but the glow of the TV keeping you both distracted. No cable, you’d just had to watch whatever was on. Must have seen Top Gun thirty times.

This is you and Frankie; a quilt of memories that holds you together, wrapped in long, hungry summers, holding each other in the dark as a TV flickers, or hiding in the garden while a storm rages in your kitchen. Maybe you’d like to forget some of these squares, sown into your consciousness against your will, a patchwork of the depths of despair you’ve experienced together.

Frankie was always your light in the dark, you were his comfort in the chaos. Now it’s time to make new memories.  

For Frankie, being between your thighs is like an act of worship. He lets out a hum of pleasure that you can feel at your very core as he trails kisses down your tingling flesh, rubbing that fine nose deliberately against your clit and letting his tongue explore you. He’s taking his time, enjoying each pulse of his tongue, each graze of his teeth against the softness of you, swirling your slick with his own spit, so set on his path to make you come undone for him. He flattens his tongue, moving his head quickly from side to side and you buck against him, but he’s pressing you firmly down by the hips, not letting you wiggle free as a stream of almost incoherent obscenities escape your quivering lips.

“Jesus, fuck, Frankie, feels so good, please, please, shit, please, don’t stop.”

He laughs at the merest suggestion and it sends another wave of pleasure through you, you begin to mirror his laughter, but it disappears into the air as a gasp when he pushes two fingers into you, focusing his licks and nips on your clit as he works to find the softest spot in you, curling and pulsing so that you’re a mess of want and ecstasy underneath him.

You prop yourself up on your good elbow so you can watch him under hooded eyes, his eyes are glistening with delight, blown black with desire, pulsing his tongue in time with the rhythm of his fingers. You groan with pleasure, a warmth spiralling up your spine and the fucker actually winks at you as you fall apart.

Bliss on bliss, you clutch at his hair, pulling at it and letting your head roll back as your orgasm washes over you and you throb around his fingers. 

He kisses you deeply, your release wet around his scruff and you can’t get enough, feel desperate for more kisses, more sex, more Frankie. You reach for his hard cock and hook your leg over his thick thigh, dragging him into your heat. Fuck it feels good, it feels right. The stretch is divine, he has to stop kissing you to let out a groan of pleasure, snapping back his hips and diving deep into you again and again.  

You’re both panting by the time he pulls you up onto your knees, holding you tight against his chest across your breasts, fucking up into you from behind as he rubs his fingers against your soaking seam and you card your hand through his hair. He showers you with kisses at your throat, whispers into your ear.

“I fucking love you Sugar.”

“I’ve always loved you Frankie.”

He spills into you as you come around him, a heat that makes you both collapse onto the bed together. Soft, burning, blissful.

You’re sat curled up on Frankie’s lap, watching the three boys attempt to make you a slap-up breakfast around you. It’s absolute chaos. Santi is insistent that he makes the best pancakes ever, throwing you overly flirty glances as he cracks the eggs and promises the most delicious breakfast you’ve ever eaten with a smirk. You’re already half-full from the bacon Benny insisted you try and the protein smoothie Will forced you to drink. They’re shouting at each other, but it feels like music; there’s joy here and you? You already feel a part of it.

Frankie holds you close, arms wrapped around your tummy, skin hot against yours. You let your head lean on his shoulder, taking it all in.

You have never felt more safe; you are protected, warm, belly full and the lights are blazing.

Tagged in some Frankie fans, but let me know if you'd like to be taken off: @yorksgirl @ptime1999 @1-bb @theanothersherlockian @pedrosballsack @fandx14 @rav3n-pascal22 @ozarkthedog @clownd1ck @ghotifishreads @theywhowriteandknowthings @magpiepills @survivingandenduring @mothandpidgeon @bitchwitch1981 @bitchesuntitled @freelancearsonist @misstokyo7love @chronically-ghosted @readingiskeepingmegoing @sp00kymulderr @survivingandenduring

Oh that ending 🥲

in the locker room

frankie morales x f!reader | frankie masterlist

summary: when you join him for benny's fight, frankie appears stressed. you have an idea to de-stress him.

warnings: TF canon compliant. explicit smut/oral m! receiving. my spellings (written on phone) wordcount: 1.6k

an: dedicated to @rhoorl who I wound up yesterday with this. babe, ily and our thot chats.

Waiting feels like a whispered question in a room of time.

Phone in your palm, glancing as you watch the text change from received to read—smiling, locking it as your grin is caught in the reflection of the screen, illuminated, proof that once again he does this to you. Has this effect on you—makes you a little reckless.

Your nose catches another whiff of the slightly off citrus disinfectant. The ones doing its best to smother over the stench of old sweat and socks. It lingers, attempts to embed itself in your clothes, lets you walk away with the reminder you were here.

A part of you hopes to walk away with something a little more than a reminder. A memory, maybe. Tapping the back of your phone against your palm, nervousness begins to ebb over the adrenaline from sending the message.

Waiting. Waiting.

Waiting—

BANG. 

Leaning against the locker, metal sinking into your bones past clothing and skin, you pocket your phone. Listening to it, the door shutting behind him, his gait in those boots—heels clicking as he rounds the lockers and spots you.

Frankie drinks you in. Does so like a man starved, parched—as though he wasn’t seated beside you moments ago before you excused yourself. Before you made a beeline for a different door that wasn’t the ladies' bathroom.

He's looked at you like he's wanted to devour you since the night you met, and all the nights that have been since. Even if he has, plenty and plenty of times. The look doesn't waver, it doesn't lessen.

Now, it's just embroiled in love, affection, care.

“You alright?”

Nodding, he comes closer—more lines deepening around his brows, eyes; shoulders almost hanging like earrings they’re so high up.

“Querida, what are…”

As soon as you can, you pull him close by his jacket. Brown, worn—cuffs rolled up and suede greet the pads of your fingers as he moves close to you with ease.

Still, Frankie frowns.

Still, he’s weighed down by something, irked by it. Brain totting things off that he won’t share or spill—just offers hollow smiles and barely-there glances.

“You look stressed, baby.”

His jaw ticks, just when your palm cups his cheek—thumb brushing over the patch. The little heart you trace when you can, that your thumb finds when you’re kissing him, when he’s so canting his hips and making you sing.

But, you suspect he’s still not caught on. Not grasped why you’ve sent him a mayday message to meet you in an old, smelling locker room. 

“Baby,” you whisper, more sweetly—a slice of sultry to it. Like a cocktail you hope he’ll drown himself in.

Chewing his tongue as he averts his eyes, storing secrets and hiding terrible truths from you. Things you’ll pull from him in time, retrieve. Probably wish you hadn’t, too.

But it’s not why he’s here—not why you want him here.

You don’t want to talk, to find out.

“Wanna make you not stressed.” 

Swallowing, you see it shift and feel him freeze. His eyes slide back over you, almost snapping to you as his hands rest on your hips.

“Here?”

Smirking, you tilt your head. Offering nothing, saying nothing.

It’s then you feel Frankie’s hands. Those large, capable and fucking perfect hands sliding around your waist, pushing you flush with the locker and his frame. Little to no space between you. Soft stomach against yours, your thumbs fingering at the suede of his jacket as you stare into his eyes. 

“Want you in my mouth, Morales.” 

“Jesus, fuck.” 

Hands sliding down over the curve of his stomach, eyes not wavering, never leaving, your palm runs over the growing bulge in his jeans as you tell him. As you describe to him how bad you want him, how it’s all you thought about—that having him in your mouth would make your night, your day.

“—so, can I, Morales? Can I suck you off on here?”

“Yeah, baby. Fuck. ‘Course you can.”

The thank you comes out on its own, escapes in a whisper as his head tilts around yours to glance at the door—the sound of cheers echoing down the corridor, leading here, cutting through silence and held breaths. 

It’s with ease his belt undoes, clanging and clattering; his jeans open next, zip grating against teeth as you slide it down, pulling the fabric down next—just enough to free his straining cock.

“We gotta be quiet, baby.” 

And he snorts, offering a roll of his eyes. Hand taking yours as he helps you descend to your knees—the floor hard, cold as it crawls in past your jeans. But, head level with him, your mouth waters at the sight of him. All of a sudden desperate to feel the weight of him on your tongue, to feel him kiss the back of your throat and coat the back of your teeth in his pleasure.

It’s teasing the way you wrap your fingers around him, lightly pumping, making him groan somewhere deep inside of his chest—a grumble in Spanish, one that makes the corners of your mouth lift as you clear your throat.

“You’ve got such a nice cock, Morales,” you whisper, leaning forward, pressing a kiss to the tip—salty tang lingers on your lips when you kneel back. Watching as his hips buck, cock twitching in your hand. 

“You want to come in my mouth?”

It’s a murmur, an array of letters merged together to say please as you slide the tip of his cock inside your mouth, your smirking lips closing around it. Hearing it, the hiss from his teeth; but, you pull from him. 

Hearing it—the tortured sound that feels like a reward. But the prize is the way he looks a mess already. His lips were already parted, nostrils already slightly flared. That line between his brows gone, something you’re more pleased about than the sounds.

It’s why you lick a stripe up the base, smile at the pained fuck he lets escape. Taking him back into your mouth, fully, no games. Feeling his hand on the back of your head, before his grip tightens as you take more of him, feel him deeper—tears pricking at your eyes as spit begins to soak your chin at your enthusiasm.

Flicking your gaze up, you find his hidden under the shadow of his hat, the angle different—but you know his forehead is smooth. The furrows of whatever had caused them to melt away on your tongue as you taste what you crave. All salty tang and stress, it seeps into your throat as your head bobs and cheeks hollow.

Because it’s a reward to do this for him. To do this to him.

To have him like this, relaxed and yet tense. 

“Fuck, y’so good for me.”

The crowd masks over the sinful sounds of your mouth working him. You only lift off to catch your breath, letting the tip trace your swollen lips as you stare up at him, finding him transfixed, unable to see anything but you.

Fingers swipe over your chin, cleaning the spit from it, showing it you glistening on his fingers. “Don’t make a mess.”

The command—you’re sure has ruined your underwear. The same fabric that would provide so much relief if you could angle yourself to gain some friction.

Moaning, you clutch the base of him, mouth close to taking him as you breathe, “I love your cock, Frankie.”

Angling his head in a ‘yeah?’, his words are stolen as you slide him down your throat. Knees shuffling closer, you nudge them against the tips of his cowboy boots, hands around the back of his jeans for leverage. You feel it, the familiar fabric you’ve got in your palm—the one you’ve had chafing on your thighs when you’ve been bare and wanting; the one which you’ve picked up and washed with your clothes.

And it’s that familiarity that makes you moan, makes you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, as you hear him curse in a deeper, more gravel-filled voice.

You love him, love this—love this thing between the two of you that you’ve never had with anyone else. It's like an inferno, consuming, not yielding even as time ticks on between you. There's only trust, understanding—a hard honesty, but the two of you work to keep there every single time.

Then, there's the fact that you know from the sounds he’s making he’s getting close. It makes your skin warm, pussy flutter; it makes you tempted to slot his boot between your thighs and ride him. Especially as you notice the sweat shining on his forehead, it twinkling under the shitty fluorescent lights when he rests his head against the metal behind him.

Fuck, it spurs you on. 

That and the taste of him reaching his pinnacle—how it’s stronger, tangier; his moans louder and less reserved. 

“Fuckfuckyesqueridafuck—“

The expletives flow freely, not held back or restrained. They practically echo, becoming a song that only your ears get to hear as his hand tightens and you watch his other fist clenched at his side.

Then you feel him at the back of your throat—him filling your mouth. Breaths ragged, pulled from him as you slowly continued to bob, not wanting to waste a drop, to not have everything you could.

You don’t consider moving until he loosens his hold on the back of your head, until his eyes unclench, and you’re washed in soft brown. 

He slips himself free from your lips as you swallow, his palm cupping your chin and jaw as he tilts you to look at him. 

“You alright?”

Nodding, you trace your thumb over your lip. “You feel better?”

He hums, for a moment looking all at peace as his hand aids you to your feet. You believe him, believe it—the hum. Looking away, for less than a second, allowing him to stuff his softened cock into the confines of his clothes as he redresses.

Then you see it.

The shadow in his eyes, the thing that had been there when you’d made it just for the last round of Benny’s fight. When you’d kissed his cheek and he’d gripped your hand and said he’d missed you—even if he'd seen you this morning.

Breath shaky, you fold your arms loosely. “You need to talk to me when we get home, don’t you?”

Not saying anything, not needing to, he pulls you close, unravels your arms and kisses your forehead. 

“I love you, querida.”

“Lo sé, Morales.”

Because you do.

Love this!!!

a debt to pay

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: you surprise frankie by coming home earlier than planned, answering the door a-la-fake-porn like, making him drag you to your bedroom.

warnings: smut. established relationship. praise kink. minor (and I mean brief) hand necklace. dirty talk. okay, frankie likes to talk kink. cowgirl riding for iwd. and the pizza goes cold (felt it needed a warning) wordcount: 4.8k an: to the wonderful, amazing @morallyinept - happy international women's day! i hope frankie treating you right is what you had on your bucket list for the day. but if not, just know you inspire me, and i'm grateful for your friendship every day. and ily.

Nothing should surprise him.

He’s seen a lot. A thing some could argue is far too much. In some ways, they’re right.

Frankie isn’t sure people who weren’t doctors should know the exact hue of red that blood is—shouldn’t know the pain from a bullet grazing his shoulder, catching flesh and ruining cloth.

Still, he found himself continually surprised—especially the night he met you.

Falling into him, into his life. Disrupting his days from bleeding into the next, knocking things off their axis. Change should be scary, but it was all welcomed, just not in a way he’d ever thought he’d earned.

Somehow, amidst the chaos you brought with you, you also handed him harmony. You made the corners of his world slot together. Slowly, he even found himself anchoring down to brick and mortar, and calling it ‘home’ for the first time since he’d originally left his for battles and fighting.

In time, even as months became a year, your things found their way to be with his, Frankie had assumed he’d seen everything. Happy to accept it, the routine, the complacency. He looked forward to lazy Sunday mornings with his fingers inside yours, toes curling; Thursday nights in a bar, watching a line appear on your brow as you scoured your brain for an answer to the trivia question.

He liked it, adored it.

And then you opened the front door for him.

Flooding him in golden light that makes him squint, before he finds himself reminded, quickly, he hasn’t seen it all. Not even by a margin.

Because you're not supposed to be here, due back tomorrow.

Your voice on the phone earlier muted, low, "I miss you, Morales," as he stares at your untouched, clean mug on the kitchen counter.

Yet, here you stand. All veiled in barely anything except bits of lace and sheer, a sight his eyes aren't able to tear away from even if he tries. Not even the dryness in his throat or the warmth emanating from the pizza box he's holding (attempting to sear his skin to his palm) is bothering him.

"Bab—"

His words are cut short, ended.

"Oh," you gasp. “Let me take that; and how much do I owe you?”

On registering your words, his eyes narrow, staring.

Doing so from one eye to the next. It taking a while, brain firing, ticking over, taking precious seconds as he remains out in the cold and you stand in the warmth in barely fucking anything, before it dawns on him. Crawls up over him as realises what it is you’re pretending to do, what you're reenacting.

Lips lifting, curling into one of his cheeks he steps in through the doorway. Almost over the threshold, easily able to take another step and close the door behind him.

But he waits.

Fingers twitch at his side, Frankie swallows, eyes dropping, tracing up the bare backs of your thighs as you bend over. Because fuck, you're something beautiful. A thing he always thinks, but finds himself reminded in waves as they crash into him.

Raising his hand, he itches across his chin, scratching along the wiry hair there as his gaze drops to the thin fabric protecting the last bit of your modesty as you and the bits of lace spread across your ass—

“I only have card—unless, I can pay you in another way?”

This shouldn’t be real.

You, like this. Him, standing like this. Not even as he steps inside, eyes trained on you—forgetting what words even mean—as you bend over.

A low exhale escapes, lips remaining parted as he fights to place his palm on the back of your thigh—stops himself from hooking a finger in the band of your underwear and dragging it down your thighs, bending you over the sofa, and burying his—

“I would really like to pay you in some way.”

Your words are almost lost due to the way his pulse has quickened in his ears, thundering, pounding. Feeling nothing but discomfort as his cock hardens against the zip of his pants as you bite down on your lip.

Brain quiet, no thoughts, all rendered silent by your appearance. Only able to shift enough to discard his cap, his jacket—folding it over the back of the sofa, eyes drawing out over you as he takes a step closer. Fingers finding his wrist, pinching, making sure this isn't some dream he hasn't woken up from.

But he can smell the present. The glorious cheese and several toppings, even if devouring the pizza are long forgotten. Because his eyes are raking over you, because how could he not—especially now as you straighten up, softly wiggling your hips.

"Is that so?” his voice rough, words catching. Letters clagging at the back of his teeth as though they attempted to glue to his mouth.

He's aware the three words are stained with want—a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you turn to face him, knowing it too.

But then, you always do know. Having long figured him out.

Like always, your eyes meet his in a way he can never explain, no words to articulate, to explain—just shared understanding dancing between the two of you.

“It’s only right,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fingers reaching out to trace his wire-stubbled jawline. “It’s bad of me to order food and not have the money to pay.”

He catches your wrist, gently but firmly. Pulling you close, steadying you with the other at your waist. Hearing it, the gasp, the briefest of indications you'd been caught by surprise, as he brushes his fingers against the fabric, all unable to stop themself. Half-needing to know what it feels like, as his thumb smooths out, taking his time—forcing the tension to buzz in the air as he leans closer. The distance you small, minimal—almost non-existent—as his breath hitches in his throat.

“You know what you’re getting into?” his voice a low growl, strained.

His gaze locked on you, watching you bite on your lower lip. “I really don’t like being in debt.”

It’s low, the way he replies. Short, two words: okay baby, before he’s leading, guiding, pecking kisses on your lips that likely leave you disorientated. It thrumming in his veins, the fact he gets to undo you, peel off the thin fabric you’ve likely had stuffed at the back of the closet—or even purchased with him in mind on your trip, thighs pressed together, wondering, finger and thumb stroking it as you imagine if he'd rip it off or slowly slide it from you.

He's not sure himself.

A part of him wishes to snap it from your frame in front of open blinds and undrawn curtains. To place his palm on your ass and taste your gasp on his tongue.

But another, the part which has missed you, wishes to wait. Make you wait. Wants to drag it out as long as humanly possible, have you soaked, wet, needy and desperate.

Because Frankie wonders if you've imagined this. Or, if you plotted it or it came to you randomly.

He gets an answer to it when the two of you are behind another door—one more private, intimate.

And it feels different in the bedroom than it did out in the living room.

The lighting being one of the reasons.

In here, you had opted for a darker shade when you’d both redecorated. Told him you preferred it, and had given him a shrug and a smile as you did. It had been a while later when he’d learned it was for him. For his eyes, for the sleep he struggled to grasp. It’ll help, I think? Saying it to him as though it wasn’t the kindest fucking thing someone had done for him.

But then, you are a waking dream.

A thing which has shaped itself and made itself real right before his eyes. Sculpted yourself from wishes and wants, shaping until you’re nothing but tangible and real.

He’s not afraid to tell you that either. Spends hours whispering it into your skin, pressing it close to your ear, repeating it over and over what perfection you are as you look at him with lust-blown eyes and lips parted around his name.

Frankie doubts it’s enough.

Least of all now, when you’re painted in soft white light, all gentle in how it rolls over you, as it becomes clear you’ve been home for a while.

You've drawn the blackout curtains—keeping out the evening—and you'd flicked the little bedside lamp on, doing its best to illuminate the room.

Swallowing, he traces his teeth over his tongue, wondering if you watched him reverse off the drive as you waited to make your move. Wondering if you're snuck in, trying not to disturb—dress yourself up, even if you never need to.

Because you’re a vision always.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even angry because he's left his tools out or with disappointment etched into your eyes because he’s forgotten something, you’re radiant, a goddess on earth.

A thing he finds himself reminded of as he steps closer to you. Fingers fiddling at his side as begins to close the small gap.

If not for the way he’s looking at you, he might have missed the shiver running through you from anticipation—and he knows it because of his action, due to the hungry look he's sure he's sporting as he raises his hands to remove his outer shirt. Balling it up, throwing it, a thing already unremembered before it even leaves his fingers.

"Frankie..."

"I know, just keep your eyes on me."

And you do, ever obedient. A thing no one would believe him off outside of these four walls. Not when you hold yourself strong and are quick to bite back, all wit and quick-thinking in addition to your brains and beauty.

He hooks a finger under the edge of his t-shirt, dragging it up over his head as he hears it—that little hiss, that slight gasp you do as though you’ve not seen him topless a thousand times.

It feels good. Makes heat rise up his neck and flood his ears. For a moment, he forgets he’s not all that. Because he’s soft, a little thicker around the middle, it feels like a lifetime ago he was trained in combat. But the way you look at him makes him feel like that is the furthest thing from the truth.

Fuck, you make him hard. Make him want. Have done since the moment you’d given him half a chance.

It’s why he's quick to pull you close, desperate to slant his mouth over yours. All fiery, hungry. Aiming to claim and write out all the ways he’s thought of you in the days since you’d been away. How the hours of you being gone and the amount he’s missed you have all balled up into a thing that is now fuelling him—sketching his wishes and desires across your lips, against your tongue, burying them past your teeth so they sit in your throat.

He grasps. Likely leaves marks of it on the perfect skin that covers your waist—because his palm is calloused and worn. Reminders of holding things not half as soft as you. A flicker of guilt almost bubbles in his, as he moves to rest it on your cheek, cradling your jaw and ear in one hand, as he slides the other up your back.

You whimper against his teeth before fingers find the clasp—finger and thumb, pinging it open before he feels fabric scrape against him—then you moan.

His chest being greeted with nothing but warm, smooth bare skin—nipples pebbling in the cooler air before being pressed against him, before he cups the swell of one, thumb stroking, playing a pattern.

“Do this for all the deliveries you get?”

You snort, it blowing out in a breath. “Only the ones with packages I like.”

In the time you’ve been together, you’ve said worse, but this time makes cock harden more than it already is. It's almost uncomfortable, in how it presses against his zipper, wishing to be released, as his index and thumb stroke over your skin. Taking it on how warm you are, how impossibly soft—distantly feeling the tremors from your heart hammering into your ribs.

"Too good for me, you are." You hum, as he seals his mouth back over yours. “But, I don’t take card.”

Purposefully, he drops his hand, fingers dipping, tracing across the lace that covers your slit—finding damp fabric as his ears take in the note of a quiet escape leaving your lips. It trying to bury itself between your two mouths open, breathing it in.

“Guess you’ll have to swipe something else.”

He snorts, and buries it into your neck, teeth grazing your skin—nose catching the scent of your perfume. And the scent almost makes him dizzy from how his blood rushes south. How the moment he’d dropped you off for your flight, it had lingered in the cabin of his truck. Remaining there for the first few days you were gone, before slowly fading. Leaving.

Just there on the coat you'd hung near the door and the pillows he slept beside.

The ones he rested his head against when he’d heard your voice down the phone, tell me to touch myself, Frankie, I need you. His own hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it as you moaned his name, all those miles away, dripping instructions into your ear.

“You're such a dirty girl.”

You grin in response, fingers tugging at his curls—urging his mouth back to yours.

But, he instead traces his tongue over your pulse, circling it, all defiant in bowing to you as his teeth trace over his path. Instead, his finger dips, traces the crease of your thigh with his gaze never leaving yours.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

His hand slides between your thighs, cupping you—feeling the discernible wetness soaked through.

“Can feel it.”

You scoff, but he kisses it away.

Doing so in a similar way to how he makes you forget, how he pulls you from your mind and brings you to the present. It’s also swallowed by another gasp, one made because of his fingers finding the edge of the lace, hooking a finger underneath, sliding the pad of his thumb against your swollen nerves and slick entrance.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the whine you emit. “Feelin’ needy, querida?”

And he can’t take his eyes off you.

Practically locked in, watching as your lips part, and your hips try to shift for more friction. He’s too fearful he’ll miss it, all of it—a slight curve of a brow or a shimmer on your eyes. All things he thinks over when he dreams, when he wishes for replays of moments until the next day when he makes another that easily replaces a good one.

He likes how you say his name when he slips another finger inside you—how it falls all soft, breathless. So much intention in such a low sound. Even as you squirm, mouth pausing over his; little mewls and moans falling as he drags them in and out, all languorous, teasing.

“Want you.”

His thumb brushes over your swollen clit, a hiss escaping. “I know.”

You gasp his name, stifle a moan, teeth biting down on the underside of your lower lip as your lashes flutter. It’s your nails digging into his scalp that keeps him rooted, that keeps him focused—precise touches and strokes that have you rocking against him and keep him tuned in to you.

“Missed how you sound, baby. You're doing so well.”

You’re close. His words make your perfect pussy clench around him. A chorus of moans escaping as he curls them inside of you, finds that spot, the one which makes you babble and turns your muscles into liquid.

He likes that he can do this.

That he can read you and undo you. That it’s a thing he’s mastered when he’d thought he was far from learning. But then, he’d taken great pride in spending hours studying—in alternating between being on his back and on his knees.

And because of that, he knows when he halt you over the edge. Let you linger, not tipping.

Normally, he’d never tease, never make you want—but, today is a different kind of day as he stops. As he retracts his fingers and allows the fabric to lightly snap back into place.

It’s a different whine that cuts into the room then. It pours out from your lips as your eyes dig daggers into him—but, he knows you.

Knows it’s momentary and nothing he can’t fix. Able to hold his ground against it, digging heels into the floor—all refusing to be swayed by the storm rising inside of you, creeping across the formerly tranquil sea. Instead, his hands move to his belt—undoing it, metal clanging and zip sliding down as your eyes break from glaring to stare hungrily at the outline of his cock.

Watching as you walk backwards, the back of your knees hitting the bed before you’re perching—eyes holding his, tip of your tongue sweeping, tracing, as you move further up the bed. The one you’d picked—chosen.

He’s in a trance.

Under a spell when you hook a thumb on either side of your underwear.

It’s not smooth, it doesn’t glide or remove with ease—there’s even a slight kick out of your legs before it flings from your ankle. But, it makes him tighten the hold on his cock. Because it may not be a thing people ever see on TV or in movies, but then they never feel like this.

They don’t feel real, no rawness, no tangling of his trousers he has to step out of as he strokes himself, eyes flicking down to where you’re bare—where you’re glistening—

“Wanna ride you, Frank.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath, hands gripping the base of his cock.

It’s slow, the way he grazes his teeth over his lower lip. “S’that how you wanna pay me, yeah?”

“All I’ve thought about,” you reply, a soft smile greeting him. “Lemme ride you—wanna look at you, wanna watch you come, baby.”

Fuck. He doesn’t fight it.

Instead, letting you guide him, allowing you to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw when he kneels on the bed and groans—because it’s been a long day, querida; he’s not as young as he once was.

“Still know how to be good, though. Don’t you?” you smirk, open mouth leaving a trail down his neck, eyes flicking up when you leave one in the space above his heart.

Hands behind his head, admiring, doing nothing but watching you place your thighs on either side of his as your fingers wrap around his wrists. You pin him, pressing down—aching cock ignored, left to leak against his hip as your lips press to his, over and over, and over until he’s chasing for the feel of them when you pull back.

You only offer a gentle, "I missed you," against the air before you're lining him up, bearing down, sinking, taking him in as he paints a groan against your collarbone.

There’s a beat, maybe two.

Stillness, enveloped entirely by your walls as his mouth wraps itself around your breast, leaving it wet, coated in spit as he groans when you begin to move. Setting a rhythm, slow.

“Not rushing this, Frankie.”

He never wishes you to.

His hands gripping your hips, guiding you. Head falling back onto the sheets as his breath hitches, the sight of you atop him, breasts bouncing—owning him—is a sight he could never grow tired of. One he also never feels worthy of—but he won’t squander, won’t ruin.

Because you’re perfect, head to toe—pussy made for him as it strokes up and down and breaths leave your mouth in short pants.

“Y’so good to me, Frankie. So handsome.”

And he wants to tell you that it's you who is so good—who is nothing but colour in an otherwise grey world. That you’re sunshine and stars, moon and so much more goodness than he can list buried inside of you.

“Go on, querida,” he grunts through clenched teeth, hands squeezing your hips a little tighter as you move a little faster.

As you take a little more. It makes your eyes flutter, parts your lips—watching in nothing short of awe as you use him, as you lose yourself in the moment.

"That's it, just let go. Make yourself feel good.”

It’s something majestic when he sees you nearing release—when he feels you clench and flutter.

“Feels good, y’feel good inside me baby.”

“You need more?”

And you nod.

The green light—the sign—and he doesn’t wait a moment.

Just canting his hips up, making a rush of pleasure spread up his spine. He’s lightheaded, hot—practically dizzy with how good you feel enveloped around him.

The noises filling the air, your slick walls taking him and the sound of skin slapping against skin. It’s drowned by the noises he pulls from you, making a mess of you as your lust-blown eyes land on him.

It almost steals his breath. Thieves it.

Because you’re so pretty, wild—a fucking dream on top of him. All soft and shimmering with perspiration from how good you ride him as he’s bathed in whines, moans and cries of his name.

“You're perfect,” he says, hand clamping on your hip as he shifts, and angles himself before thrusting up into you—watching your eyes squeeze shut. “From your smile to your tight pussy. You know that?”

Studying you as you try to keep the same rhythm. But, you’re nearing your climax—nails digging into his shoulder and neck, half-moons etched there, and he hopes they take hours to disappear.

“Thought about you all week—”

You moan, eyes meeting his. “Thought about you too—missed you. Missed how good you make me feel.”

“Fucked my fist to the thought of you like this. Never thought—fuck—I’d come home to this, baby. Y’fuckin’ perfect.”

Your chin lifts, neck elongating as he spreads his palm across your side, fingers pressing, grasping.

“Love hearing how much you missed me,” he smirks, watching you—thinking nothing but revolving thoughts as to how pretty you look, what a picture you are on top of him—

Then he hears a slam. Heavy boots. A voice he'd rather not hear at all:

“Fish? You home?”

He stops, realisation slamming into him.

A hand drops to the bedsheets, grasping them so hard his knuckles pale, and throb—the bones in his hand aching as he fights shouting and blowing his load right there and then.

The plans he’d made—the ones he’d put into place because you weren’t supposed to be home—all coming back to bite him. How he hadn’t wanted to spend another night alone, another evening in front of the television until you could call and tell him about your day—when he should have. He really fucking should have.

And you’re frozen, hips halted in place—his other hand remaining on your waist, fingers digging in as you both tense, keeping movements paused.

He considers it, the two choices he has and decides.

Leaning more against you—half-grinning, whispering shh as you look at him full of alarm—suddenly aware of the impending actuality that you could be caught like this.

And, then you clench around him. He feels it. Head tilting and eyes narrowing as he takes you in.

"Dirty girl," he mouths, and you look bashful, shy—a look he rarely sees when you’re split open on his cock and the base of him is covered in your slick.

“Fish, where the fuck are you?”

“Getting changed Ben, be a min.”

Your pussy flutters around him at your shout, as he moves to not shout the words towards your ear—feeling you clamp down, muffling a whimper. Another falls as he lifts up further onto his palm, dragging his nose down the valley between your breasts.

He knows you’re close—teetering, a few more thrusts and you’d have unravelled.

Dropping his voice, low—barely above a whisper, “Shh, baby. Or, I won’t let you finish.”

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Can‘t, Frankie—I can’t.”

He nods, finger and thumb holding your chin because he knows you can. Seen you do so much, and been witness to what you’re capable of—before his hand guides your hips to begin moving, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hips.

“Touch yourself for me, querida. Be good for me.”

And you whimper, something akin to his name.

But he’s guiding his mouth away, shouting, “Beers in the fridge, Ben.”

His mouth presses to your chest, hearing the shout from his friend back, but it’s the sound of your fingers on your slick and swollen clit that he tunes into. That he wants to flood his ears. Watching you shiver, shake, tremble from it as you tighten around him, choking his cock as he begins to thrust in and out.

He could keep you here. Should do too.

One week has already been too long. A need to make up for it—to have you pay for all the times you ask him those questions you wait until the lights are usually out for and he’s about to tip over to sleep; have you press yourself against him, nudging your ass into him as you cuddle, but really you want his mouth between your thighs. He should edge you, hang you over the edge of pleasure and watch your eyes dig into him until your lips whisper the word beginning with P.

But he won’t.

Couldn’t.

He likes knowing he pleases you too much.

Your moan bringing him back to it. Seeing how your eyes are clenched shut, trying to keep it behind your teeth. Failing, expletives dropping in breaths before he raises his hand, pressing it to your mouth, muffling it, the moans you have to release before you shake your head and fold into him.

Suddenly, he wants to move the dresser and lock the two of you in here. Wants to let them watch whatever fucking sports they want out there, and him just watch you in here.

You’re his favourite sight, after all. Especially like this. Free, not overthinking or worrying, just present, feeling as good as you should—as good as he always wants you to feel.

And you deserve this.

Hearing the low please fall before he plants his feet down, angling his cock up into you as you let out a muffled gasp. His palm flat to your shoulder, steadying you, as he feels your fingers slide it to your collarbone, resting it, fingers an inch away from the base of your neck.

You flick your eyes open—smothering him in permission, in radiant sunshine and lust, before the softest fucking smirk graces your lips—as his own mouth chokes out your name.

“Not tonight.”

It’s less words, and more a noise.

Because he’s close too—it having risen close to the top. Toes clenched around the sheets, digging in.

But he wants to feel you come first. And it’s there—that familiar sign. Lashes fluttering, gorgeous mouth going tight, slack as you tighten around him, locking up, clamping down as your hips move sloppily and out of rhythm.

You’re so fucking close.

“Shh, be good for me.”

Fingers, trembling and weak, slide around the base of his neck, tugging on his curls that are likely slick with sweat.

“N‘gonna last—let go for me baby.”

“Please.”

“Come for me.”

Spearing up into you with more vigour as you rasp, groan, and hiss—spit coating his fingers as he slides them out, dropping his hand from you as his knuckles press to the mattress as he fucks up into you.

Your body bucks, a cry you bury into his neck—a drag of nails against his scalp—as you come undone around him. Convulsing. Muffled cries vibrating against his pulse.

Frankie is barely able to contain the low growl as his hips stutter—heat raging through him, joined by rabid electricity. It sparking, ripping through, making him both ache and feel alive.

The sight of you and the feel of you drives him to the edge—and then over. A grip on your hip all tight as he thrusts into you one final time, unable to contain the growl. His chest heaves as he spills inside of you, and you tremble against him—panting, all messy and boneless as he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his back.

"You're incredible," he breathes into your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

You let out a small laugh, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips. "So are you."

He smiles against your skin, his heart swelling with affection. He may have assumed he'd seen everything, but you—you continue to surprise him, to captivate him in ways he never thought possible. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Pulling his mouth from yours, feeling you ease him out of you, his hand lightly slaps you on the back of your bare ass.

"I missed you, querida," he murmurs, heart still racing in his chest.

Meeting his gaze, your lips purse. "I know," you whisper, leaning in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "I'm here now."

“Shame you’ll have to sneak out the back and come in through the front door. Otherwise, you’ll be in here all night—”

His words trail off, a sly grin tugging at his lips as it dawns, rises up over your face and makes your mouth fall open. “Francisco….”

“Shoulda' told me you were coming home. It's boys night.”

Narrowing your eyes, you tick your jaw—spine straightening. “Well, I could stay in here—like this…”

Smirking, he kisses your nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.”

Your mouth opens, a smirk gracing his lips in response as he raises a finger to his mouth, moving and pressing a kiss to your knee. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Oh this is so sweet!!! 😍😍

what comes after (frankie morales x f!reader)

summary: frankie comes into your life when you’re least expecting it, and you end up falling harder than you thought possible for him. will past heartbreak hold you back from true happiness?

warnings: age gap (28/38), asshole ex-boyf behaviour, infidelity (not by reader or frankie), kinda anxious!reader w commitment issues, soft!frankie, kissing, alcohol, cigarettes, smutty thoughts & happenings, mention of protected piv, cursing, benny being annoying, food, tiny mention of blood & vomit, reader has a tattoo and wears skirts & dresses, 18+ mdni.

notes: if you felt frankie morales’ shirts, they’d be made of boyfriend material. the super sweet, amazing, hot kind. i said what i said.

thank you to my bestie & beta @macfrog 💛 i love you, babe. this fic wouldn’t be here without you. tysm for holding my hand throughout; everything i have is yours, now & forever.

You first meet Frankie Morales in a club.

You’re with Kimmy: your best friend since hazy summer days consisting of scraped knees and jelly shoes. You’re also exhibiting typical break-up symptoms: not sleeping all that well, feeling distanced from yourself and the life you knew before your ex-boyfriend.

It’s Kimmy’s idea - go out, get drunk, fuck around and forget.

You were hardly one to argue, especially when she put it like that.

You’re dressed in a meagre scrap of satin; backless and skimming the tops of your thighs, Steve Maddens from eBay on your feet. You like how it all looks on you, sad that your favourite things have languished at the back of your closet for far too long.

You both forgo jackets, hoping to spend the extra cash from the cloakroom on vodka. You giggle together, arm in arm, floating past security in a cloud of perfume and last-minute tequila shots.

This is how it should be. This is where you belong.

The thumping bass soothes your soul, neon colours swirling behind your closed lids. You tip your head back, hands thrown in the air as you and Kimmy move in time - a routine you’ve had down since you were old enough to be in these places.

You garner jealous glares and longing stares; none of it bothers you. Nobody can touch you, not when they don’t know you. Then, and only then, would you worry.

You both head to the bar after a while, sweat shimmering on your exposed skin, holding tight onto one another as you squeeze through the throngs of people. You fight for a space, bar top sticky against your elbows as you wait to give your order. Bursts of laughter and flirty chatter soon come from beside you: without a doubt, you know what’ll come next.

Kimmy always gets hit on when you go out together. You’re not upset by it - you’re the quieter one by nature, happy to let her take the spotlight. Besides, up until recently, you’d been spoken for anyway. You turn to see your friend enamoured by a good-looking blonde guy, and she giggles in your ear that his name is Benny, and he’s an MMA fighter.

You stifle a laugh, watching as he tips his head to you in greeting, leaning in close to snatch Kimmy’s attention back. You try - and fail - to get the bartender’s attention, debating whether to head back to the dancefloor alone.

Then, you notice him.

Hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, throat bobbing as he swallows his drink down. His cap sits low on his head, dark curls spilling out underneath. He glances at you; you turn away, embarrassed to be caught staring. You feel the heat of his gaze; look back to see his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he studies you shyly.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

Dark eyes, thick lashes, curved nose. Strong shoulders and a wide chest beneath his jacket; black and silver hair littering his jaw, save for a few patches here and there. He looks a little tired, out of place, kinda like he’d rather be anywhere other than here.

Older than you, for sure.

Sexy as hell.

He makes an apologetic gesture, rolling his eyes towards Benny, who has his tongue down Kimmy’s throat enthusiastically. Your best friend is responding just as eagerly, and you slide round them, approaching the man you’ve been side-eyeing.

You introduce yourself, and he does the same in return: Francisco Morales - Frankie, he shrugs.

You push past the awkwardness threatening to hold you back, righting your shoulders and try to emulate Kimmy. Stupid idea, in hindsight.

You find out Frankie’s a retired pilot, now the co-owner of a local hardware store. He tells you he and Benny were part of a bachelor party, made up of best pals since their military days. They happened to be the last ones standing, something that seems to surprise him as he says it.

Frankie asks about you: if you’re from around here, what you do for work. You watch him nodding intently as you talk, his eyes to travelling down to your cleavage when he thinks you’re not looking, slow smiles at your responses.

He leans close to hear you over the music, nose bumping your temple to talk to you. “You smoke?”

He smells earthy; musky cologne, a little sweat. You shake your head, but tell him you’ll tag along anyway. You check in with Kimmy, tell her where you’re headed as she drags Benny off to the dancefloor, agreeing to meet back at the bar in twenty.

You follow Frankie down the stairs, admiring his broad back in the dim lights as he offers you his hand to hold. “Wouldn’t wanna lose ya,” he chuckles, and you feel butterflies in your belly as his hand swallows yours, large and warm.

He lights up a smoke when you’re safely outside, offering it to you anyway, and you decide to take him up on it. God, what’s happening to you? You don’t do this. You haven’t done this since.. Nope. You’re not letting your mind wander there. Not now.

You hate how turned on you are by such a simple gesture: watching Frankie’s thick fingers languidly flick the lighter, cigarette dangling from his plush lips, dark eyes looking down at you.

“You both come here often?” he asks, exhaling smoke into the frigid air. You laugh, knowing honesty is probably the best policy. “More than I’d care to admit.”

Frankie grins again; his face so open and inviting. “Can’t say the same for us,” he tells you. “Will gets married next month, and it was Benny’s idea to bring him here tonight. That fucker didn’t think to plan anything else. So, the rest of ‘em got too drunk and crashed out at Santi’s.”

“So what I’m hearing is, you’re the sensible one?” you tease, goosebumps erupting over your bare arms as the trees shiver above you both. “Uh, kinda,” Frankie admits, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I don’t drink. This isn’t my usual idea of a good time.”

You digest this information, not wanting to probe. “Plus, ‘m probably too old,” he sighs, and you feel your eyebrows raising. “No age limit in a place like this,” you tell him quietly, and he stares at you again for a moment: eyes flicking between your lips and back up to hold your gaze. “Guess not,” he concludes with a slow grin, making your stomach flip over itself.

You feel yourself sobering up, rubbing your arms as the embers from your cigarette glow in the darkness. “You cold?” Frankie asks, and you shake your head. You smile at his generosity, the way his face has changed to being genuinely concerned. “We’ll be heading back inside soon, anyway.”

He shrugs off his jacket, offering it to you. “By my watch, we still got another fifteen minutes ‘til you said we’d be back. I wanna make the most of them.”

You try to refuse at first, but as soon as it’s draped round your shoulders, you embrace the warmth gladly. You sneak a glance at the curve of his biceps, thick forearms, narrow waist; and avert your eyes hastily.

Frankie tells you more about himself: thirty-eight, an ex-serviceman, set up the hardware business with his buddy Santiago - one of the no-hopers of the evening. You, in turn, tell him about your administration job in the city, how it barely covers your rent, let alone any future hopes and dreams.

But you get by, you have fun, and that’s all that matters.

You decide to omit any would-be sob story about your ex-boyfriend, the way you’d had to find a place to live within weeks due to exactly how you’d broken up. You don’t want to frighten him, and you feel out of practice with flirting: a winter coat you haven’t worn for months, potential compliments and pick-up lines forgotten like screwed up receipts in the pockets.

Frankie nods his head as you talk, crushing the end of his cigarette beneath his boot. “So you’re a live-in-the-moment kinda girl,” he concludes, and you find yourself smiling. “Guess I am”.

“What about you? Free spirit?” you ask teasingly, and his shoulders roll again. “Trying to be,” he says, laughing softly, tugging his cap off his head to run a hand through the mess of curls underneath.

Oh, you’re actually enjoying this.

Frankie’s so sweet, but you know there’s something a little deeper and darker below the surface; you can tell by the way he looks at you, his eyes tracking down to your mouth, the skin you have on show. You’re suddenly, savagely glad you wore this dress tonight.

“C’mon,” Frankie murmurs after a beat, motioning to take your arm again. “Better see what kinda carnage they’re creating in there.”

You follow him, slipping his jacket from your shoulders as you go. You’re sad to say goodbye to it: it smells so good, a woodsy scent you hope will linger for a while to come.

You’re soon plunged back into a different kind of darkness: the club is sweaty and warm, but you find the lights give you nothing other than a headache this time around. Kimmy is still wrapped around Benny, the two of them entwined in an embrace so bold you can’t even look at Frankie.

He wraps his arm around you regardless, indicating a booth in the shadows. “Wanna grab a seat?”

You find that you do. Very much.

The conversation flows easily, you sipping on a vodka tonic whilst Frankie nurses a rootbeer. You talk about your lives a little more: favourite bands, foods, beach spots. You notice your shin knocking against his; you rest it there, enjoying the feeling. You can’t help but watch his throat as he drinks, the thick expanse of smooth skin visible above the neckline of his shirt. Frankie, in turn, compliments you constantly, albeit a little bashfully.

He’s so fucking cute.

Before either of you realise it, it’s 2:00am. Benny and Kimmy stumble over like a couple of teenagers, and you welcome your friend back into your arms, lipgloss kissed off and shoes held in her hand. Benny drunkenly teases you both, shoving his friend lovingly, and you notice the flush blooming on Frankie’s cheeks, the way he clears his throat, legs untangled from yours.

“You girls want a ride home?” Frankie offers, and the four of you head out to the parking lot. You hear Benny and Kimmy making plans, swapping numbers, sharing kisses. You feel suddenly awkward around Frankie since his abrupt change in body language. You find yourself wishing - again - for the confidence of your best friend.

You take the front seat next to him, trying to ignore the noises coming from the backseat; all teeth and tongue and hushed laughter. Frankie switches on the radio, Alexander O’Neal crooning softly in the cab. You stare out the window, city lights blurring in the darkness.

The journey to your place is only half an hour, but every minute stretches out languidly as you glance at Frankie handling the wheel. The way he spins it, thighs nestled beneath.. Maybe it’s because you haven’t had sex in a while, but goddamn. Every movement he makes does something to your insides.

It falls quiet in the back after a while: you turn to see Kimmy slumped on Benny’s shoulder, the two of them snoring quietly, open-mouthed. She’ll kill you in the morning for it, but you take a quick snap on your phone anyway, dying inside at the fact your first night out as a single woman has ended up like this: her asleep on her would-be paramour’s shoulder, you in the front with some insane crush on his friend.

“Thanks for this,” you offer to Frankie, clearing your throat. “S’okay, means I know you’re home safe,” he shrugs, and you stifle a laugh - you only met him a few hours ago. “You don’t need to worry about that, Frankie,” you tell him, and he chews his lip. The scruff along his jaw and sweet curve of his nose shine in the silhouette from passing headlights, and you cross your legs deliberately.

“I didn’t mean to - y’know, be so awkward back there,” he confesses, and you stay silent, hoping he’ll say more. “I’m just used to Benny giving me shit about women, telling me not to get my hopes up ‘n all that. This doesn’t really come naturally to me, so.. I’m not.. Fuck. ‘m sorry - I’m useless at this,” he sighs, slumped in his seat.

You can’t help it. You giggle, and then Frankie’s laughing too. You hold your finger to your lips, indicating your two sleeping friends behind you.

You place your hand over his, feeling the rough skin stretched over his knuckles. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” you tell him. “Benny clearly doesn’t know shit, anyway. I’ve, uh, really liked getting to know you,” you squirm, feeling a little unease settle into your belly at how childish you sound.

You have liked it. You swore to yourself you weren’t looking to date so soon after having your heart trampled on; that you’d keep it close, under wraps, nurture it back to full health before you pulled it from your chest again.

You weren’t expecting to meet Frankie.

Yet, here you are. Offering yourself up to him, because something tells you he’s worth it. Drawn helplessly to him: a moth to a flame.

“Me too,” Frankie tells you, turning the bend that leads towards your apartment. You both grin at your quiet, shared admission, and you hate that you have to say goodbye. “This is us,” you say, and Frankie pulls over, leaning across to shake Benny awake.

You catch the sliver of skin above his waistband as he stretches, the soft belly nudging at his shirt, the edge of his boxers, the bulge beneath the material. Gotta be the vodka, you remind yourself, tearing your eyes away from him. All four of you climb out, Frankie asking if you have your keys, taking Kimmy’s shoes from you so you can search in your purse.

Your friends are in their own world - Kimmy has Benny pinned against the passenger door, toying with his shirt collar, telling him she’ll give him a call in the morning. You roll your eyes at Frankie, wordlessly apologising for the stall. He laughs it off, hand on your lower back as you approach them.

You don’t miss the small gesture.

“Kim, babe? Frankie probably wants to head off now,” you tell her gently, taking her hand. “Aw, fun sucker,” Benny teases, and Frankie tuts in annoyance. “Whatever, man,” you tell him lightly, and Kimmy gives him a final kiss goodbye. You turn away, Frankie’s hands back in his pockets, just like they were a few hours ago.

“There any hope in asking for your number?” he asks, brown eyes wide and kind. You swap digits, and he leans forward to kiss you on the cheek. Frankie lingers a fraction longer than you expect him to, and you’re so close to tugging his lips to yours. It’s the closest you’ve been to him all night, and you want more.

He pulls away before you can change your mind.

“I’ll call you,” he promises, and you feel the kind of excitement that has long laid dormant inside you. You’re seeing Frankie again. The first rays of light on your face after too long a spell in the dark.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Things burn out between Kimmy and Benny at an impressive speed. She’s at your apartment two months later, laid on her back on your bed, throwing out cheap insults you know she doesn’t really mean.

“There’s just no… what’s that thing?” she groans in frustration. “Spark?” you offer helpfully, sorting through your closet. “Yes. I mean, the sex is insane, right? But we have nothing in common. He doesn’t even try to get to really know me. Plus, I went to watch him fight, and it made me want to hurl. All that blood...” she makes a vomiting noise, and you throw a sock at her. Lovingly.

“Kimmy, you didn’t even give him time to prove himself,” you laugh, and she glares at you. “I know my worth, babe,” she sighs, flopping back down onto your sheets. “Amen, sister,” you murmur, throwing an old shirt of your ex’s into the trash pile. “Anyway, I’m starting to think I chose the wrong guy that night,” Kimmy goes on, and you pause.

“You mean Frankie?” you ask, and she hmmms in response. “He was gorgeous. It’s a shame, though. I saw him at the fight, said he’s seeing someone. Benny said he’s down bad,” she laughs, and you feel the band of tension round you snap in relief.

Down bad, huh? Interesting.

You figured you were having that kind of effect on him.

Frankie had texted you the very next morning, asking how you were feeling and if you wanted to head out for a drink sometime. You were seized with momentary panic: it’s too soon. You’d sworn yourself off of any meaningful connection, any risk to your dented confidence and wounded pride.

You were quick, however, to remind yourself of those brown eyes, warm hands, quiet laugh. Too quick.

You’re vaguely aware of Kimmy saying your name impatiently, bringing you back to the present. “Huh?” you mumble, and she stares at you. “Where’d you go? Don’t tell me you’re giving that fucking loser another second of your time,” she raises her brows, indicating Tyler’s shirt on the floor.

“I’d rather die,” you sigh dramatically, and Kimmy nods in approval. “That’s my girl. So, I’ll come over for drinks later before we head out?” she asks, and you give her the thumbs up. “Sounds good to me.”

Kimmy flashes you her signature grin: megawatt and sparkling, the one that landed Benny and several other unsuspecting people in the years you’ve been friends. She heads out, music blasting from her convertible as she goes. You shake your head fondly. You love that girl.

You’ll tell Kimmy about Frankie. You know you will. Eventually.

God, Frankie. You lay back on your bed, staring at the ceiling as you try not to spend every fucking waking moment thinking about him. He’s infectious, though: he makes you laugh, treats you so good, takes care of you, calls you his cosa linda, fucks you like nobody ever has before.

Your first date was a few days after you’d met him.

Nothing spectacular, just pizza at a place nearby Frankie swore was decent. And hell, he was right. You shared a greasy pepperoni, cheap but delicious. You didn’t care where you went with him; both of you were open about the fact you didn’t have much money. You’d never been less bothered about it in your life.

Frankie tells you - between bites - how all the cash he has goes back into the business he shares with Santi, how hard they can find it to compete with the big chain stores. He’s a little more guarded discussing his previous life as a Delta Force operator: you note the pain that clouds his eyes as he skims the surface of it, wordlessly refusing to delve any deeper.

So, you don’t push him. You let Frankie take your hand as you exit the pizzeria, thumb rubbing circles over your skin, soft kiss to your temple as he takes you home and tells you how much he enjoys being with you, asking when he can see you again.

Frankie’s happier when the two of you are at the beach the next weekend, drinking Coke out of glass bottles, stretched out on a fraying picnic blanket, talking about everything and nothing. He pulls you into the water with him, holds you against his chest, kisses you deep and slow, salt on your lips and your fingers in his curls.

You sleep together for the first time that night.

He’s so fucking meticulous about it: taking your clothes off slowly, savouring how bare and messy you are for him at the end of it, his tongue and teeth and lips driving you insane. You cling desperately to the sheets below you as Frankie makes your toes curl, your back arching as you reach to tug at his hair; his name a broken, groaning, loud mantra from your lips as your legs shake around him.

Frankie gets off on your pleasure, tearing the condom wrapper open with his teeth, eagerness like you’ve never encountered in your life. It’s a revelation. Once you start, you can’t stop. He’s big; so much more to take than you ever have before, a sweet ache between your thighs for days after.

Soon, he’s over at your apartment most evenings. He drops by with burgers after work one Friday night, and you sit cross-legged on the floor eating them straight out of the paper, sharing fries. Eighties music and golden light flood the room as the sun slides away; Frankie reaching out to swipe some ketchup from your bottom lip, sucking his thumb into his mouth afterwards, cargo shorts snug around his thighs.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to ask him to fuck you right there and then.

Frankie asks about the tattoo he’d seen on your sternum the night before, a delicate fine-line inking of your star sign. “You believe in all that?” he smirks, tossing a fry into his mouth. “You don’t?” you raise an eyebrow, and he holds his hands up in defence. “S’long as we’re compatible, baby, I’ll believe whatever you tell me.”

Frankie spends the rest of the night showing you just how compatible you both are: hot tongue dragging over the ink beneath your breasts, nipping at the pillowy flesh he finds there, fingers digging into your ass as he pushes inside you, the two of you groaning in unison. He stays in your bed till the morning, shy smile and a dimple in his cheek as he leans over to kiss you.

“Can I take you out today?” he asks, looming above you, dark hair peppered with grey sticking out at odd angles. You think about combing your fingers through it, smoothing it down, worrying quietly about the level of intimacy you’re already sharing with him. “Sure,” you smile, and watch the creases beside his eyes deepen as he grins.

Frankie takes you on his favourite hiking trail, the two of you taking it slow, talking at length about your families as the route grows steeper. You discover he and Santi have been best friends since childhood, their mothers close since forever. You, in turn, tell him you don’t speak to your father much, but you dote on the child he has with his new wife: your baby sister.

Frankie squeezes your hand a little tighter, interlacing your fingers together. “Must be hard for you sometimes,” he says gently, and you think about it for a moment. “I mean.. I wonder why me and mom weren’t enough for him, sure. But as soon as that kiddo smiles at me, I forget all about that. She’s worth it. Even if he isn’t,” you tell him, and Frankie hums in agreement, kissing your temple.

Again, you’re rocked by the intimacy of the gesture, the way both of you have fallen so easily into soft touches and lingering glances. You know it’s naive, but you feel like you’ve known Frankie forever, like you’ve woken up to those dark eyes and broad shoulders your whole life.

One morning, on your way into the city, you decide to stop by Frankie’s hardware store with a coffee for him. Santiago finds you first, embraces you warmly, says he’s heard a lot about you. He has a twinkle in his eye as he wraps an arm around Frankie’s shoulder, hand on his chest affectionately as he introduces himself properly.

Warmth spreads through you watching how people adore him. You remember Benny’s easy teasing, how affectionate Santiago is toward him. Frankie walks you back to your car, pushes you gently into the door, taking advantage of the empty parking lot. His tongue is in your mouth, palm cradling your jaw, heat pooling in your belly. He makes that soft little groan, the one that drives you insane.

You pull away.

“You’re evil for that, Morales,” you scold him, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “You’re the one showing up to my place of work in that goddamn skirt,” he sighs, eyes narrowing under the brim of his cap; fingers finding the band of your panties, pulling and releasing them with a gentle snap.

You’d forgotten how much he’d liked that particular skirt: you remember Frankie on his knees below you the week before, unzipping it slowly, hands dragging across your thighs. His pupils blown apart with lust as he gazed up at you; messy kisses on the bare curve of your hip, a bite that made you gasp his name.

“Mierda,” he’d moaned. “You’re a bad girl.”

Frankie repays the favour a few days later: calling by the office with your lunch, leftovers from the dinner he’d made the night before. Your team teases you when you come back sweaty and rumpled after your hour break - little do they know, he’d fucked you in the back of his truck and pocketed your underwear for good measure.

It’s brazen, bold, and fun. Just like wearing his cap whilst you rode him one time had been: his fingers digging into your waist, urging you on, telling you how fucking good you looked, that you’re his princesa.

Last night, he said he wanted to take you some place nice to eat, that he had some extra cash with nothing he’d rather spend it on than you. You’re happy anywhere with Frankie: kissing in the bed of his truck, his arms around you in the shower, wandering hand-in-hand around the farmers market, dipping your toes in a freezing cold lake together.

But, it is nice to be wined and dined sometimes. You can’t even remember the last time it happened.

The place was fancy, kitted out in low-lighting and jazz music. You wore a lemon-yellow dress: all laced-up bustier and draping skirt. You’d thrifted it, squealing at the price tag and texting Kimmy instantly. She said it’d be a crime to leave it behind, so it was yours for keeps.

You’d felt bashful watching Frankie’s eyes widen when you opened the door, looking good enough to eat in a white shirt, taut across his broad frame. No Standard Oil hat that evening - your heart melted envisioning running his fingers through his curls, floppy across his forehead. You’re fucking stunning, he’d murmured, grin warm across his features.

He’s not your boyfriend, though. A fact you’re continually reminding yourself of.

You don’t even know if you’re exclusive: Frankie never mentions anyone else, doesn’t even talk about himself all that much, unless you prompt him. His focus is all you, all the time.

Don’t you deserve that? After what you’ve been through? You deserve to enjoy the company, the sex, the feelings brewing below the surface.

What are you so afraid of?

You think of him now as you dress, the memory of his hands on you burnt into your brain, seared into your subconscious. Kimmy texts to say she’s on her way over, and you clatter downstairs in your heels, flicking the music stations over and pouring two large glasses of wine, trying to push Frankie and your worries to the back of your mind. For now.

The club is packed out.

Busier than it was when you were last here; people crammed into the booths and across the dancefloor, posted up against the bar. You and Kimmy haven’t let go of one another all night; borrowing lipliner and gum in the bathrooms, hand-in-hand as she orders shots that sizzle in your throat.

You’re stood not far from where you first encountered Frankie, and your mind drifts to what he might be doing. Snoring, you think. Lying on his back, hand flat on his chest, sparse hair you can feel on your cheek beneath it. You check your phone: 11:23pm. There’s a text from him.

Have a great night baby. Let me know if you need me x

You know he means if you need a ride home, someone to call in the cab. Yet, panic bubbles inside you at the sentence, threatening to spill over, poisoning your blissful tipsy state. A legacy left by your ex-boyfriend, the fear you try to squash down each time Frankie takes your hand, presses his lips to yours, makes your back arch beneath him.

Do you need him?

Of course not. It’s not like you’re in love with him or anything. Right?

Tyler devastated you. You remember your legs trembling as you sat on the side of the bath one night as he slept, curiosity getting the better of you. His phone was in your shaking hands as you scrolled through scores of messages between him and his work colleague, Melissa.

He’d been your boyfriend for five years. You were ready to move in together, take his last name if he asked. Yet here he was, hanging you out to fucking dry; telling Melissa everything he wanted to do to her, had done to her, how horny he was for her. You were so fucking embarrassed, especially when he’d tried to convince you it was all in your head. How foolish you’d been.

Kimmy had distracted you through it all, kept you going. You’d put in work yourself, piecing your life back together: the person you were before Tyler, sitting with the feelings and letting them wash over you till they didn’t sting so bad anymore.

Frankie frightens you. He could pull a single thread and you’d unravel, back at square one on a boardgame nobody wants to play.

Had it all been too much? Too fast?

“Hey, babe!” Kimmy pulls on your shoulder, and you’re spinning out of your reverie. “You see Sarah’s here?! Sarah from high school?” she tells you excitedly, and you smile weakly. “Shit, no way,” you manage, and you’re pulled over into a group of girls you haven’t seen for years; all air kisses and squealing over an engagement ring.

Something you could have had.

“Kimmy,” you shout over the music, hand on her arm. “You okay if I take five outside?”

She nods, and you follow the same path Frankie led you down all those weeks ago; his hand clasping yours, eyes twinkling in the low lighting.

You feel so strongly that Frankie won’t hurt you, yet your mind’s so corrupted by what Tyler did to you: waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to reveal his true colours.

Yet, you think you’ve seen them already.

The blue ocean Frankie held you in, kissing you deeply as his fingers dug into your thighs, holding you close. The orange sky of the sunset from the bed of his truck, wrapped in blankets as he told you the craziest shit he’d seen as a pilot. The thick green of the forests you’ve hiked in together, the way he’d drag you by the hand when you were puffing out of breath because you just had to see the view.

The dark brown of his eyes; ones you swear are flecked with molten gold. The pink of his lips; the way they curve into a smile when you open the door to him. The yellow of the sunlight that creeps through the blinds in the mornings, your naked body pressed to his, sore and sweaty and satisfied. The black sky you first spoke to him under, littered with faint stars, just like it is tonight.

Each time, you worried the water might be too cold, hike too steep, sunset too boring. Frankie kept proving you wrong: every experience more vibrant, saturated and warm than the last. You owe it to yourself - and to him - to trust him.

You call him without hesitating, shivering on the sidewalk. Frankie answers on the second ring.

“Hey, princesa. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile, feeling your anxiety dissipating a little at the sound of his voice, velvety and deep. “I, uh, think I’m just about done tonight, though. Was thinking about calling a cab home.”

You hear him moving, shifting in his sheets. “It’s up to you, but I’d rather come get you. Can drop you straight home, ‘f you want,” Frankie offers, and you bite into your lip to stop your grin from widening. “So you know I’m home safe?” you manage to tease, recalling the conversation you had the night you met him.

“Think I’m pretty much qualified to worry about that now,” Frankie chuckles lowly through the phone into your ear. “Can stop for some fries, and you can stay here?” He offers, and you close your eyes, thinking there’s nowhere else you’d rather be in the world than right there.

To your horror, you feel tears threatening, and you swallow thickly to force the emotion back down. Frankie notes your silence. “Sweetheart? What’s up?” he probes gently, and you tap your foot in annoyance at yourself for worrying him, taking a deep breath.

“‘m all good, baby. Promise. See you in twenty?” you ask, and Frankie tells you he’ll see you soon, as quick as he can. “Kimmy need a ride?” he asks, and you make it your mission to go inside and find her.

You spot her easily, tell her an abridged version of your plans. You decide now isn’t the time to tell her about Frankie: not in a club full of people who remind you of Tyler, when you’re teetering on a knife edge with your emotions.

She asks if you’re alright, if you mind her staying out: they’re talking about an after-party somewhere, booking Ubers to the suburbs. You tell her it’s not your vibe - not tonight - but you can see she wants to carry on. She won’t, though. Not without checking with you first.

Kimmy promises to call you in the morning, that you’ll go and grab brunch. “You sure you’re okay, babe?” she asks one final time, squeezing you close. She makes you swear to let her know when you’re home safe, and you request the same.

Frankie’s there waiting for you when you leave the club, just like he said he would be.

He’s leant up against his truck: long legs in denim jeans, an old flannel stretched across his shoulders. He’s smoking languidly, gaze on you beneath the cap he never takes off. That smile you’ve come to know and love unfurls across Frankie’s features as he reaches for you, pulls you into his arms.

“Hi,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “You look so beautiful.”

It’s such a simple phrase. But it means so much more to you coming from Frankie: older and kinder than anyone you’ve been with before him.

Your fingers grab at the collar of his shirt, your lips finding his. You slide your tongue into his mouth and he responds, huge hands sliding to your waist and squeezing. You moan a little as the kiss deepens, and Frankie pulls back, eyes searching your face.

“Hey, hey. Everything okay?” he asks, taking your jaw in his hands, thumbs stroking your skin gently. “There’s, uh, some stuff I wanna tell you about. From my past, I mean,” you sigh, watching the crease deepen in Frankie’s brow at your words. “You’re fucking married, aren’t you?” he grimaces. You smack him lightly on the chest and he chuckles.

“I’m serious, Frankie,” you huff, and he relents. “I.. Didn’t have a good experience with my ex. Cheated on me with his colleague, gaslighted me about it; the works. I guess you could say he wasn’t a good guy, right? And I think I’m kinda fucked up as a result,” you tell him, voice trembling. Frankie’s eyes are wide and pleading, but he’s quiet, waiting for you to continue.

“I don’t wanna carry this on without you knowing that some things might be hard for me. If I ever hold back a little bit, come across like I don’t trust you..” you trail off, fingering the button of his shirt awkwardly. “Baby,” Frankie grips your wrists, “you don’t gotta explain anything to me. Not now - not ever - not if you don’t want to. But you should know, none of this is your fault.”

“So, we take it day by day. We keep talking, keep being open, you let me know if something’s too much, or I’m not giving you enough. You know what I mean?” Frankie asks, tilting your chin to look at him. His thumb swipes away a stray tear from your eye, and he kisses you softly; barely there before he pulls away.

“Living in the moment, right? I told you I was gonna try,” he chuckles weakly. “I’m not going anywhere, mi amor. I like you too damn much,” he admits.

You kiss him again, taking his cap in your hand so you can feel his curls, pressing your lips to the bare patch in the scruff along his jaw. With Frankie’s hand in yours, the pain begins to fade away. You’re sure it won’t be long till it’s gone forever. You smile at him.

“Let’s go home.”

I HAVE WAITED ALL FUCKING DAY FOR THIS!!! 😭🫠🥵🥲 This was SOOOOOO fucking GOOD!

Happy Ending [masterlist]

Francisco Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie’s spent the last twenty years with you on his mind. He’s watched a video you put in his pocket the last time he saw you more times than he can count. Have you been thinking of him too?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, SLOW BURN, time skip (~20 years), friends-to-lovers, this is 100% from Frankie’s POV - refers to main female character/reader as “you”, she is physically described in some ways (shoulder-length hair, hair long enough to pull back, wearing glasses, having freckles and scars, wearing form-fitting clothing, being shorter than Frankie, Frankie is able to pick her up, reader’s pubic hair is described), reader has a definitive age - there is a 2.5 year age gap between her and Frankie, reader engages in different forms of sex work, talk of drugs and addiction, mention of the reader having children, talk of breakups and divorce, addiction issues causing estrangement from children, talk of death and grief, mention of TF canon death, general warning for any/all sex acts, a little bit of spanking🧀

Part I (5608)

Part II (4184)

Part III (3792)

Part IV (4028)

Part V (4292)

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Thank you to @iamasaddie for their prompt: "It's Always Been You" when I chose "slutty little knee" in their writing challenge 2.0 - I am SO sorry this is VERY late, but I took on a monster of a project (my own fault.) Thank you for your help over the last week, I could NOT have finished this without you - @strang3lov3 - you helped me come up with the idea, made me this amazing moodboard, made my summary.... you kinda did everything. Except write it I guess, I did that part. You're so amazing and I'm so lucky to have you in my corner. I love you. (and big thanks to @beefrobeefcal and @covetyou for the motivation and beta-reading)

Between Us

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI! Go on, get! Kissing, fluff, secret relationship, time skipping, smut, oral(f and m receiving), unprotected PinV(don’t do this, make smart choices), cream pie, anything I left out let me know!

A/N: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY!!! This is part 2 of Paint With Me but can be read as a stand alone! Thank you @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for giving this a look over for me ❤️ Thank you @jay-zzle for giving this a read as well and the moodboard 😍

Masterlist||AO3 Link||Parents to Lovers

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck, right there,” you groan into Frankie’s pillow, gripping the wrist that’s holding him above you. His other arm wrapped around your shoulder, grabbing your breast while he pulls you back against his cock again, your ass meeting his hips in a steady rhythm.

“Oh fuck,” he quietly grunts into the side of your neck, feeling your walls sucking him in, “Feel so fucking good baby.”

It’s been four months since you and Frankie had that conversation in the painting class you attended with your daughters. Four months of sneaking around so that the girls don’t catch on to their parents dating each other. In front of the girls, you and Frankie are just good friends but behind closed doors, it’s a completely different story.

“Frankie,” you whimper, trying to stifle your moans, you can feel the warmth simmering in your lower belly, so close to tipping over the edge, “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, baby?” Frankie whispers into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin, open-mouthed kisses placed along your shoulders as he feels your walls beginning to flutter around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Your grip around his wrist tightens as his hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head to the side. He captures your mouth in a kiss, your tongues massaging each other. His thrusts start to get quicker and you can tell he’s getting close too.

“Fuck,” Frankie whimpers into the crook of your neck, “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Daddy?” You hear a wobbly voice say on the other side of the door and you both freeze. “Daddy, I had a nightmare.”

“Shit,” Frankie huffs into your neck, “Okay, be right there baby!” He hollers at the door.

You both hear the door handle turning and the door creaking open.

“Missy!” Frankie panics, “Don’t. I’ll be right there. Just give me a second.”

“Why?” Missy asks, trying to peek through the crack in the door. Frankie pulls the covers up onto his shoulders higher, blocking the door's view of you under him.

“I’m naked, Missy. That’s why!”

“Ew!” Missy shouts, running back to her room.

“Dad duty,” Frankie grumbles, pulling out and searching for his boxers, “I’ll be right back.”

—

“Nora!” You shout from the front door, trying to get your shoes on, “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

“I need socks!” She hollers.

“There’s a clean basket of clothes in the laundry room,” you shout back.

“Mom,” Nora says, approaching the living room, “Why is there boy underwear in the laundry?” She asks, holding up a pair of Frankie’s boxers from the last time he stayed the night. Shit.

“Uhmm…” you start, trying to think of a quick excuse, “My friend had an accident and asked for my help.”

“What kind of accident?” Nora asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Just an accident, Nora,” you huff, getting your jacket on, “Now get your shoes and jacket on so we can go!”

Nora dropped the subject, thankfully, putting her shoes on and both of you were out the door. On the drive to Paint with Me you kept looking in the rearview mirror, you could see the wheels turning in your daughter's head about what had happened back at the house but still, she kept quiet.

“Hey!” Frankie greeted you with a warm smile, as you walked in the door to Miss Janice’s weekly art class. “Missy’s at our usual table,” Frankie said to Nora, pointing in Missy’s direction.

“Here!” Nora said, wrestling off her jacket, chucking it at you, and running to the table where Missy was. The girls are beaming with smiles at each other, hugging as if they hadn’t just seen each other a day ago when you all met up at the park for them to play.

“We might have a problem,” you say low enough for only Frankie to hear, hanging Nora’s jacket up on a hook and sliding your own off. He cocked his head to the side with a confused look, “Nora found your boxers in our laundry,” you whisper, hanging your jacket with hers.

“Oh,” Frankie says, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Uhm, how- how did that go?”

“Told her that my friend had an accident and he asked me for help.”

“Accident, huh?” Frankie grinned quietly adding, “We’ve been together for six months now, you know I’m potty trained.”

You both laugh, as you make your way to the table to sit with Nora and Missy. The girls are whispering to each other as you both sit down.

“What are you two gossiping about, huh?” Frankie asks, giving Missy’s side a small squeeze. Missy lets out a giggle.

“We think she has a boyfriend!” Nora says, pointing at you.

“What? Me?!” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yeah,” Nora says, “Why else would you have boy underwear in the laundry?”

“Is he cute? Is he nice? Wait, Is he rich?” Missy asks quickly. You can’t help but laugh shaking your head.

“Missy,” Frankie laughs, “Leave her alone.”

“What?” Missy asks, shrugging her shoulders, “It’s just a couple of questions.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say, “No boyfriend for me.”

Frankie places his hand over his mouth covering that knowing smirk.

–

“I can’t wait til they get here!” Nora says, vibrating with excitement staring out the front window.

Frankie and Missy should be arriving any minute with the pizzas. Nora wanted to have a sleepover, so you figured why not have Missy over and invite Frankie to join for pizza and some movies for a little bit. He offered to pick the pizzas up on his way over.

“They’re here!” Nora shrieks, running to the front door and swinging it open causing it to smack against the wall.

“Damn it, Nora,” you grumble, watching her run to Frankie’s truck and opening the door for Missy to jump out. The girls are excitedly jabbering in the driveway while Frankie is trying to hold onto the pizzas and ushering them inside.

“Mom said we can camp in the living room tonight and fall asleep watching movies!” Nora says excitedly, “I bet you I’ll stay awake longer than you!”

“Whatever,” Missy says, “I’ll be the one up the longest!”

You and Frankie share a look both knowing that neither one will be up past 10. Frankie goes to the kitchen and sets the pizzas on the counter.

“Get the good stuff?” You hum, rubbing your hand across his lower back.

“Pepperoni and black olives?” He asks, opening the box and moving to show you, “Why yes, yes I did.”

“Gross!” The girls say in unison.

“No worries,” Frankie said, “I got a plain pepperoni and plain cheese for you two to destroy!”

“Yay!” They both yelled from the living room. You got plates down from the cupboard, getting slices of pizza set on each one.

“You guys get a movie picked out?” You ask, grabbing the plates meant for you and Frankie, while he holds the two for the girls.

“Uhmm…” Nora hesitates, looking at you while standing in the middle of the living room arranging blankets. “We got distracted by making our floor mattress.”

“Well,” Frankie says, observing the mess of blankets while setting the plates on the coffee table, “I’ll work on this and you guys pick out a movie.”

Frankie made their pallets on the floor, while the girls rummaged the shelf picking out movies to watch. Each picked out 5, playing rock paper scissors to see who got the first pick.

“Yes!” Nora shouted, raising her arms in victory, “Monsters vs. Aliens first!” 

You pop the DVD in while the girls get comfy on the makeshift beds Frankie made for them, both of them diving into their pizza slices. You plop on the other end of the couch, away from Frankie. He gives you a puzzled look as you bite into your pizza and nod your head towards the girls.

“Ahh,” he sighs out, “Gotcha.”

As the night goes on, you notice both girls yawning more frequently and Frankie inching across the couch to get closer to you. By the end of the third movie, both girls are passed out and Frankie’s arm is behind you on the back of the couch.

“Looks like they’re both asleep,” Frankie whispers in your ear. You turn to look at him with a small smile.

“Appears so,” you say, slowly standing up and quietly making your way to their pallet on the floor. You look at both girls, hearing their soft snores as you pull their blankets up to their shoulders.

Frankie stands, smiling, watching you care for his daughter. It’s been nine months of this sneaking around, meeting up when Nora’s at her dad’s and he can find a sitter, or you coming over while Missy’s asleep, making random play dates just so you have an excuse to see each other. I love yous have been shared, talks about one day all living under one roof together have happened, Frankie’s getting tired of keeping it a secret and hopes you are too. You follow him out of the living room, satisfied the girls are comfortable.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. You can feel his half-hard member through the denim of his jeans against your thigh.

“Hey,” you whisper back, a smile gracing your lips, “Ya know, you don’t have to leave right away.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, pulling away and grabbing his hand, coaxing him to your bedroom. Crossing the threshold of your room, you close the door behind you, locking it as you lightly push Frankie towards your bed, while he kicks his shoes off. The back of his legs hit against the mattress, pushing against his broad chest, he sits down, hands traveling to the nape of his neck playing with the soft strands there.

“Missed you,” you breathe against his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, trailing your lips along the expanse of his throat. Frankie lets out a soft groan when you gently bite down, running your fingers up his scalp, giggling when you knock his hat off. His hands come to your sides, rubbing his palms against your soft skin while peeling off your shirt. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, licking into your mouth with fervor, arousal pooling in your panties.

“Missed you too,” he says, forehead pressed against yours. You start to push his shirt up, pulling it off the rest of the way, chucking it to the floor next to yours. Your fingers travel the expanse of his chest and he lets out a quiet hiss when you put more pressure on his nipples, fingers making their way over his soft belly to the trail of hair peeking out from his jeans. You’ve done this dance plenty of times; you remove his belt and undo his jeans like a pro, Frankie lifts his hips so you can slide his jeans and boxers off. His shaft slaps against his stomach while you sink to your knees, your head resting against his thigh, admiring his beautiful cock. You wrap your hand around him - your fingers unable to touch together - and give him an experimental tug, watching as a bead of pre-come escapes the flushed tip.

“Frankie,” you sigh, “You’re perfect.”

Frankie smirks, running his fingers through your hair. Your mouth engulfs his tip, tongue swirling around it as he lets out a moan.

“Fuck,” Frankie hisses, as you take more of his length into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, looking up at him. Those deep brown irises are blown black with lust as he watches you bob your head along his length, twisting your hand around the base of his cock in tandem. “Stop.”

Your head lifts off of him with a soft pop, he grins, motioning for you to stand, grabbing your ass, and pulling you towards him.

“Don’t wanna come down your throat baby,” he says, kissing along your collarbone, traveling to the tops of your breasts. He reaches behind you to undo your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, and your bra slides onto the floor.

“Mmmm,” he hums, massaging your tits, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking sharply. You feel his wiry whiskers scrape along your skin and you let out a breathy whine.

“Frankie,” you whisper, your fingers running through his chocolate curls. He trails his lips down your rib cage, leaving goosebumps across your skin. He pushes your leggings and underwear down, fingers coming up to feel the arousal between your folds.

“So wet, hermosa,” Frankie purrs, grabbing your knee and bringing it against his thigh, shifting your body so you’re lying beneath him further up in bed. His cock rubbing against your folds as he sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth. “Wanna taste you, baby.”

You moan as Frankie makes his descent to your core, wide palms against your thighs pushing you open a little more for him, placing your legs on either side of his broad shoulders. He kisses and nips at your inner thighs, parting your lips to look at your glistening sex, and lets out a hum of approval before dipping down, flicking his tongue against your clit. You let out a shaky breath as he begins lapping at your folds like a man who hasn’t seen a meal in days, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth and swirling his tongue.

“F-fingers,” you manage to stutter out. Frankie begins tracing the tip of his finger against your entrance before slowly pushing in, massaging your inner walls, “Mm- more,” you whine and in response he hums, sinking a second digit along with the first.

“Oh god, Frankie,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Frankie lets out a moan as you tug on his hair, rocking your hips against his face, feeling his knuckles massaging that sweet spot. Your legs begin to shake, skin heating, walls contracting, feeling your climax approaching.

“Frankie,” you whine, dissolving into pleasure, your orgasm overtaking you.

“So fucking good,” Frankie grins, your release covering his mustache and chin. You bring his face to yours, kissing him with a carnal desire, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Messy too,” he laughs, as you wrap your legs around him.

“Fuck me,” you whine, “Frankie, please. I need you to fu-“

He pushes into you in one quick thrust, splitting you open, and you let out a loud moan. Frankie quickly covers your mouth, fearful the girls will wake up.

“Gotta be quiet, cariño,” Frankie hums with a grin etched on his face, slowly pulling out, groaning when he looks down at his cock covered in your juices. “Fuck.”

You whimper against his hand as he pushes back into your warmth, setting a languid pace. Nails digging into the muscles of his back, hearing the squelch of your pussy as he rocks into you.

“Fuck, baby,” Frankie grunts, smacking his hands against the mattress by your head, snapping his hips into you at a desperate pace. Your nails bite into his skin harder, crescent moons to be left behind as a reminder of you. “God damn it, I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” you pant into his mouth, feeling that tingle at the bottom of your spine starting to flourish. He devours your mouth, swallowing your moans as you reach your peak once again, white-hot electricity flowing through every limb of your body. Frankie’s hips stutter as his warm release paints your walls, your name escaping his lips as he comes.

Frankie slumps against you, face in the crook of your neck attempting to catch his breath as your fingers trail along his back, tracing small patterns into his skin. He pops his head up, looking at you, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face, kissing your forehead, cheeks, chin, and lips. He moves off of you and lays at your side with a sigh, pulling you into him.

“You should probably leave,” you pout sleepily, “I don’t,” yawn, “-don’t want the girls finding you here in the morning.”

“Just a few more minutes like this,” Frankie hums, pulling you against him tighter. 

Sleep overtakes both of you before you know it.

You wake to the sounds of Nora and Missy playing in the living room. Your eyes snap open. Shit, you fell asleep. Frankie fell asleep, here. At your house, with the girls just down the hall.

“Frankie,” you hiss shoving against him, “You fell asleep here!”

Frankie wakes startled, looking around your room trying to put the pieces together in his sleep-addled brain.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his eyes as you move getting dressed, “What do we do?”

“Uhh…” you say, looking around trying to think of the best possible option. Window. The fucking window. “Window.”

“Window?” Frankie asks with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Window. Climb out, pretend you just got here to pick Missy up.”

“What am I fucking sixteen?” Frankie laughs, standing up to stretch his back.

“Frankie,” you plead, “I don’t know what else to do here. This is not how they should find out.”

“Window it is,” Frankie says, getting himself dressed while you work on quietly opening the window. Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around you.

“Even though I wasn’t supposed to stay, I’m glad we had our own slumber party,” he whispers against your temple.

“Me too,” you grin, matching the smile on his face when you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, planting a firm kiss against his lips. “Now shoo before we get caught.”

Frankie climbs through the window, landing softly on the ground.

“I wanna tell the girls,” Frankie says abruptly, looking up at you, hope dancing around within those Hershey orbs.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs out your name, “I love you and I wanna tell them. I think it’s time.”

“Okay,” you say softly, leaning your head out the window to give him one more kiss before you return to pretending he didn’t stay here the whole night, “I love you too.”

—

It’s been four weeks since Frankie snuck out of your room like a teenager trying not to get caught by your parents. You both had a long discussion about finally telling the girls about you two being together, what could change, how they’d react to the news, and every possibility you could think of. Frankie seemed confident that they would take the news just fine. Missy liked you, Nora liked him, and they were best friends. Just means they get to see each other even more, Frankie had said with a laugh.

You pulled up to the local Cherry Berry, one of the girls’ favorite places. No holds bar on toppings, Frankie told them both to go wild. You find a somewhat secluded table for this discussion, in case the worst happens. The girls come over with their massive piles of ice cream and toppings sitting next to each other like always. Frankie takes the seat beside you, digging into his ice cream as soon as he sits down. The girls begin chattering away about stuff that’s been happening at school, their teachers, wondering what the next thing they’ll paint in class is when Frankie clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, twiddling his spoon, “We wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

The girls look between the two of you, waiting for one of you to say something.

“We’ve been dating,” you explain looking at each of them, “Each other,” you add, motioning between yourself and Frankie.

“Yeah,” Frankie adds, “We just wanted to be honest with you and let you know. We don’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Nora and Missy look at each other and then back at you and Frankie. Nora starts to giggle and Missy soon joins her. Both of them are laughing like hyenas. You and Frankie share a look before glancing towards the girls again.

“We know,” Nora says once her giggles die down. Missy nodded her head at Nora’s words.

“What?” You and Frankie ask in unison, flabbergasted they would have caught on. You’ve both been so careful with how you are around each other.

“Yep,” Nora nods, “Remember the sleepover where Frankie came to pick Missy up and didn’t have his hat?”

You nod, processing the words your daughter is saying.

“I found his hat,” she says, holding in her laughter, “Under your bed.”

“Oh,” you say, stunned, looking towards Frankie who shrugs his shoulders.

“And I’ve seen that shirt in my dad’s room,” Missy says pointing at your chest, “And his room smells a lot better now too, kinda like vanilla, like you!” she exclaims.

You stifle your laugh, shaking your head.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Frankie mutters, “Got ourselves Starsky and Hutch over here.” 

I’m glad you liked it! 😍🥰

Between Us

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI! Go on, get! Kissing, fluff, secret relationship, time skipping, smut, oral(f and m receiving), unprotected PinV(don’t do this, make smart choices), cream pie, anything I left out let me know!

A/N: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY!!! This is part 2 of Paint With Me but can be read as a stand alone! Thank you @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for giving this a look over for me ❤️ Thank you @jay-zzle for giving this a read as well and the moodboard 😍

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck, right there,” you groan into Frankie’s pillow, gripping the wrist that’s holding him above you. His other arm wrapped around your shoulder, grabbing your breast while he pulls you back against his cock again, your ass meeting his hips in a steady rhythm.

“Oh fuck,” he quietly grunts into the side of your neck, feeling your walls sucking him in, “Feel so fucking good baby.”

It’s been four months since you and Frankie had that conversation in the painting class you attended with your daughters. Four months of sneaking around so that the girls don’t catch on to their parents dating each other. In front of the girls, you and Frankie are just good friends but behind closed doors, it’s a completely different story.

“Frankie,” you whimper, trying to stifle your moans, you can feel the warmth simmering in your lower belly, so close to tipping over the edge, “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, baby?” Frankie whispers into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin, open-mouthed kisses placed along your shoulders as he feels your walls beginning to flutter around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Your grip around his wrist tightens as his hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head to the side. He captures your mouth in a kiss, your tongues massaging each other. His thrusts start to get quicker and you can tell he’s getting close too.

“Fuck,” Frankie whimpers into the crook of your neck, “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Daddy?” You hear a wobbly voice say on the other side of the door and you both freeze. “Daddy, I had a nightmare.”

“Shit,” Frankie huffs into your neck, “Okay, be right there baby!” He hollers at the door.

You both hear the door handle turning and the door creaking open.

“Missy!” Frankie panics, “Don’t. I’ll be right there. Just give me a second.”

“Why?” Missy asks, trying to peek through the crack in the door. Frankie pulls the covers up onto his shoulders higher, blocking the door's view of you under him.

“I’m naked, Missy. That’s why!”

“Ew!” Missy shouts, running back to her room.

“Dad duty,” Frankie grumbles, pulling out and searching for his boxers, “I’ll be right back.”

—

“Nora!” You shout from the front door, trying to get your shoes on, “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

“I need socks!” She hollers.

“There’s a clean basket of clothes in the laundry room,” you shout back.

“Mom,” Nora says, approaching the living room, “Why is there boy underwear in the laundry?” She asks, holding up a pair of Frankie’s boxers from the last time he stayed the night. Shit.

“Uhmm…” you start, trying to think of a quick excuse, “My friend had an accident and asked for my help.”

“What kind of accident?” Nora asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Just an accident, Nora,” you huff, getting your jacket on, “Now get your shoes and jacket on so we can go!”

Nora dropped the subject, thankfully, putting her shoes on and both of you were out the door. On the drive to Paint with Me you kept looking in the rearview mirror, you could see the wheels turning in your daughter's head about what had happened back at the house but still, she kept quiet.

“Hey!” Frankie greeted you with a warm smile, as you walked in the door to Miss Janice’s weekly art class. “Missy’s at our usual table,” Frankie said to Nora, pointing in Missy’s direction.

“Here!” Nora said, wrestling off her jacket, chucking it at you, and running to the table where Missy was. The girls are beaming with smiles at each other, hugging as if they hadn’t just seen each other a day ago when you all met up at the park for them to play.

“We might have a problem,” you say low enough for only Frankie to hear, hanging Nora’s jacket up on a hook and sliding your own off. He cocked his head to the side with a confused look, “Nora found your boxers in our laundry,” you whisper, hanging your jacket with hers.

“Oh,” Frankie says, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Uhm, how- how did that go?”

“Told her that my friend had an accident and he asked me for help.”

“Accident, huh?” Frankie grinned quietly adding, “We’ve been together for six months now, you know I’m potty trained.”

You both laugh, as you make your way to the table to sit with Nora and Missy. The girls are whispering to each other as you both sit down.

“What are you two gossiping about, huh?” Frankie asks, giving Missy’s side a small squeeze. Missy lets out a giggle.

“We think she has a boyfriend!” Nora says, pointing at you.

“What? Me?!” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yeah,” Nora says, “Why else would you have boy underwear in the laundry?”

“Is he cute? Is he nice? Wait, Is he rich?” Missy asks quickly. You can’t help but laugh shaking your head.

“Missy,” Frankie laughs, “Leave her alone.”

“What?” Missy asks, shrugging her shoulders, “It’s just a couple of questions.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say, “No boyfriend for me.”

Frankie places his hand over his mouth covering that knowing smirk.

–

“I can’t wait til they get here!” Nora says, vibrating with excitement staring out the front window.

Frankie and Missy should be arriving any minute with the pizzas. Nora wanted to have a sleepover, so you figured why not have Missy over and invite Frankie to join for pizza and some movies for a little bit. He offered to pick the pizzas up on his way over.

“They’re here!” Nora shrieks, running to the front door and swinging it open causing it to smack against the wall.

“Damn it, Nora,” you grumble, watching her run to Frankie’s truck and opening the door for Missy to jump out. The girls are excitedly jabbering in the driveway while Frankie is trying to hold onto the pizzas and ushering them inside.

“Mom said we can camp in the living room tonight and fall asleep watching movies!” Nora says excitedly, “I bet you I’ll stay awake longer than you!”

“Whatever,” Missy says, “I’ll be the one up the longest!”

You and Frankie share a look both knowing that neither one will be up past 10. Frankie goes to the kitchen and sets the pizzas on the counter.

“Get the good stuff?” You hum, rubbing your hand across his lower back.

“Pepperoni and black olives?” He asks, opening the box and moving to show you, “Why yes, yes I did.”

“Gross!” The girls say in unison.

“No worries,” Frankie said, “I got a plain pepperoni and plain cheese for you two to destroy!”

“Yay!” They both yelled from the living room. You got plates down from the cupboard, getting slices of pizza set on each one.

“You guys get a movie picked out?” You ask, grabbing the plates meant for you and Frankie, while he holds the two for the girls.

“Uhmm…” Nora hesitates, looking at you while standing in the middle of the living room arranging blankets. “We got distracted by making our floor mattress.”

“Well,” Frankie says, observing the mess of blankets while setting the plates on the coffee table, “I’ll work on this and you guys pick out a movie.”

Frankie made their pallets on the floor, while the girls rummaged the shelf picking out movies to watch. Each picked out 5, playing rock paper scissors to see who got the first pick.

“Yes!” Nora shouted, raising her arms in victory, “Monsters vs. Aliens first!” 

You pop the DVD in while the girls get comfy on the makeshift beds Frankie made for them, both of them diving into their pizza slices. You plop on the other end of the couch, away from Frankie. He gives you a puzzled look as you bite into your pizza and nod your head towards the girls.

“Ahh,” he sighs out, “Gotcha.”

As the night goes on, you notice both girls yawning more frequently and Frankie inching across the couch to get closer to you. By the end of the third movie, both girls are passed out and Frankie’s arm is behind you on the back of the couch.

“Looks like they’re both asleep,” Frankie whispers in your ear. You turn to look at him with a small smile.

“Appears so,” you say, slowly standing up and quietly making your way to their pallet on the floor. You look at both girls, hearing their soft snores as you pull their blankets up to their shoulders.

Frankie stands, smiling, watching you care for his daughter. It’s been nine months of this sneaking around, meeting up when Nora’s at her dad’s and he can find a sitter, or you coming over while Missy’s asleep, making random play dates just so you have an excuse to see each other. I love yous have been shared, talks about one day all living under one roof together have happened, Frankie’s getting tired of keeping it a secret and hopes you are too. You follow him out of the living room, satisfied the girls are comfortable.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. You can feel his half-hard member through the denim of his jeans against your thigh.

“Hey,” you whisper back, a smile gracing your lips, “Ya know, you don’t have to leave right away.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, pulling away and grabbing his hand, coaxing him to your bedroom. Crossing the threshold of your room, you close the door behind you, locking it as you lightly push Frankie towards your bed, while he kicks his shoes off. The back of his legs hit against the mattress, pushing against his broad chest, he sits down, hands traveling to the nape of his neck playing with the soft strands there.

“Missed you,” you breathe against his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, trailing your lips along the expanse of his throat. Frankie lets out a soft groan when you gently bite down, running your fingers up his scalp, giggling when you knock his hat off. His hands come to your sides, rubbing his palms against your soft skin while peeling off your shirt. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, licking into your mouth with fervor, arousal pooling in your panties.

“Missed you too,” he says, forehead pressed against yours. You start to push his shirt up, pulling it off the rest of the way, chucking it to the floor next to yours. Your fingers travel the expanse of his chest and he lets out a quiet hiss when you put more pressure on his nipples, fingers making their way over his soft belly to the trail of hair peeking out from his jeans. You’ve done this dance plenty of times; you remove his belt and undo his jeans like a pro, Frankie lifts his hips so you can slide his jeans and boxers off. His shaft slaps against his stomach while you sink to your knees, your head resting against his thigh, admiring his beautiful cock. You wrap your hand around him - your fingers unable to touch together - and give him an experimental tug, watching as a bead of pre-come escapes the flushed tip.

“Frankie,” you sigh, “You’re perfect.”

Frankie smirks, running his fingers through your hair. Your mouth engulfs his tip, tongue swirling around it as he lets out a moan.

“Fuck,” Frankie hisses, as you take more of his length into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, looking up at him. Those deep brown irises are blown black with lust as he watches you bob your head along his length, twisting your hand around the base of his cock in tandem. “Stop.”

Your head lifts off of him with a soft pop, he grins, motioning for you to stand, grabbing your ass, and pulling you towards him.

“Don’t wanna come down your throat baby,” he says, kissing along your collarbone, traveling to the tops of your breasts. He reaches behind you to undo your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, and your bra slides onto the floor.

“Mmmm,” he hums, massaging your tits, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking sharply. You feel his wiry whiskers scrape along your skin and you let out a breathy whine.

“Frankie,” you whisper, your fingers running through his chocolate curls. He trails his lips down your rib cage, leaving goosebumps across your skin. He pushes your leggings and underwear down, fingers coming up to feel the arousal between your folds.

“So wet, hermosa,” Frankie purrs, grabbing your knee and bringing it against his thigh, shifting your body so you’re lying beneath him further up in bed. His cock rubbing against your folds as he sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth. “Wanna taste you, baby.”

You moan as Frankie makes his descent to your core, wide palms against your thighs pushing you open a little more for him, placing your legs on either side of his broad shoulders. He kisses and nips at your inner thighs, parting your lips to look at your glistening sex, and lets out a hum of approval before dipping down, flicking his tongue against your clit. You let out a shaky breath as he begins lapping at your folds like a man who hasn’t seen a meal in days, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth and swirling his tongue.

“F-fingers,” you manage to stutter out. Frankie begins tracing the tip of his finger against your entrance before slowly pushing in, massaging your inner walls, “Mm- more,” you whine and in response he hums, sinking a second digit along with the first.

“Oh god, Frankie,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Frankie lets out a moan as you tug on his hair, rocking your hips against his face, feeling his knuckles massaging that sweet spot. Your legs begin to shake, skin heating, walls contracting, feeling your climax approaching.

“Frankie,” you whine, dissolving into pleasure, your orgasm overtaking you.

“So fucking good,” Frankie grins, your release covering his mustache and chin. You bring his face to yours, kissing him with a carnal desire, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Messy too,” he laughs, as you wrap your legs around him.

“Fuck me,” you whine, “Frankie, please. I need you to fu-“

He pushes into you in one quick thrust, splitting you open, and you let out a loud moan. Frankie quickly covers your mouth, fearful the girls will wake up.

“Gotta be quiet, cariño,” Frankie hums with a grin etched on his face, slowly pulling out, groaning when he looks down at his cock covered in your juices. “Fuck.”

You whimper against his hand as he pushes back into your warmth, setting a languid pace. Nails digging into the muscles of his back, hearing the squelch of your pussy as he rocks into you.

“Fuck, baby,” Frankie grunts, smacking his hands against the mattress by your head, snapping his hips into you at a desperate pace. Your nails bite into his skin harder, crescent moons to be left behind as a reminder of you. “God damn it, I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” you pant into his mouth, feeling that tingle at the bottom of your spine starting to flourish. He devours your mouth, swallowing your moans as you reach your peak once again, white-hot electricity flowing through every limb of your body. Frankie’s hips stutter as his warm release paints your walls, your name escaping his lips as he comes.

Frankie slumps against you, face in the crook of your neck attempting to catch his breath as your fingers trail along his back, tracing small patterns into his skin. He pops his head up, looking at you, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face, kissing your forehead, cheeks, chin, and lips. He moves off of you and lays at your side with a sigh, pulling you into him.

“You should probably leave,” you pout sleepily, “I don’t,” yawn, “-don’t want the girls finding you here in the morning.”

“Just a few more minutes like this,” Frankie hums, pulling you against him tighter. 

Sleep overtakes both of you before you know it.

You wake to the sounds of Nora and Missy playing in the living room. Your eyes snap open. Shit, you fell asleep. Frankie fell asleep, here. At your house, with the girls just down the hall.

“Frankie,” you hiss shoving against him, “You fell asleep here!”

Frankie wakes startled, looking around your room trying to put the pieces together in his sleep-addled brain.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his eyes as you move getting dressed, “What do we do?”

“Uhh…” you say, looking around trying to think of the best possible option. Window. The fucking window. “Window.”

“Window?” Frankie asks with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Window. Climb out, pretend you just got here to pick Missy up.”

“What am I fucking sixteen?” Frankie laughs, standing up to stretch his back.

“Frankie,” you plead, “I don’t know what else to do here. This is not how they should find out.”

“Window it is,” Frankie says, getting himself dressed while you work on quietly opening the window. Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around you.

“Even though I wasn’t supposed to stay, I’m glad we had our own slumber party,” he whispers against your temple.

“Me too,” you grin, matching the smile on his face when you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, planting a firm kiss against his lips. “Now shoo before we get caught.”

Frankie climbs through the window, landing softly on the ground.

“I wanna tell the girls,” Frankie says abruptly, looking up at you, hope dancing around within those Hershey orbs.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs out your name, “I love you and I wanna tell them. I think it’s time.”

“Okay,” you say softly, leaning your head out the window to give him one more kiss before you return to pretending he didn’t stay here the whole night, “I love you too.”

—

It’s been four weeks since Frankie snuck out of your room like a teenager trying not to get caught by your parents. You both had a long discussion about finally telling the girls about you two being together, what could change, how they’d react to the news, and every possibility you could think of. Frankie seemed confident that they would take the news just fine. Missy liked you, Nora liked him, and they were best friends. Just means they get to see each other even more, Frankie had said with a laugh.

You pulled up to the local Cherry Berry, one of the girls’ favorite places. No holds bar on toppings, Frankie told them both to go wild. You find a somewhat secluded table for this discussion, in case the worst happens. The girls come over with their massive piles of ice cream and toppings sitting next to each other like always. Frankie takes the seat beside you, digging into his ice cream as soon as he sits down. The girls begin chattering away about stuff that’s been happening at school, their teachers, wondering what the next thing they’ll paint in class is when Frankie clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, twiddling his spoon, “We wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

The girls look between the two of you, waiting for one of you to say something.

“We’ve been dating,” you explain looking at each of them, “Each other,” you add, motioning between yourself and Frankie.

“Yeah,” Frankie adds, “We just wanted to be honest with you and let you know. We don’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Nora and Missy look at each other and then back at you and Frankie. Nora starts to giggle and Missy soon joins her. Both of them are laughing like hyenas. You and Frankie share a look before glancing towards the girls again.

“We know,” Nora says once her giggles die down. Missy nodded her head at Nora’s words.

“What?” You and Frankie ask in unison, flabbergasted they would have caught on. You’ve both been so careful with how you are around each other.

“Yep,” Nora nods, “Remember the sleepover where Frankie came to pick Missy up and didn’t have his hat?”

You nod, processing the words your daughter is saying.

“I found his hat,” she says, holding in her laughter, “Under your bed.”

“Oh,” you say, stunned, looking towards Frankie who shrugs his shoulders.

“And I’ve seen that shirt in my dad’s room,” Missy says pointing at your chest, “And his room smells a lot better now too, kinda like vanilla, like you!” she exclaims.

You stifle your laugh, shaking your head.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Frankie mutters, “Got ourselves Starsky and Hutch over here.” 

🥰🥰

Same! The brain is doing brain things with these two! ❤️

Between Us

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI! Go on, get! Kissing, fluff, secret relationship, time skipping, smut, oral(f and m receiving), unprotected PinV(don’t do this, make smart choices), cream pie, anything I left out let me know!

A/N: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY!!! This is part 2 of Paint With Me but can be read as a stand alone! Thank you @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for giving this a look over for me ❤️ Thank you @jay-zzle for giving this a read as well and the moodboard 😍

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck, right there,” you groan into Frankie’s pillow, gripping the wrist that’s holding him above you. His other arm wrapped around your shoulder, grabbing your breast while he pulls you back against his cock again, your ass meeting his hips in a steady rhythm.

“Oh fuck,” he quietly grunts into the side of your neck, feeling your walls sucking him in, “Feel so fucking good baby.”

It’s been four months since you and Frankie had that conversation in the painting class you attended with your daughters. Four months of sneaking around so that the girls don’t catch on to their parents dating each other. In front of the girls, you and Frankie are just good friends but behind closed doors, it’s a completely different story.

“Frankie,” you whimper, trying to stifle your moans, you can feel the warmth simmering in your lower belly, so close to tipping over the edge, “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, baby?” Frankie whispers into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin, open-mouthed kisses placed along your shoulders as he feels your walls beginning to flutter around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Your grip around his wrist tightens as his hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head to the side. He captures your mouth in a kiss, your tongues massaging each other. His thrusts start to get quicker and you can tell he’s getting close too.

“Fuck,” Frankie whimpers into the crook of your neck, “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Daddy?” You hear a wobbly voice say on the other side of the door and you both freeze. “Daddy, I had a nightmare.”

“Shit,” Frankie huffs into your neck, “Okay, be right there baby!” He hollers at the door.

You both hear the door handle turning and the door creaking open.

“Missy!” Frankie panics, “Don’t. I’ll be right there. Just give me a second.”

“Why?” Missy asks, trying to peek through the crack in the door. Frankie pulls the covers up onto his shoulders higher, blocking the door's view of you under him.

“I’m naked, Missy. That’s why!”

“Ew!” Missy shouts, running back to her room.

“Dad duty,” Frankie grumbles, pulling out and searching for his boxers, “I’ll be right back.”

—

“Nora!” You shout from the front door, trying to get your shoes on, “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

“I need socks!” She hollers.

“There’s a clean basket of clothes in the laundry room,” you shout back.

“Mom,” Nora says, approaching the living room, “Why is there boy underwear in the laundry?” She asks, holding up a pair of Frankie’s boxers from the last time he stayed the night. Shit.

“Uhmm…” you start, trying to think of a quick excuse, “My friend had an accident and asked for my help.”

“What kind of accident?” Nora asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Just an accident, Nora,” you huff, getting your jacket on, “Now get your shoes and jacket on so we can go!”

Nora dropped the subject, thankfully, putting her shoes on and both of you were out the door. On the drive to Paint with Me you kept looking in the rearview mirror, you could see the wheels turning in your daughter's head about what had happened back at the house but still, she kept quiet.

“Hey!” Frankie greeted you with a warm smile, as you walked in the door to Miss Janice’s weekly art class. “Missy’s at our usual table,” Frankie said to Nora, pointing in Missy’s direction.

“Here!” Nora said, wrestling off her jacket, chucking it at you, and running to the table where Missy was. The girls are beaming with smiles at each other, hugging as if they hadn’t just seen each other a day ago when you all met up at the park for them to play.

“We might have a problem,” you say low enough for only Frankie to hear, hanging Nora’s jacket up on a hook and sliding your own off. He cocked his head to the side with a confused look, “Nora found your boxers in our laundry,” you whisper, hanging your jacket with hers.

“Oh,” Frankie says, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Uhm, how- how did that go?”

“Told her that my friend had an accident and he asked me for help.”

“Accident, huh?” Frankie grinned quietly adding, “We’ve been together for six months now, you know I’m potty trained.”

You both laugh, as you make your way to the table to sit with Nora and Missy. The girls are whispering to each other as you both sit down.

“What are you two gossiping about, huh?” Frankie asks, giving Missy’s side a small squeeze. Missy lets out a giggle.

“We think she has a boyfriend!” Nora says, pointing at you.

“What? Me?!” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yeah,” Nora says, “Why else would you have boy underwear in the laundry?”

“Is he cute? Is he nice? Wait, Is he rich?” Missy asks quickly. You can’t help but laugh shaking your head.

“Missy,” Frankie laughs, “Leave her alone.”

“What?” Missy asks, shrugging her shoulders, “It’s just a couple of questions.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say, “No boyfriend for me.”

Frankie places his hand over his mouth covering that knowing smirk.

–

“I can’t wait til they get here!” Nora says, vibrating with excitement staring out the front window.

Frankie and Missy should be arriving any minute with the pizzas. Nora wanted to have a sleepover, so you figured why not have Missy over and invite Frankie to join for pizza and some movies for a little bit. He offered to pick the pizzas up on his way over.

“They’re here!” Nora shrieks, running to the front door and swinging it open causing it to smack against the wall.

“Damn it, Nora,” you grumble, watching her run to Frankie’s truck and opening the door for Missy to jump out. The girls are excitedly jabbering in the driveway while Frankie is trying to hold onto the pizzas and ushering them inside.

“Mom said we can camp in the living room tonight and fall asleep watching movies!” Nora says excitedly, “I bet you I’ll stay awake longer than you!”

“Whatever,” Missy says, “I’ll be the one up the longest!”

You and Frankie share a look both knowing that neither one will be up past 10. Frankie goes to the kitchen and sets the pizzas on the counter.

“Get the good stuff?” You hum, rubbing your hand across his lower back.

“Pepperoni and black olives?” He asks, opening the box and moving to show you, “Why yes, yes I did.”

“Gross!” The girls say in unison.

“No worries,” Frankie said, “I got a plain pepperoni and plain cheese for you two to destroy!”

“Yay!” They both yelled from the living room. You got plates down from the cupboard, getting slices of pizza set on each one.

“You guys get a movie picked out?” You ask, grabbing the plates meant for you and Frankie, while he holds the two for the girls.

“Uhmm…” Nora hesitates, looking at you while standing in the middle of the living room arranging blankets. “We got distracted by making our floor mattress.”

“Well,” Frankie says, observing the mess of blankets while setting the plates on the coffee table, “I’ll work on this and you guys pick out a movie.”

Frankie made their pallets on the floor, while the girls rummaged the shelf picking out movies to watch. Each picked out 5, playing rock paper scissors to see who got the first pick.

“Yes!” Nora shouted, raising her arms in victory, “Monsters vs. Aliens first!” 

You pop the DVD in while the girls get comfy on the makeshift beds Frankie made for them, both of them diving into their pizza slices. You plop on the other end of the couch, away from Frankie. He gives you a puzzled look as you bite into your pizza and nod your head towards the girls.

“Ahh,” he sighs out, “Gotcha.”

As the night goes on, you notice both girls yawning more frequently and Frankie inching across the couch to get closer to you. By the end of the third movie, both girls are passed out and Frankie’s arm is behind you on the back of the couch.

“Looks like they’re both asleep,” Frankie whispers in your ear. You turn to look at him with a small smile.

“Appears so,” you say, slowly standing up and quietly making your way to their pallet on the floor. You look at both girls, hearing their soft snores as you pull their blankets up to their shoulders.

Frankie stands, smiling, watching you care for his daughter. It’s been nine months of this sneaking around, meeting up when Nora’s at her dad’s and he can find a sitter, or you coming over while Missy’s asleep, making random play dates just so you have an excuse to see each other. I love yous have been shared, talks about one day all living under one roof together have happened, Frankie’s getting tired of keeping it a secret and hopes you are too. You follow him out of the living room, satisfied the girls are comfortable.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. You can feel his half-hard member through the denim of his jeans against your thigh.

“Hey,” you whisper back, a smile gracing your lips, “Ya know, you don’t have to leave right away.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, pulling away and grabbing his hand, coaxing him to your bedroom. Crossing the threshold of your room, you close the door behind you, locking it as you lightly push Frankie towards your bed, while he kicks his shoes off. The back of his legs hit against the mattress, pushing against his broad chest, he sits down, hands traveling to the nape of his neck playing with the soft strands there.

“Missed you,” you breathe against his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, trailing your lips along the expanse of his throat. Frankie lets out a soft groan when you gently bite down, running your fingers up his scalp, giggling when you knock his hat off. His hands come to your sides, rubbing his palms against your soft skin while peeling off your shirt. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, licking into your mouth with fervor, arousal pooling in your panties.

“Missed you too,” he says, forehead pressed against yours. You start to push his shirt up, pulling it off the rest of the way, chucking it to the floor next to yours. Your fingers travel the expanse of his chest and he lets out a quiet hiss when you put more pressure on his nipples, fingers making their way over his soft belly to the trail of hair peeking out from his jeans. You’ve done this dance plenty of times; you remove his belt and undo his jeans like a pro, Frankie lifts his hips so you can slide his jeans and boxers off. His shaft slaps against his stomach while you sink to your knees, your head resting against his thigh, admiring his beautiful cock. You wrap your hand around him - your fingers unable to touch together - and give him an experimental tug, watching as a bead of pre-come escapes the flushed tip.

“Frankie,” you sigh, “You’re perfect.”

Frankie smirks, running his fingers through your hair. Your mouth engulfs his tip, tongue swirling around it as he lets out a moan.

“Fuck,” Frankie hisses, as you take more of his length into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, looking up at him. Those deep brown irises are blown black with lust as he watches you bob your head along his length, twisting your hand around the base of his cock in tandem. “Stop.”

Your head lifts off of him with a soft pop, he grins, motioning for you to stand, grabbing your ass, and pulling you towards him.

“Don’t wanna come down your throat baby,” he says, kissing along your collarbone, traveling to the tops of your breasts. He reaches behind you to undo your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, and your bra slides onto the floor.

“Mmmm,” he hums, massaging your tits, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking sharply. You feel his wiry whiskers scrape along your skin and you let out a breathy whine.

“Frankie,” you whisper, your fingers running through his chocolate curls. He trails his lips down your rib cage, leaving goosebumps across your skin. He pushes your leggings and underwear down, fingers coming up to feel the arousal between your folds.

“So wet, hermosa,” Frankie purrs, grabbing your knee and bringing it against his thigh, shifting your body so you’re lying beneath him further up in bed. His cock rubbing against your folds as he sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth. “Wanna taste you, baby.”

You moan as Frankie makes his descent to your core, wide palms against your thighs pushing you open a little more for him, placing your legs on either side of his broad shoulders. He kisses and nips at your inner thighs, parting your lips to look at your glistening sex, and lets out a hum of approval before dipping down, flicking his tongue against your clit. You let out a shaky breath as he begins lapping at your folds like a man who hasn’t seen a meal in days, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth and swirling his tongue.

“F-fingers,” you manage to stutter out. Frankie begins tracing the tip of his finger against your entrance before slowly pushing in, massaging your inner walls, “Mm- more,” you whine and in response he hums, sinking a second digit along with the first.

“Oh god, Frankie,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Frankie lets out a moan as you tug on his hair, rocking your hips against his face, feeling his knuckles massaging that sweet spot. Your legs begin to shake, skin heating, walls contracting, feeling your climax approaching.

“Frankie,” you whine, dissolving into pleasure, your orgasm overtaking you.

“So fucking good,” Frankie grins, your release covering his mustache and chin. You bring his face to yours, kissing him with a carnal desire, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Messy too,” he laughs, as you wrap your legs around him.

“Fuck me,” you whine, “Frankie, please. I need you to fu-“

He pushes into you in one quick thrust, splitting you open, and you let out a loud moan. Frankie quickly covers your mouth, fearful the girls will wake up.

“Gotta be quiet, cariño,” Frankie hums with a grin etched on his face, slowly pulling out, groaning when he looks down at his cock covered in your juices. “Fuck.”

You whimper against his hand as he pushes back into your warmth, setting a languid pace. Nails digging into the muscles of his back, hearing the squelch of your pussy as he rocks into you.

“Fuck, baby,” Frankie grunts, smacking his hands against the mattress by your head, snapping his hips into you at a desperate pace. Your nails bite into his skin harder, crescent moons to be left behind as a reminder of you. “God damn it, I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” you pant into his mouth, feeling that tingle at the bottom of your spine starting to flourish. He devours your mouth, swallowing your moans as you reach your peak once again, white-hot electricity flowing through every limb of your body. Frankie’s hips stutter as his warm release paints your walls, your name escaping his lips as he comes.

Frankie slumps against you, face in the crook of your neck attempting to catch his breath as your fingers trail along his back, tracing small patterns into his skin. He pops his head up, looking at you, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face, kissing your forehead, cheeks, chin, and lips. He moves off of you and lays at your side with a sigh, pulling you into him.

“You should probably leave,” you pout sleepily, “I don’t,” yawn, “-don’t want the girls finding you here in the morning.”

“Just a few more minutes like this,” Frankie hums, pulling you against him tighter. 

Sleep overtakes both of you before you know it.

You wake to the sounds of Nora and Missy playing in the living room. Your eyes snap open. Shit, you fell asleep. Frankie fell asleep, here. At your house, with the girls just down the hall.

“Frankie,” you hiss shoving against him, “You fell asleep here!”

Frankie wakes startled, looking around your room trying to put the pieces together in his sleep-addled brain.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his eyes as you move getting dressed, “What do we do?”

“Uhh…” you say, looking around trying to think of the best possible option. Window. The fucking window. “Window.”

“Window?” Frankie asks with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Window. Climb out, pretend you just got here to pick Missy up.”

“What am I fucking sixteen?” Frankie laughs, standing up to stretch his back.

“Frankie,” you plead, “I don’t know what else to do here. This is not how they should find out.”

“Window it is,” Frankie says, getting himself dressed while you work on quietly opening the window. Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around you.

“Even though I wasn’t supposed to stay, I’m glad we had our own slumber party,” he whispers against your temple.

“Me too,” you grin, matching the smile on his face when you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, planting a firm kiss against his lips. “Now shoo before we get caught.”

Frankie climbs through the window, landing softly on the ground.

“I wanna tell the girls,” Frankie says abruptly, looking up at you, hope dancing around within those Hershey orbs.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs out your name, “I love you and I wanna tell them. I think it’s time.”

“Okay,” you say softly, leaning your head out the window to give him one more kiss before you return to pretending he didn’t stay here the whole night, “I love you too.”

—

It’s been four weeks since Frankie snuck out of your room like a teenager trying not to get caught by your parents. You both had a long discussion about finally telling the girls about you two being together, what could change, how they’d react to the news, and every possibility you could think of. Frankie seemed confident that they would take the news just fine. Missy liked you, Nora liked him, and they were best friends. Just means they get to see each other even more, Frankie had said with a laugh.

You pulled up to the local Cherry Berry, one of the girls’ favorite places. No holds bar on toppings, Frankie told them both to go wild. You find a somewhat secluded table for this discussion, in case the worst happens. The girls come over with their massive piles of ice cream and toppings sitting next to each other like always. Frankie takes the seat beside you, digging into his ice cream as soon as he sits down. The girls begin chattering away about stuff that’s been happening at school, their teachers, wondering what the next thing they’ll paint in class is when Frankie clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, twiddling his spoon, “We wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

The girls look between the two of you, waiting for one of you to say something.

“We’ve been dating,” you explain looking at each of them, “Each other,” you add, motioning between yourself and Frankie.

“Yeah,” Frankie adds, “We just wanted to be honest with you and let you know. We don’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Nora and Missy look at each other and then back at you and Frankie. Nora starts to giggle and Missy soon joins her. Both of them are laughing like hyenas. You and Frankie share a look before glancing towards the girls again.

“We know,” Nora says once her giggles die down. Missy nodded her head at Nora’s words.

“What?” You and Frankie ask in unison, flabbergasted they would have caught on. You’ve both been so careful with how you are around each other.

“Yep,” Nora nods, “Remember the sleepover where Frankie came to pick Missy up and didn’t have his hat?”

You nod, processing the words your daughter is saying.

“I found his hat,” she says, holding in her laughter, “Under your bed.”

“Oh,” you say, stunned, looking towards Frankie who shrugs his shoulders.

“And I’ve seen that shirt in my dad’s room,” Missy says pointing at your chest, “And his room smells a lot better now too, kinda like vanilla, like you!” she exclaims.

You stifle your laugh, shaking your head.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Frankie mutters, “Got ourselves Starsky and Hutch over here.” 

Why not both?! 🤷‍♀️😅 Thank you so much! I’m glad you liked it ❤️❤️❤️

Between Us

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI! Go on, get! Kissing, fluff, secret relationship, time skipping, smut, oral(f and m receiving), unprotected PinV(don’t do this, make smart choices), cream pie, anything I left out let me know!

A/N: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY!!! This is part 2 of Paint With Me but can be read as a stand alone! Thank you @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for giving this a look over for me ❤️ Thank you @jay-zzle for giving this a read as well and the moodboard 😍

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck, right there,” you groan into Frankie’s pillow, gripping the wrist that’s holding him above you. His other arm wrapped around your shoulder, grabbing your breast while he pulls you back against his cock again, your ass meeting his hips in a steady rhythm.

“Oh fuck,” he quietly grunts into the side of your neck, feeling your walls sucking him in, “Feel so fucking good baby.”

It’s been four months since you and Frankie had that conversation in the painting class you attended with your daughters. Four months of sneaking around so that the girls don’t catch on to their parents dating each other. In front of the girls, you and Frankie are just good friends but behind closed doors, it’s a completely different story.

“Frankie,” you whimper, trying to stifle your moans, you can feel the warmth simmering in your lower belly, so close to tipping over the edge, “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, baby?” Frankie whispers into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin, open-mouthed kisses placed along your shoulders as he feels your walls beginning to flutter around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Your grip around his wrist tightens as his hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head to the side. He captures your mouth in a kiss, your tongues massaging each other. His thrusts start to get quicker and you can tell he’s getting close too.

“Fuck,” Frankie whimpers into the crook of your neck, “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Daddy?” You hear a wobbly voice say on the other side of the door and you both freeze. “Daddy, I had a nightmare.”

“Shit,” Frankie huffs into your neck, “Okay, be right there baby!” He hollers at the door.

You both hear the door handle turning and the door creaking open.

“Missy!” Frankie panics, “Don’t. I’ll be right there. Just give me a second.”

“Why?” Missy asks, trying to peek through the crack in the door. Frankie pulls the covers up onto his shoulders higher, blocking the door's view of you under him.

“I’m naked, Missy. That’s why!”

“Ew!” Missy shouts, running back to her room.

“Dad duty,” Frankie grumbles, pulling out and searching for his boxers, “I’ll be right back.”

—

“Nora!” You shout from the front door, trying to get your shoes on, “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

“I need socks!” She hollers.

“There’s a clean basket of clothes in the laundry room,” you shout back.

“Mom,” Nora says, approaching the living room, “Why is there boy underwear in the laundry?” She asks, holding up a pair of Frankie’s boxers from the last time he stayed the night. Shit.

“Uhmm…” you start, trying to think of a quick excuse, “My friend had an accident and asked for my help.”

“What kind of accident?” Nora asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Just an accident, Nora,” you huff, getting your jacket on, “Now get your shoes and jacket on so we can go!”

Nora dropped the subject, thankfully, putting her shoes on and both of you were out the door. On the drive to Paint with Me you kept looking in the rearview mirror, you could see the wheels turning in your daughter's head about what had happened back at the house but still, she kept quiet.

“Hey!” Frankie greeted you with a warm smile, as you walked in the door to Miss Janice’s weekly art class. “Missy’s at our usual table,” Frankie said to Nora, pointing in Missy’s direction.

“Here!” Nora said, wrestling off her jacket, chucking it at you, and running to the table where Missy was. The girls are beaming with smiles at each other, hugging as if they hadn’t just seen each other a day ago when you all met up at the park for them to play.

“We might have a problem,” you say low enough for only Frankie to hear, hanging Nora’s jacket up on a hook and sliding your own off. He cocked his head to the side with a confused look, “Nora found your boxers in our laundry,” you whisper, hanging your jacket with hers.

“Oh,” Frankie says, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Uhm, how- how did that go?”

“Told her that my friend had an accident and he asked me for help.”

“Accident, huh?” Frankie grinned quietly adding, “We’ve been together for six months now, you know I’m potty trained.”

You both laugh, as you make your way to the table to sit with Nora and Missy. The girls are whispering to each other as you both sit down.

“What are you two gossiping about, huh?” Frankie asks, giving Missy’s side a small squeeze. Missy lets out a giggle.

“We think she has a boyfriend!” Nora says, pointing at you.

“What? Me?!” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yeah,” Nora says, “Why else would you have boy underwear in the laundry?”

“Is he cute? Is he nice? Wait, Is he rich?” Missy asks quickly. You can’t help but laugh shaking your head.

“Missy,” Frankie laughs, “Leave her alone.”

“What?” Missy asks, shrugging her shoulders, “It’s just a couple of questions.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say, “No boyfriend for me.”

Frankie places his hand over his mouth covering that knowing smirk.

–

“I can’t wait til they get here!” Nora says, vibrating with excitement staring out the front window.

Frankie and Missy should be arriving any minute with the pizzas. Nora wanted to have a sleepover, so you figured why not have Missy over and invite Frankie to join for pizza and some movies for a little bit. He offered to pick the pizzas up on his way over.

“They’re here!” Nora shrieks, running to the front door and swinging it open causing it to smack against the wall.

“Damn it, Nora,” you grumble, watching her run to Frankie’s truck and opening the door for Missy to jump out. The girls are excitedly jabbering in the driveway while Frankie is trying to hold onto the pizzas and ushering them inside.

“Mom said we can camp in the living room tonight and fall asleep watching movies!” Nora says excitedly, “I bet you I’ll stay awake longer than you!”

“Whatever,” Missy says, “I’ll be the one up the longest!”

You and Frankie share a look both knowing that neither one will be up past 10. Frankie goes to the kitchen and sets the pizzas on the counter.

“Get the good stuff?” You hum, rubbing your hand across his lower back.

“Pepperoni and black olives?” He asks, opening the box and moving to show you, “Why yes, yes I did.”

“Gross!” The girls say in unison.

“No worries,” Frankie said, “I got a plain pepperoni and plain cheese for you two to destroy!”

“Yay!” They both yelled from the living room. You got plates down from the cupboard, getting slices of pizza set on each one.

“You guys get a movie picked out?” You ask, grabbing the plates meant for you and Frankie, while he holds the two for the girls.

“Uhmm…” Nora hesitates, looking at you while standing in the middle of the living room arranging blankets. “We got distracted by making our floor mattress.”

“Well,” Frankie says, observing the mess of blankets while setting the plates on the coffee table, “I’ll work on this and you guys pick out a movie.”

Frankie made their pallets on the floor, while the girls rummaged the shelf picking out movies to watch. Each picked out 5, playing rock paper scissors to see who got the first pick.

“Yes!” Nora shouted, raising her arms in victory, “Monsters vs. Aliens first!” 

You pop the DVD in while the girls get comfy on the makeshift beds Frankie made for them, both of them diving into their pizza slices. You plop on the other end of the couch, away from Frankie. He gives you a puzzled look as you bite into your pizza and nod your head towards the girls.

“Ahh,” he sighs out, “Gotcha.”

As the night goes on, you notice both girls yawning more frequently and Frankie inching across the couch to get closer to you. By the end of the third movie, both girls are passed out and Frankie’s arm is behind you on the back of the couch.

“Looks like they’re both asleep,” Frankie whispers in your ear. You turn to look at him with a small smile.

“Appears so,” you say, slowly standing up and quietly making your way to their pallet on the floor. You look at both girls, hearing their soft snores as you pull their blankets up to their shoulders.

Frankie stands, smiling, watching you care for his daughter. It’s been nine months of this sneaking around, meeting up when Nora’s at her dad’s and he can find a sitter, or you coming over while Missy’s asleep, making random play dates just so you have an excuse to see each other. I love yous have been shared, talks about one day all living under one roof together have happened, Frankie’s getting tired of keeping it a secret and hopes you are too. You follow him out of the living room, satisfied the girls are comfortable.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. You can feel his half-hard member through the denim of his jeans against your thigh.

“Hey,” you whisper back, a smile gracing your lips, “Ya know, you don’t have to leave right away.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, pulling away and grabbing his hand, coaxing him to your bedroom. Crossing the threshold of your room, you close the door behind you, locking it as you lightly push Frankie towards your bed, while he kicks his shoes off. The back of his legs hit against the mattress, pushing against his broad chest, he sits down, hands traveling to the nape of his neck playing with the soft strands there.

“Missed you,” you breathe against his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, trailing your lips along the expanse of his throat. Frankie lets out a soft groan when you gently bite down, running your fingers up his scalp, giggling when you knock his hat off. His hands come to your sides, rubbing his palms against your soft skin while peeling off your shirt. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, licking into your mouth with fervor, arousal pooling in your panties.

“Missed you too,” he says, forehead pressed against yours. You start to push his shirt up, pulling it off the rest of the way, chucking it to the floor next to yours. Your fingers travel the expanse of his chest and he lets out a quiet hiss when you put more pressure on his nipples, fingers making their way over his soft belly to the trail of hair peeking out from his jeans. You’ve done this dance plenty of times; you remove his belt and undo his jeans like a pro, Frankie lifts his hips so you can slide his jeans and boxers off. His shaft slaps against his stomach while you sink to your knees, your head resting against his thigh, admiring his beautiful cock. You wrap your hand around him - your fingers unable to touch together - and give him an experimental tug, watching as a bead of pre-come escapes the flushed tip.

“Frankie,” you sigh, “You’re perfect.”

Frankie smirks, running his fingers through your hair. Your mouth engulfs his tip, tongue swirling around it as he lets out a moan.

“Fuck,” Frankie hisses, as you take more of his length into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, looking up at him. Those deep brown irises are blown black with lust as he watches you bob your head along his length, twisting your hand around the base of his cock in tandem. “Stop.”

Your head lifts off of him with a soft pop, he grins, motioning for you to stand, grabbing your ass, and pulling you towards him.

“Don’t wanna come down your throat baby,” he says, kissing along your collarbone, traveling to the tops of your breasts. He reaches behind you to undo your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, and your bra slides onto the floor.

“Mmmm,” he hums, massaging your tits, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking sharply. You feel his wiry whiskers scrape along your skin and you let out a breathy whine.

“Frankie,” you whisper, your fingers running through his chocolate curls. He trails his lips down your rib cage, leaving goosebumps across your skin. He pushes your leggings and underwear down, fingers coming up to feel the arousal between your folds.

“So wet, hermosa,” Frankie purrs, grabbing your knee and bringing it against his thigh, shifting your body so you’re lying beneath him further up in bed. His cock rubbing against your folds as he sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth. “Wanna taste you, baby.”

You moan as Frankie makes his descent to your core, wide palms against your thighs pushing you open a little more for him, placing your legs on either side of his broad shoulders. He kisses and nips at your inner thighs, parting your lips to look at your glistening sex, and lets out a hum of approval before dipping down, flicking his tongue against your clit. You let out a shaky breath as he begins lapping at your folds like a man who hasn’t seen a meal in days, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth and swirling his tongue.

“F-fingers,” you manage to stutter out. Frankie begins tracing the tip of his finger against your entrance before slowly pushing in, massaging your inner walls, “Mm- more,” you whine and in response he hums, sinking a second digit along with the first.

“Oh god, Frankie,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Frankie lets out a moan as you tug on his hair, rocking your hips against his face, feeling his knuckles massaging that sweet spot. Your legs begin to shake, skin heating, walls contracting, feeling your climax approaching.

“Frankie,” you whine, dissolving into pleasure, your orgasm overtaking you.

“So fucking good,” Frankie grins, your release covering his mustache and chin. You bring his face to yours, kissing him with a carnal desire, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Messy too,” he laughs, as you wrap your legs around him.

“Fuck me,” you whine, “Frankie, please. I need you to fu-“

He pushes into you in one quick thrust, splitting you open, and you let out a loud moan. Frankie quickly covers your mouth, fearful the girls will wake up.

“Gotta be quiet, cariño,” Frankie hums with a grin etched on his face, slowly pulling out, groaning when he looks down at his cock covered in your juices. “Fuck.”

You whimper against his hand as he pushes back into your warmth, setting a languid pace. Nails digging into the muscles of his back, hearing the squelch of your pussy as he rocks into you.

“Fuck, baby,” Frankie grunts, smacking his hands against the mattress by your head, snapping his hips into you at a desperate pace. Your nails bite into his skin harder, crescent moons to be left behind as a reminder of you. “God damn it, I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” you pant into his mouth, feeling that tingle at the bottom of your spine starting to flourish. He devours your mouth, swallowing your moans as you reach your peak once again, white-hot electricity flowing through every limb of your body. Frankie’s hips stutter as his warm release paints your walls, your name escaping his lips as he comes.

Frankie slumps against you, face in the crook of your neck attempting to catch his breath as your fingers trail along his back, tracing small patterns into his skin. He pops his head up, looking at you, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face, kissing your forehead, cheeks, chin, and lips. He moves off of you and lays at your side with a sigh, pulling you into him.

“You should probably leave,” you pout sleepily, “I don’t,” yawn, “-don’t want the girls finding you here in the morning.”

“Just a few more minutes like this,” Frankie hums, pulling you against him tighter. 

Sleep overtakes both of you before you know it.

You wake to the sounds of Nora and Missy playing in the living room. Your eyes snap open. Shit, you fell asleep. Frankie fell asleep, here. At your house, with the girls just down the hall.

“Frankie,” you hiss shoving against him, “You fell asleep here!”

Frankie wakes startled, looking around your room trying to put the pieces together in his sleep-addled brain.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his eyes as you move getting dressed, “What do we do?”

“Uhh…” you say, looking around trying to think of the best possible option. Window. The fucking window. “Window.”

“Window?” Frankie asks with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Window. Climb out, pretend you just got here to pick Missy up.”

“What am I fucking sixteen?” Frankie laughs, standing up to stretch his back.

“Frankie,” you plead, “I don’t know what else to do here. This is not how they should find out.”

“Window it is,” Frankie says, getting himself dressed while you work on quietly opening the window. Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around you.

“Even though I wasn’t supposed to stay, I’m glad we had our own slumber party,” he whispers against your temple.

“Me too,” you grin, matching the smile on his face when you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, planting a firm kiss against his lips. “Now shoo before we get caught.”

Frankie climbs through the window, landing softly on the ground.

“I wanna tell the girls,” Frankie says abruptly, looking up at you, hope dancing around within those Hershey orbs.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs out your name, “I love you and I wanna tell them. I think it’s time.”

“Okay,” you say softly, leaning your head out the window to give him one more kiss before you return to pretending he didn’t stay here the whole night, “I love you too.”

—

It’s been four weeks since Frankie snuck out of your room like a teenager trying not to get caught by your parents. You both had a long discussion about finally telling the girls about you two being together, what could change, how they’d react to the news, and every possibility you could think of. Frankie seemed confident that they would take the news just fine. Missy liked you, Nora liked him, and they were best friends. Just means they get to see each other even more, Frankie had said with a laugh.

You pulled up to the local Cherry Berry, one of the girls’ favorite places. No holds bar on toppings, Frankie told them both to go wild. You find a somewhat secluded table for this discussion, in case the worst happens. The girls come over with their massive piles of ice cream and toppings sitting next to each other like always. Frankie takes the seat beside you, digging into his ice cream as soon as he sits down. The girls begin chattering away about stuff that’s been happening at school, their teachers, wondering what the next thing they’ll paint in class is when Frankie clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, twiddling his spoon, “We wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

The girls look between the two of you, waiting for one of you to say something.

“We’ve been dating,” you explain looking at each of them, “Each other,” you add, motioning between yourself and Frankie.

“Yeah,” Frankie adds, “We just wanted to be honest with you and let you know. We don’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Nora and Missy look at each other and then back at you and Frankie. Nora starts to giggle and Missy soon joins her. Both of them are laughing like hyenas. You and Frankie share a look before glancing towards the girls again.

“We know,” Nora says once her giggles die down. Missy nodded her head at Nora’s words.

“What?” You and Frankie ask in unison, flabbergasted they would have caught on. You’ve both been so careful with how you are around each other.

“Yep,” Nora nods, “Remember the sleepover where Frankie came to pick Missy up and didn’t have his hat?”

You nod, processing the words your daughter is saying.

“I found his hat,” she says, holding in her laughter, “Under your bed.”

“Oh,” you say, stunned, looking towards Frankie who shrugs his shoulders.

“And I’ve seen that shirt in my dad’s room,” Missy says pointing at your chest, “And his room smells a lot better now too, kinda like vanilla, like you!” she exclaims.

You stifle your laugh, shaking your head.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Frankie mutters, “Got ourselves Starsky and Hutch over here.” 

They would like to think so! 🤣

Between Us

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI! Go on, get! Kissing, fluff, secret relationship, time skipping, smut, oral(f and m receiving), unprotected PinV(don’t do this, make smart choices), cream pie, anything I left out let me know!

A/N: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY!!! This is part 2 of Paint With Me but can be read as a stand alone! Thank you @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for giving this a look over for me ❤️ Thank you @jay-zzle for giving this a read as well and the moodboard 😍

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck, right there,” you groan into Frankie’s pillow, gripping the wrist that’s holding him above you. His other arm wrapped around your shoulder, grabbing your breast while he pulls you back against his cock again, your ass meeting his hips in a steady rhythm.

“Oh fuck,” he quietly grunts into the side of your neck, feeling your walls sucking him in, “Feel so fucking good baby.”

It’s been four months since you and Frankie had that conversation in the painting class you attended with your daughters. Four months of sneaking around so that the girls don’t catch on to their parents dating each other. In front of the girls, you and Frankie are just good friends but behind closed doors, it’s a completely different story.

“Frankie,” you whimper, trying to stifle your moans, you can feel the warmth simmering in your lower belly, so close to tipping over the edge, “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, baby?” Frankie whispers into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin, open-mouthed kisses placed along your shoulders as he feels your walls beginning to flutter around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Your grip around his wrist tightens as his hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head to the side. He captures your mouth in a kiss, your tongues massaging each other. His thrusts start to get quicker and you can tell he’s getting close too.

“Fuck,” Frankie whimpers into the crook of your neck, “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Daddy?” You hear a wobbly voice say on the other side of the door and you both freeze. “Daddy, I had a nightmare.”

“Shit,” Frankie huffs into your neck, “Okay, be right there baby!” He hollers at the door.

You both hear the door handle turning and the door creaking open.

“Missy!” Frankie panics, “Don’t. I’ll be right there. Just give me a second.”

“Why?” Missy asks, trying to peek through the crack in the door. Frankie pulls the covers up onto his shoulders higher, blocking the door's view of you under him.

“I’m naked, Missy. That’s why!”

“Ew!” Missy shouts, running back to her room.

“Dad duty,” Frankie grumbles, pulling out and searching for his boxers, “I’ll be right back.”

—

“Nora!” You shout from the front door, trying to get your shoes on, “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

“I need socks!” She hollers.

“There’s a clean basket of clothes in the laundry room,” you shout back.

“Mom,” Nora says, approaching the living room, “Why is there boy underwear in the laundry?” She asks, holding up a pair of Frankie’s boxers from the last time he stayed the night. Shit.

“Uhmm…” you start, trying to think of a quick excuse, “My friend had an accident and asked for my help.”

“What kind of accident?” Nora asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Just an accident, Nora,” you huff, getting your jacket on, “Now get your shoes and jacket on so we can go!”

Nora dropped the subject, thankfully, putting her shoes on and both of you were out the door. On the drive to Paint with Me you kept looking in the rearview mirror, you could see the wheels turning in your daughter's head about what had happened back at the house but still, she kept quiet.

“Hey!” Frankie greeted you with a warm smile, as you walked in the door to Miss Janice’s weekly art class. “Missy’s at our usual table,” Frankie said to Nora, pointing in Missy’s direction.

“Here!” Nora said, wrestling off her jacket, chucking it at you, and running to the table where Missy was. The girls are beaming with smiles at each other, hugging as if they hadn’t just seen each other a day ago when you all met up at the park for them to play.

“We might have a problem,” you say low enough for only Frankie to hear, hanging Nora’s jacket up on a hook and sliding your own off. He cocked his head to the side with a confused look, “Nora found your boxers in our laundry,” you whisper, hanging your jacket with hers.

“Oh,” Frankie says, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Uhm, how- how did that go?”

“Told her that my friend had an accident and he asked me for help.”

“Accident, huh?” Frankie grinned quietly adding, “We’ve been together for six months now, you know I’m potty trained.”

You both laugh, as you make your way to the table to sit with Nora and Missy. The girls are whispering to each other as you both sit down.

“What are you two gossiping about, huh?” Frankie asks, giving Missy’s side a small squeeze. Missy lets out a giggle.

“We think she has a boyfriend!” Nora says, pointing at you.

“What? Me?!” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yeah,” Nora says, “Why else would you have boy underwear in the laundry?”

“Is he cute? Is he nice? Wait, Is he rich?” Missy asks quickly. You can’t help but laugh shaking your head.

“Missy,” Frankie laughs, “Leave her alone.”

“What?” Missy asks, shrugging her shoulders, “It’s just a couple of questions.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say, “No boyfriend for me.”

Frankie places his hand over his mouth covering that knowing smirk.

–

“I can’t wait til they get here!” Nora says, vibrating with excitement staring out the front window.

Frankie and Missy should be arriving any minute with the pizzas. Nora wanted to have a sleepover, so you figured why not have Missy over and invite Frankie to join for pizza and some movies for a little bit. He offered to pick the pizzas up on his way over.

“They’re here!” Nora shrieks, running to the front door and swinging it open causing it to smack against the wall.

“Damn it, Nora,” you grumble, watching her run to Frankie’s truck and opening the door for Missy to jump out. The girls are excitedly jabbering in the driveway while Frankie is trying to hold onto the pizzas and ushering them inside.

“Mom said we can camp in the living room tonight and fall asleep watching movies!” Nora says excitedly, “I bet you I’ll stay awake longer than you!”

“Whatever,” Missy says, “I’ll be the one up the longest!”

You and Frankie share a look both knowing that neither one will be up past 10. Frankie goes to the kitchen and sets the pizzas on the counter.

“Get the good stuff?” You hum, rubbing your hand across his lower back.

“Pepperoni and black olives?” He asks, opening the box and moving to show you, “Why yes, yes I did.”

“Gross!” The girls say in unison.

“No worries,” Frankie said, “I got a plain pepperoni and plain cheese for you two to destroy!”

“Yay!” They both yelled from the living room. You got plates down from the cupboard, getting slices of pizza set on each one.

“You guys get a movie picked out?” You ask, grabbing the plates meant for you and Frankie, while he holds the two for the girls.

“Uhmm…” Nora hesitates, looking at you while standing in the middle of the living room arranging blankets. “We got distracted by making our floor mattress.”

“Well,” Frankie says, observing the mess of blankets while setting the plates on the coffee table, “I’ll work on this and you guys pick out a movie.”

Frankie made their pallets on the floor, while the girls rummaged the shelf picking out movies to watch. Each picked out 5, playing rock paper scissors to see who got the first pick.

“Yes!” Nora shouted, raising her arms in victory, “Monsters vs. Aliens first!” 

You pop the DVD in while the girls get comfy on the makeshift beds Frankie made for them, both of them diving into their pizza slices. You plop on the other end of the couch, away from Frankie. He gives you a puzzled look as you bite into your pizza and nod your head towards the girls.

“Ahh,” he sighs out, “Gotcha.”

As the night goes on, you notice both girls yawning more frequently and Frankie inching across the couch to get closer to you. By the end of the third movie, both girls are passed out and Frankie’s arm is behind you on the back of the couch.

“Looks like they’re both asleep,” Frankie whispers in your ear. You turn to look at him with a small smile.

“Appears so,” you say, slowly standing up and quietly making your way to their pallet on the floor. You look at both girls, hearing their soft snores as you pull their blankets up to their shoulders.

Frankie stands, smiling, watching you care for his daughter. It’s been nine months of this sneaking around, meeting up when Nora’s at her dad’s and he can find a sitter, or you coming over while Missy’s asleep, making random play dates just so you have an excuse to see each other. I love yous have been shared, talks about one day all living under one roof together have happened, Frankie’s getting tired of keeping it a secret and hopes you are too. You follow him out of the living room, satisfied the girls are comfortable.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. You can feel his half-hard member through the denim of his jeans against your thigh.

“Hey,” you whisper back, a smile gracing your lips, “Ya know, you don’t have to leave right away.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, pulling away and grabbing his hand, coaxing him to your bedroom. Crossing the threshold of your room, you close the door behind you, locking it as you lightly push Frankie towards your bed, while he kicks his shoes off. The back of his legs hit against the mattress, pushing against his broad chest, he sits down, hands traveling to the nape of his neck playing with the soft strands there.

“Missed you,” you breathe against his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, trailing your lips along the expanse of his throat. Frankie lets out a soft groan when you gently bite down, running your fingers up his scalp, giggling when you knock his hat off. His hands come to your sides, rubbing his palms against your soft skin while peeling off your shirt. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, licking into your mouth with fervor, arousal pooling in your panties.

“Missed you too,” he says, forehead pressed against yours. You start to push his shirt up, pulling it off the rest of the way, chucking it to the floor next to yours. Your fingers travel the expanse of his chest and he lets out a quiet hiss when you put more pressure on his nipples, fingers making their way over his soft belly to the trail of hair peeking out from his jeans. You’ve done this dance plenty of times; you remove his belt and undo his jeans like a pro, Frankie lifts his hips so you can slide his jeans and boxers off. His shaft slaps against his stomach while you sink to your knees, your head resting against his thigh, admiring his beautiful cock. You wrap your hand around him - your fingers unable to touch together - and give him an experimental tug, watching as a bead of pre-come escapes the flushed tip.

“Frankie,” you sigh, “You’re perfect.”

Frankie smirks, running his fingers through your hair. Your mouth engulfs his tip, tongue swirling around it as he lets out a moan.

“Fuck,” Frankie hisses, as you take more of his length into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, looking up at him. Those deep brown irises are blown black with lust as he watches you bob your head along his length, twisting your hand around the base of his cock in tandem. “Stop.”

Your head lifts off of him with a soft pop, he grins, motioning for you to stand, grabbing your ass, and pulling you towards him.

“Don’t wanna come down your throat baby,” he says, kissing along your collarbone, traveling to the tops of your breasts. He reaches behind you to undo your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, and your bra slides onto the floor.

“Mmmm,” he hums, massaging your tits, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking sharply. You feel his wiry whiskers scrape along your skin and you let out a breathy whine.

“Frankie,” you whisper, your fingers running through his chocolate curls. He trails his lips down your rib cage, leaving goosebumps across your skin. He pushes your leggings and underwear down, fingers coming up to feel the arousal between your folds.

“So wet, hermosa,” Frankie purrs, grabbing your knee and bringing it against his thigh, shifting your body so you’re lying beneath him further up in bed. His cock rubbing against your folds as he sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth. “Wanna taste you, baby.”

You moan as Frankie makes his descent to your core, wide palms against your thighs pushing you open a little more for him, placing your legs on either side of his broad shoulders. He kisses and nips at your inner thighs, parting your lips to look at your glistening sex, and lets out a hum of approval before dipping down, flicking his tongue against your clit. You let out a shaky breath as he begins lapping at your folds like a man who hasn’t seen a meal in days, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth and swirling his tongue.

“F-fingers,” you manage to stutter out. Frankie begins tracing the tip of his finger against your entrance before slowly pushing in, massaging your inner walls, “Mm- more,” you whine and in response he hums, sinking a second digit along with the first.

“Oh god, Frankie,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Frankie lets out a moan as you tug on his hair, rocking your hips against his face, feeling his knuckles massaging that sweet spot. Your legs begin to shake, skin heating, walls contracting, feeling your climax approaching.

“Frankie,” you whine, dissolving into pleasure, your orgasm overtaking you.

“So fucking good,” Frankie grins, your release covering his mustache and chin. You bring his face to yours, kissing him with a carnal desire, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Messy too,” he laughs, as you wrap your legs around him.

“Fuck me,” you whine, “Frankie, please. I need you to fu-“

He pushes into you in one quick thrust, splitting you open, and you let out a loud moan. Frankie quickly covers your mouth, fearful the girls will wake up.

“Gotta be quiet, cariño,” Frankie hums with a grin etched on his face, slowly pulling out, groaning when he looks down at his cock covered in your juices. “Fuck.”

You whimper against his hand as he pushes back into your warmth, setting a languid pace. Nails digging into the muscles of his back, hearing the squelch of your pussy as he rocks into you.

“Fuck, baby,” Frankie grunts, smacking his hands against the mattress by your head, snapping his hips into you at a desperate pace. Your nails bite into his skin harder, crescent moons to be left behind as a reminder of you. “God damn it, I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” you pant into his mouth, feeling that tingle at the bottom of your spine starting to flourish. He devours your mouth, swallowing your moans as you reach your peak once again, white-hot electricity flowing through every limb of your body. Frankie’s hips stutter as his warm release paints your walls, your name escaping his lips as he comes.

Frankie slumps against you, face in the crook of your neck attempting to catch his breath as your fingers trail along his back, tracing small patterns into his skin. He pops his head up, looking at you, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face, kissing your forehead, cheeks, chin, and lips. He moves off of you and lays at your side with a sigh, pulling you into him.

“You should probably leave,” you pout sleepily, “I don’t,” yawn, “-don’t want the girls finding you here in the morning.”

“Just a few more minutes like this,” Frankie hums, pulling you against him tighter. 

Sleep overtakes both of you before you know it.

You wake to the sounds of Nora and Missy playing in the living room. Your eyes snap open. Shit, you fell asleep. Frankie fell asleep, here. At your house, with the girls just down the hall.

“Frankie,” you hiss shoving against him, “You fell asleep here!”

Frankie wakes startled, looking around your room trying to put the pieces together in his sleep-addled brain.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his eyes as you move getting dressed, “What do we do?”

“Uhh…” you say, looking around trying to think of the best possible option. Window. The fucking window. “Window.”

“Window?” Frankie asks with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Window. Climb out, pretend you just got here to pick Missy up.”

“What am I fucking sixteen?” Frankie laughs, standing up to stretch his back.

“Frankie,” you plead, “I don’t know what else to do here. This is not how they should find out.”

“Window it is,” Frankie says, getting himself dressed while you work on quietly opening the window. Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around you.

“Even though I wasn’t supposed to stay, I’m glad we had our own slumber party,” he whispers against your temple.

“Me too,” you grin, matching the smile on his face when you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, planting a firm kiss against his lips. “Now shoo before we get caught.”

Frankie climbs through the window, landing softly on the ground.

“I wanna tell the girls,” Frankie says abruptly, looking up at you, hope dancing around within those Hershey orbs.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs out your name, “I love you and I wanna tell them. I think it’s time.”

“Okay,” you say softly, leaning your head out the window to give him one more kiss before you return to pretending he didn’t stay here the whole night, “I love you too.”

—

It’s been four weeks since Frankie snuck out of your room like a teenager trying not to get caught by your parents. You both had a long discussion about finally telling the girls about you two being together, what could change, how they’d react to the news, and every possibility you could think of. Frankie seemed confident that they would take the news just fine. Missy liked you, Nora liked him, and they were best friends. Just means they get to see each other even more, Frankie had said with a laugh.

You pulled up to the local Cherry Berry, one of the girls’ favorite places. No holds bar on toppings, Frankie told them both to go wild. You find a somewhat secluded table for this discussion, in case the worst happens. The girls come over with their massive piles of ice cream and toppings sitting next to each other like always. Frankie takes the seat beside you, digging into his ice cream as soon as he sits down. The girls begin chattering away about stuff that’s been happening at school, their teachers, wondering what the next thing they’ll paint in class is when Frankie clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, twiddling his spoon, “We wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

The girls look between the two of you, waiting for one of you to say something.

“We’ve been dating,” you explain looking at each of them, “Each other,” you add, motioning between yourself and Frankie.

“Yeah,” Frankie adds, “We just wanted to be honest with you and let you know. We don’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Nora and Missy look at each other and then back at you and Frankie. Nora starts to giggle and Missy soon joins her. Both of them are laughing like hyenas. You and Frankie share a look before glancing towards the girls again.

“We know,” Nora says once her giggles die down. Missy nodded her head at Nora’s words.

“What?” You and Frankie ask in unison, flabbergasted they would have caught on. You’ve both been so careful with how you are around each other.

“Yep,” Nora nods, “Remember the sleepover where Frankie came to pick Missy up and didn’t have his hat?”

You nod, processing the words your daughter is saying.

“I found his hat,” she says, holding in her laughter, “Under your bed.”

“Oh,” you say, stunned, looking towards Frankie who shrugs his shoulders.

“And I’ve seen that shirt in my dad’s room,” Missy says pointing at your chest, “And his room smells a lot better now too, kinda like vanilla, like you!” she exclaims.

You stifle your laugh, shaking your head.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Frankie mutters, “Got ourselves Starsky and Hutch over here.” 

I love this dynamic! 😍🫠

end up here

frankie morales x f!reader

summary: you’ve had a distaste for frankie for as long as you can remember, so how did you end up here?

word count: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ mdni!!, smut, unsafe p in v, porn with literally no plot, pet names, creampie, kinda enemies to lovers vibes, no mention of age gap so read however you’d like

notes: soooo i basically only wrote this as a little exercise to get myself back into writing after not feeling it for awhile. i wasn’t really going to share it but!! here we are lol. i used the prompt “if you hate me so much, why are you letting me do this?” from this list as inspo to write this. if you decide to give this a read i hope you enjoy <3 also a big thanks to @javiscigarette for being a big part of helping to making the writing process enjoyable for me again i love you so so much my baby & @pr0ximamidnight for also encouraging me and taking a peek at this before posting i love you mother 🩷 MWAHHHHH xoxo

You’re not quite sure how you ended up with Frankie pressing you against the wall in his apartment as he desperately kisses you and grabs at your waist, but it’s the last thing you would’ve expected. Your distaste for the man, if you could even call it that, goes back further than you can remember. At this point you’re not even sure what caused it, the two of you bickering and making snide comments whenever there’s a chance, but here you are now, hands wandering up his broad chest as he presses his tongue into your mouth.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, breathing heavily as his dark eyes roam your features. “Bedroom?” His low husky voice sends heat straight to your already burning core.

You frantically nod your head and he grabs your hand, not wasting any moment. As he leads you from the living room down the hallway towards his bedroom, your heart beats rapidly in your chest, adrenaline from the way he was pressed against you just moments ago rushing through your body. Your eyes are glued to the back of him as he pulls you into the bedroom, roaming over the expanse of his broad shoulders and the way his hair curls along the back of his neck. He pulls you close to him when you enter the room, spinning you around before kicking the door shut and attaching his lips to yours once again.

You let out a small moan as his lips press into yours, soft as they move in sync. His hands trail down the sides of your body and over the curves of your waist, stopping at your hips as he grabs onto the fabric of your shirt. Slowly he starts to walk you backwards towards his bed, never breaking the kiss. The back of your legs hit the mattress, he lets out a small grunt as you squeeze his biceps to keep yourself steady and break away to look up at him.

“Lay back for me baby.” Baby , something you never thought you’d hear him say, at least not towards you.

You don’t hesitate, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and laying back with your legs slightly spread where he stands between them. His hands immediately latch back onto the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms allowing him to pull it up over your head in one swift motion before tossing it across the room.

“Christ…” he shakes his head in awe of you.

Becoming impatient, you grab at the hem of his own shirt causing him to remove his unbuttoned flannel leaving him in a gray tshirt and dark jeans. You bite your lip in anticipation, arms falling to your sides and grasping the comforter of his bed. His large, warm hands trail down your stomach before toying with the hem of your bottoms. He slips his finger below the hem and runs his knuckles back and forth on your soft skin, causing you to shudder, before pulling them off along with your underwear. Your hips lift off the bed the slightest bit as he takes a good look at your dripping cunt.

“All this for me?” You don’t say a word as he cocks his head to the side, a sly grin on his face as he looks down at you.

“Yes.” Your hands grip tighter as you hear the sound of his belt coming undone.

He unzips his jeans, pulling them down to reveal his hard cock and you let out a low whine as you watch him. He’s huge, precum already dripping from his dark red tip.

“How long have you thought of me this way querida?” Two large fingers run through your slick folds as he speaks, teasing you.

“Frankie,” you groan, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down toward you to capture another kiss. “I hate you.” You whisper, a small smile toying on your lips as you stare back at him.

He rests on his elbows, one on either side of your head as he laughs at your statement. “If you hate me so much, why are you letting me do this?” His voice is just above a whisper.

One of his arms moves between the two of you and without a warning, he lines up his cock with your throbbing entrance and slowly begins to push in. You let out a gasp, mouth falling open as you grip onto his shoulders.

“Oh my- fuck!” Your eyes fall shut as he splits you open, stopping only once he’s filled you to the brim.

He stays still for a moment, letting out a pleased hum as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, one hand grabbing at your waist as he tries to compose himself. Your arms wrap around his large frame, splaying out across his back as you hold him close to you. Once his breathing starts to steady, he begins to move, not hesitating to quicken his pace.

When he lifts his head from being buried in your neck, his eyes dart back and forth between your own. You can’t read the expression on his face as he continues to thrust in and out of your sopping wet cunt.

“I’ve thought about this,” he lets out a huff. “so many times.” His hand moves to caress the back of your neck as he kisses you again, deeper than before, if that’s even possible.

You sigh, wrapping your legs around his waist as your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt covering his upper back. He’s thought about this so many times. You try to wrap your head around the words that just left his mouth, unable to believe that it’s true even though you’ve thought about it many times as well.

“Frankie-” he thrusts deeper, causing a whine to leave your lips and interrupting your thoughts as you clench around him.

His eyes close and he lets out a shaky breath as he pauses, relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him, the heat of your bodies pressed against each other as he hits that perfect spot in you. The pool of heat in your stomach is growing by the second, his unexpected words fueling the fire.

“I’m close.” You rasp, barely able to form the words.

His thumb gently swipes across your cheek, other hand moving from your hip to caress your covered breast. “Let me feel you baby.” He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, then begins trailing them down your neck and chest.

Your back arches, a low hiss leaving your mouth when his large hand removes your tit from your bra. His soft, wet lips latch onto your already hardened peak, tongue circling the sensitive skin as your hands find their way to tangle in his curls. The combination of his quick thrusts and his tongue drawing circles on your breast finally send you over the edge.

You can’t help the cry that leaves your mouth as the coil in your stomach finally snaps sending a white hot sensation throughout your body. Frankie doesn’t stop his thrusts as he stares down at your trembling body beneath him. As your orgasm starts to come to an end, you tug at his curls, instantly triggering his own orgasm.

“Fuck.” He whimpers, forehead pressing against yours as he unloads himself inside you.

His body stays still, falling limp against you as he closes his eyes and catches his breath, shirt sticking to his damp skin. You lift your head to plant a gentle kiss on his lips, he lets out a deep sigh before he jolts up, eyes flying open.

“Oh shit I- I’m so sorry.” He looks down between the two of you where his spend is seeping out around his cock, still buried inside you.

You grab his cheeks, stopping him from moving any further. “Hey, it’s okay. Promise.” You give him a reassuring smile.

His hand smooths over your cheek as a smile grows on his own face. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

You give him a small nod before he pulls out of you and you gasp at the loss, sitting up on your elbows as he goes in for another kiss. You watch him constantly as he pulls his jeans back on and runs a hand through his hair before sauntering off towards the bathroom.

You sit there for a moment while you wait for him, wondering how the hell this all happened before he returns with a washcloth to clean you up.

“What is it?” He stops in front of you, a wondering look on his face.

You snap out of your thoughts. “Hm?” You look up, eyes meeting with his.

“What are you thinking about?” He reaches down to start cleaning you up.

“You.” You say shyly.

He hums, nodding his head as he tries to control the smile on his face. Once he’s gotten you cleaned up he grabs a tshirt from his drawer, helping you put it on before changing his own and slipping out of his jeans. He pulls the comforter back so you can crawl in and nestles himself behind you as he pulls the blankets up.

“Still hate me?” He whispers as his hand drapes over your waist, pulling you closer.

“Hmmm, don’t know. Ask me again in the morning.” You press your lips together trying not to smile.

He lets out a deep laugh that shakes the bed as you turn to face him, snuggling into his chest as he rests his chin on the top of your head. He plants a small kiss there before the two of you drift off to sleep.

thank you for reading <3

This is absolutely adorable! Ugh!!!! Jo!!!!! I fucking love your writing 😍😍😍

fifteen hundred and one

frankie morales x f!reader | frankie masterlist

summary: he's your best friend. nothing would ever change that. except maybe a goodnight kiss.

warnings: just fluff. best friends who flirt to something. kissing. flirting. she calls frankie nemo. an: this is my submission for @janaispunk’s milestone celebration based on this moodboard and the prompt "goodnight kiss"! hugest and biggest congrats to you jana, my babe. you deserve all of this and more!

Laughing, hard. It’s all instinctive as one palm stretches out across his stomach, and the other arm hooks around you, tugging you close.

He tenses when your fingers brush over his threadbare tee, your head turning into him as you mirror him, giggling. Burying deep into the fabric, it seeps into his skin.

And all Frankie thinks is—

It’s easy with you.

Has been for years. Since you’d stumbled in as the friend of one of his friends girl-not-girl, sticking around longer than they did.

You'd glued to him, happily. Never minding, or caring. Somehow surprised at how simple it was going from ‘do you want a drink’ to resting your head on his shoulder, while the two of you absently listened to whatever bullshit Benny was saying.

Now, he looks forward to seeing you.

To late-night burger runs and early-morning coffee meets, quiz nights with the others and just the two of you movie trips.

At some point, between his tongue doubling in his head at the sight of you that night to now, he’s been resisting kissing you. Sometimes easy, sometimes it’s harder.

Tonight it’s the latter.

A hand clenched around his heart, squeezing. Beneath the moon's gentle gaze, the world slows, each laugh and comment infused with the spell of the silvery glow. It's intimate, almost sacred.

And it forces him to remind himself of the usual array of things that stop him from kissing the wit-induced smile right from your lips. The list he runs through to ensure he doesn't ruin you, in the same way, he'd almost destroyed his license, his job. Stopping himself from tasting the gloss you’ve smeared there, the one which makes street lamps reflect as the two of you walk back to his truck.

“—so even if I scratched your favourite vinyl, you’d still be friends with me?”

Opening the passenger side door, he smiles, gleams, fucking beams. “Yeah!”

He hears you mutter bullshit when he shuts it, fighting a laugh as he comes around the back before sliding in.

It’s not a far drive to yours. One he’s memorised, etched into him. Not just from tonight’s location, but all over town. From his to work, and your favourite spot to his. Able to drive, mainly on auto-pilot, not needing to concentrate too much, able to answer your wild, and ridiculous, array of “even if” questions. Each ranged from ‘if I burnt all your grass’ to, ‘hypothetically if you had a dog and I kicked it’. Each is smudged with the sound of the radio you've tuned, a station he won't admit he listens to when you're not even with him.

You don’t stop your questioning when he pulls onto your drive, parking side by side next to your car. The one he helped you haggle for three months ago now—if he thinks hard, he can still hear the sound of your squeal in gratitude in the furthest part of his ear.

“—what if I stole your last coffee filter?”

“I’m guessing I’m desperate for it too?”

“Yes,” you say, defiant but playfully. “Of course.”

“You’re telling me that if I stole your last coffee filter, you’d still be my friend?”

Killing the engine, he sighs. Shrugging. “Yeah.”

Unbuckling your belt, you throw a glare. “I don’t believe you. You’re more coffee than blood.”

Shaking his head, he rests against the headrest, the corner of his lips growing into his cheek. “Not a thing you could do that would make me ever want to not be your friend.”

Rolling your eyes, you hover your hand over the doorhandle. A part of him wants to ask you to wait, to not go just yet. A routine he thinks through at least three times a month when he sees you. Each time ending in the same cowardly way.

“Goodnight, Frank,” you say, in that same tone—one hard to read, forged in sadness but dressed up in joy—as you press your lips to his cheek.

He resists touching it like he always does. Mumbling the same scripted, “Night” he always does.

Not jolting when the door meets the frame, eyes pinned on you as you walk down your path—waiting for you to step on your porch, turn back and wave, fidget for your keys before unlocking the door and giving him another wave. Another pattern, another repetition.

Except tonight you stop.

You don’t even make it halfway down your path.

Blood pounds in his ears, something knotting inside of him. An urge, a fire lighting in his stomach. One he listens to. His hand shoves the door open, as the other undoes his belt, forcing himself to exit.

Frankie spots the glance in surprise at finding him coming around the front to join you. As though the idea he would is a shock, a surprise as he calls your name.

It’s slow, the way you spin on your heels. You pause, eyes narrowing, before widening, fighting a smile. A thing he can tell, can read. Even if you try to hide it in the night, shield it from the almost full moon and the stars which twinkle above.

“You think you’d be able to be my friend if I kissed you, Nemo?”

Leaning against the brick of your house, watching your eyes flick from his shoes back to his face.

“Finally ran out of cat names?”

“I’m branching out. I could go back to calling you Salem.”

Smirking, rolling his lips. “Still not a fish.”

Sighing, shifting your weight. “Didn’t answer my question.”

Wiping his hand with his face, hurrying his brain to think of something, anything, because he’s not sure if this is a joke. If you’re pushing him.

But the longer the silence thickens, the more time you stare at him, eyes growing wider and wider, he thinks that it might not be his heart that is the only one pounding. The only one beating in his ears, the pulse throbbing in his neck.

“Fran—”

“No,” he stammers, clearing his throat. “I–I’d be too busy.”

Lips sliding into your cheek, nervousness fading, fingers scratching the tip of your nose as he swears a shooting star soars in your eyes. “Doing what?”

“Kissing you fifteen hundred times.”

“Just fifteen hundred?”

Shrugging, chewing his tongue, he exhales—loud, nostrils flaring. “To start.”

Taking a step closer, a timid one. Enough to make a point, but not enough to close the gap entirely. Your knuckles brush his stomach, a blend between a stroke and a nudge.

“You’ve thought about this.”

A small part—one wrapped in vines of doubt, encased in pretending—warns him to clamp his mouth shut. To swallow the syllables and forms letters that make the sentence buzz in his mouth, along his teeth, and jaw.

Flicking his eyes from the floor to your face. “All the time, baby.”

He hears it, but he enjoys watching it more, the way you gasp. Low, airy, trying to bury it.

“Give me a goodnight kiss, Morales.”

He doesn’t think twice.

Brushing his lips against yours, soft, cautious, and tender, before it deepens. It makes his heart throb, double; it almost somersaults in his chest as your palm presses to his cheek, fingers sliding into his hair as one of his hands finds a home on your waist.

Then you’re smiling, almost laughing, right up against his mouth as he tastes the sugar on your lips. He feels the joy brushing against his mouth as your fingers knot into his hair.

And it unlocks him, allows you to consume him, to find himself free falling knowing he'll never land, fall or be hurt—just floating, as you tug him flush to you, a feeling so heavenly he almost wishes to pinch himself—

“Of course, you’re a good kisser,” you whisper, ghosting the words over his lips.

“Been thinking about it, have you?”

Snorting, nose nudging his, you press your mouth back to his, more searing, open-mouthed. “When I drive. At work. In the morning. At night.”

Each is punctuated with a kiss. The latter flows around his head, swirling in different shades and fonts as he groans, fingers sliding around the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. Making it a little rougher, more committed, feeling you cling to him, tugging him closer as he manoeuvres the two of you—flushing your back to the brick, his chest to yours.

A moan escapes you, tickling his lower lip as your thumb brushes along the back of his neck. Mouths parting, for a moment breathing the other, simply staring, gazing, ogling.

“Fourteen hundred and ninety-nine to go?”

Shaking his head, nose brushing yours, thumb stroking against your cheek. “This is a goodnight kiss—a necessity to begin the counter.”

“Oh,” you whisper, elongating it, adding a smirk to the end. “So, we have another fifteen hundred and then, we stop?”

Taking a deep breath, the scent of your perfume weaving into his soul. The sound of a car streets away travelling in the quiet of the night.

“Depends.” Tilting your head, waiting, confusion there. “You might unlock the next stage.”

Grinning against him, able to feel it as he runs his knuckles along your jaw.

“Or my lips fall off?”

Laughing, just like he did earlier. He smiles. “Or your lips fall off.”

This was such a wonderful read! 😍 The tension was perfect!!!

tommy's party (pt. i & ii)

summary: your handsome new roommate spells trouble. or, a bunch of times you and frankie nearly fuck. and then one time you do.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

series ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. roommate!frankie, stoner!frankie and stoner!reader. mentions of drinking and smoking weed - they're having a good time! no lady and no baby. friends to lovers, idiots in love, split pov, little bit of fluff and a whole lotta sexual tension. reader and frankie are little creeps n freaks. reader has history with benny, frankie hooks up with 1 (one) other person. thighriding, f&m masturbation, voyeurism, unprotected p in v (wrap it, y'all), oral, creampie, loads of cuddling. use of pet names (good girl, baby, etc.)

songs are tagged at end of fics - headers do not represent reader, only the albums!

an: this one really ran away from me, and so is now a two parter. love you, hope you enjoy!! <3

part i: you and your friends

part ii: tommy's party

I just… oh my god…

😭😭😭

I read the warnings and I was still not prepared. Your writing is beautifully heart wrenching ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

WHERE YOU LEFT ME

Pairing: Frankie Morales x reader

Summary: You meet Frankie for a date and reminisce about your relationship.

Content Warnings: MAJOR character death. No movie AU but fuck Tom. This is overall angst heavy and please take care of yourself. Grief & loss, sadness, memories, I think that’s it? It’s just overall a bittersweet and tragically lovesick story. There’s no physical descriptions of reader other than wearing a black dress at one point and having hair that tickles Frankie’s nose. no y/n used

Authors Note: hello my babies I am finally dropping this. It’s been an idea I had for months and I almost scrapped it but then I thought, no! Post it anyway! So here we go. It’s heavily inspired by Tim McGraw by Taylor Swift but it’s not required to listen to it to read the story. (Although if you’re like me and love a good cry, i recommend listening) I’ll meet you at the end of this with tissues and candy, okay? 🩵 thank you @pr0ximamidnight for beta reading this for me and I’m sorry for making you sob. || wc: 1.3k|| beautiful divider by @/saradika-graphics 🩵

“Hi honey, I missed you. Hope you aren’t too mad I’m runnin’ late.”

You smile and sit next to Frankie on the ground right on top of the red picnic blanket, food spread out from corner to corner. The assortment of favorite sweets and dishes makes you smile harder, getting comfortable right next to him.

“Finally went out shopping today for the first time in a while. I hadn’t seen my friends in so long, I’m surprised they answered when I offered to go out. We took the backroads home and it reminded me of when your truck used to get stuck back in high school, those long ass nights we should’ve been home studying but you wanted to go for a drive. You’d take us out to the lake and dance with me. Remember that? It was fun before my dad caught us and chased us back to the truck.”

You giggle and rest against him, blinking a few times as a breeze of cold and crisp October air rushes by you. Licking your lips, you continue.

“I found a note from years ago when I was looking for those one pair of shoes you know I hate wearing, the ones I have to wear when-”

You cut yourself off, not wanting to bring up that day. Not yet.

Pulling the folded piece of lined paper out of your coat pocket, you sniffle from the chilly weather and begin to read aloud the note. “This was from the day you were shipping out for basic and god was I pissed at you. We woke up and realized summer was gone, we were adults.”

“Frankie, when you read this you’ll probably be on the way to Texas, and I’ll be in Georgia, right where you left me. I told your mama I’d write to you every chance I got, and I mean that. That also means when I’m mad at you for leaving. I hope when you’re lying awake in your cot at night, you look up and our song starts to play, that one Tim McGraw song. You remember what I was wearing, the perfume embedded in my skin, the way my hair tickled your nose when you’d hug me.

By no means is this a goodbye letter. I’m in it forever with you, Frankie. I want you to come back home safely so we can start the family we’ve always wanted. Why did you have to leave me? Why was this the best solution for us? We were making it, we were fine. We were good. I was happy with our little apartment and my shitty 9-5 job while you worked on cars. Promise me you’ll come home safe. I need you here with me.

I love you endlessly, you have no idea. You make it hard to be mad when I remember how you’d tell me my eyes put the stars to shame every time I looked at you. That’s still a lie to this day. I’m already counting down the days until you’re back with me and I thought it would somehow make it easier but it doesn’t. I’ll be waiting right here for you, wearing that little black dress you love so much.

We’ll start our family and get that house on the outskirts of town like you told me we would. I already have dog names picked out for the dog we’re gonna adopt too.

P.s. the ring doesn’t have to be too expensive.

Love you always.”

Taking a deep breath in, you wipe your tears on your corduroy brown pants, looking around at all the people walking by in the distance. Grabbing a green grape from the plate next to your leg, you chew it up and rest back against your hands, the soft blanket shielding you from the cold ground.

“I got a new job a few months ago, I forgot to tell you. I'm in HR now which is fun. I get to listen to people complain about who ate whose lunch, hire more clowns who hope to climb the social ladder, that kind of thing. It has its good and bad days. Honestly though, it makes me forget about all the shit I have going on in my head. I get to focus on everyone else but myself for a day. I know, I know, an office job?”

You sit up straight and cross your legs before continuing.

“I needed something to pay the bills and I couldn’t stay a waitress forever. The tips were good but I couldn’t afford our apartment on that alone. Robert still calls me from time to time asking if I want a Friday night shift. I didn’t think he’d remember how I used to love those. You’d come in after being with Santi and Ben all day and want beers while you stayed until we closed, always wanting to be near me with what little time we did have. Just seeing you sitting on that barstool watching college football, eating those disgusting cheese sticks was enough to make me keep going for the night.”

And it was.

Frankie being there when he was off duty meant a lot to you.

You kneel down in front of him and you can feel the tears pricking your eyes once more as your scarf blows to the right a little.

“I left a note on your mama’s porch the other day. I know she doesn’t live there anymore but I just, it was the first time I’d gone back to your street since, ya know. By now I’m sure you know what I wrote in it, but just in case you don't. I hope you still think about me when you think Tim McGraw. It’ll bring you back to that place of us out there by the lake with my head on your chest, dancing all night like two lovesick teenagers. I hope it makes you happy, Frankie. I hope you know it means everything to me, still. After all these years.”

You finally crack and break down, leaning your forehead on the picnic blanket, the tears soaking into the fabric immediately. Muffled and choked out sobs leap from your lips and you clutch your throat, trying to calm yourself down enough to breathe.

“I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you, Frankie. You left me here with n-nothing.” You fiddle with your fingers and rub the spot on your ring finger where a ring should be sitting. Yet only a faint line from the ring Frankie won you out of a quarter machine was left. It didn’t feel right wearing it without him so you gave it back on that terrible day in September when the entire month seemed flooded out by tears. You tucked it right in his jacket pocket before you left.

That was the worst day of your life.

You sigh deeply and touch the cold granite headstone, the smallest picture of Frankie looking back at you.

“I love you so much. I’ll be back tomorrow to change your flowers. It’s my first winter without you here and I can’t stop thinking about how cold you must be, baby. I wish you were back in our apartment in my arms how you used to let me hold you.”

Laying down until your face was pressed against the ground, you sniffle again and whimper out as you think about him being cold.

“Frankie, I'm so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t get you out of that wooden box. I hope wherever you are in the universe, you’re safe and warm and can feel all the love I still have for you. There’s just too much left over and I’m not sure what to do with it, honey. What do I do with it? What do I do with all this love that was supposed to last us forever?”

You never did get the ring but you got an endless supply of memories from knowing him and loving him. Truly loving him.

You curl up into a little ball and hold yourself while you continue to cry, twiddling a leaf between your fingers. Eventually the whimpers turned into soft and broken hums of that one Tim McGraw song.

Hugs and kisses and tissues are complimentary 💚