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shared | crossover crack

FoF!joel miller x ofc (FoF!reader) x YSD!reader x YSD!joel miller

try to work out that fucking equation ^

thank you so much to @gasolinerainbowpuddles for this glorious banner <3

word count: 4.4k rating: 18+ minors dni summary: literally all porn, no plot. feelings on fire!reader and your summer dream!reader are besties who kiss. their joels are menaces. warnings: [PURE CRACK OK IT’S A CRACK FIC] filthy smut, TWO JOELS, foursome (mmff), oral (f receiving), fingering, wlw action, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating and sharing, light spanking, light choking, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, squirting, pet names, nothing makes sense but everything is fine. no use of y/n.

feelings on fire | your summer dream

A/N: a dangerous idea was put into mine and @joelscruff's minds. no, we will not be explaining how this scenario came to be. all you need to know is these horny fuckers met their counterparts at a resort, and now they all fuck in a hotel room. imagine this as far in the future of both couples' stories, but fof!reader is still a shy gal. *disclaimer: i recognize that this is pretty niche content, and it may not interest everyone - that is ok. just be nice about it bc this is literally just horny fun that was only ever meant to be for mine and cat's eyes. i'm sharing it in the hopes that some of you will get the same level of enjoyment out of it as we do. further context on this universe can be found here

a helpful glossary to understand what the fuck is going on in this here fic: fof!joel is referred to as either "her joel" or "the older joel" fof!reader is referred to as "she" or "her" and is represented here as a nameless ofc ysd!joel is referred to as either "your joel" or "the younger joel" ysd!reader is you, the reader insert

she's sitting with her legs crossed out in front of her in her soft, silk pajamas, leaning lazily against the headboard. she's so beautiful, you think, so pliant and willing. you're staring.

"come here," you whisper, sitting on the edge of the mattress as you extend a hand out to her. her eyebrows furrow, concerned.

"why?"

"i just...really want to kiss you right now."

you want to do more than that. you've been dreaming about it. you've watched her come apart beneath her joel's tongue, watched the way she gives herself over to him, squirming and crying and writhing under all the generous pleasure he offers her. it's fucking miraculous.

you want to try.

you've been with other girls here and there, but you've never done that. you know how you like it though. you could give her that.

worry paints her features.

"but joel's not here," she protests feebly.

she takes your outstretched hand regardless.

"he'll be back soon." the men have gone to get coffees, leaving you and her alone in the hotel room coated with mid-morning sunlight. "but we don't have to do anything if you don't feel safe, honey."

she appears to think it over for a moment, her eyes darting to your lips before she's shaking her head resolutely.

"i feel safe with you."

you smile as you climb over her body, straddling her hips and taking her sweet face in your hands.

"i'll take care of you," you promise her. she nods, her eyes glazing over as you lean forward to connect your mouth with hers.

she whimpers against you even though you're being so, so soft, only the lightest press of your lips onto hers. then she's melting into you, her frame going almost limp under you as you languidly flick your tongue between her parted lips. it awards you another symphonic whine, the sound going straight to your pussy, already aching from just the feeling of being on top of her.

"can i touch you, baby?" you ask her.

"mhmm."

your lips twitch, only inches from hers. "give me a yes or no, please."

she's nodding again, eager. "yes," she says.

you kiss her again, deeper this time and with just the slightest bit more force, still being just as careful as you know her joel is with her. when her tongue collides with yours, you suck it gently into your mouth, swallowing the squeaked moan that catches in her throat.

once you feel she's well and truly given in to you, you trail your hands down over her collarbones, dipping lower to her clothed chest before pinching lightly at both her hardened nipples. they poke out deliciously through the thin fabric of her pajamas and the second your fingers take hold she's arching up into you, crying out beautifully against your mouth.

she falls apart so easily. she's so perfect.

"can i take this off?" you ask as your fingers find their way beneath the hem of her shirt.

"yes, please."

so polite. her joel likes that. your joel likes it too. they're so alike, you think, and so different.

you miss them.

you strip out of your own shirt first, relishing the way her gaze fixes on your bare breasts, the way she swallows when they bounce ever so as you readjust yourself on her lap. she sits up straighter, willing as ever as she lifts her arms over her head to let you strip her pretty shirt off.

she's still staring at your tits.

"you wanna touch them, babe?" you offer and her eyes quickly move to your face.

"can i?" she asks. pleads. so soft.

you smile, clutching her face between your palms again. "go on."

sometimes you think your joel has rubbed off on you. or maybe this is just the way you are with her. you're still learning. every day, learning more and more about her and what she likes, more about yourself and your joel and how much you're willing to share with she and hers. 

she reaches her hands between your bodies tentatively, like she's not exactly sure what to do with them. she's hovering her fingers over your nipples and a familiar pucker appears between her brows.

she's so nervous when her joel's not here.

"touch them, honey, it's okay. you won't do it wrong."

she takes a deep breath, seems to steel herself before finally cupping your breasts in her hands, her touch feather light and careful. she's so fucking adorable.

"squeeze," you tell her and she does. so soft. "harder."

she tries, that worry line appearing between her brows again as she applies more pressure. your breath leaves you in a shaky exhale and it seems to embolden her; she kneads your breasts beneath her palms, gentle but steadily growing in confidence. you moan loudly when she mimics what you'd done to her, when she pinches gingerly at your pebbled nipples.

"fuck, come here," you growl, arousal stirring uncontrollably in your core as you crash your lips into hers again, hungrier than before, needier.

that's about the time the door clicks. you don't break the kiss. you know who it is. 

"huh," a gruff voice is saying. there's a smile in that sound.

"looks like our girls couldn't wait, could they?"

"needy little things. she takin' care of you, angel?" her joel asks. you're still kissing her as he approaches. your heart swells at the way she reaches a hand out to him, which he grasps tightly in both of his.

he's like an anchor for her. where's yours?

"'course she is," another voice is saying, and then you feel him, right behind you on the bed, his big hands coming down on your shoulders, running along your sides, up and over your chest till he finds your breasts. his palms are so much bigger than hers, his touch infinitely more demanding. you groan into her mouth and your hips rock into hers.

"i wanted..." you start to say but then joel's lips are on your neck, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. he's in control now.

"what did you want, sweetheart?" he murmurs into the hollow of your ear. she's squirming under you, her joel ducking down to steal her away from you to kiss her and you think they look so, so gorgeous.

"i wanted to eat her pussy, joel."

she whines into her joel's kiss, her free hand clawing at your bare thigh. the men chuckle.

"i think she wants that too," the older joel says. "do you want that, baby? want her to eat that perfect little pussy of yours? wanna let her taste you?"

now you whine, the younger joel's hands tweaking your nipples and making you see stars, while the elder's filthy words flood your mind with desire and all the while there's her, looking up at you, suppliant and desperate and beautiful.

"yes, please," she breathes, high-pitched and wanton. "i want her, joel. i want her mouth."

"good girl. c'mere."

there's a jostling of bodies as you stand to rid yourself of your underwear, the younger joel watching you with leering eyes as he strips out of his t-shirt and jeans. he's already hard under his boxers. you can hardly recall a moment since you've been here where he hasn't been hard. you kiss him, because he's right there and because you can't resist. he smacks your ass and you smirk at him.

"show her what you can do, babygirl," he encourages you.

her joel is quick to remove his clothes, helping her out of her silk pajama bottoms and situating his broad body behind her on the bed. she leans into his chest like coming home and he tilts her face up to his, placing a reassuring kiss against her lips.

your knees hit the mattress and their kiss breaks apart, her eyes on you in an instant, watching you crawl between her legs. her gaze is full of wonder, and only a hint of fear. the older joel's arms band around her chest and it seems to placate her some.

"open up for her, angel," her joel whispers into her neck.

she does as she's told, your careful hand on her knee coaxing her open wider, her glistening pussy on full display. for you.

you lick your lips.

"you know what you're doin' there, gorgeous?" her joel asks you and you smile shyly.

"not really," you confess.

"kiss her thighs," he instructs.

on all fours, you dive forward to press your lips into the delicate skin between her legs, feeling her shiver under you. she's so, so soft. you inch closer to her core, kissing your way over smooth, supple skin. goosebumps sprout on her tummy and you splay your hands out over them, sensing the way her muscles tense and loosen the nearer you get to her centre.

"slow, now," the older joel says, voice low. your eyes flit upwards. her eyelids are squeezed shut, head on his shoulder, lips parted. "kiss her pussy. soft."

behind you, your joel grunts, and there's a rustling as his boxers fall to the floor. you lean into her, the sight of her so close, intoxicating, beckoning.

"hey, honey," you whisper, just to her now. "look at me."

she opens her eyes but they go straight to her joel, that worry line back between her brows. he nods towards you with an encouraging smile.

"look at her," he repeats. "you're okay, angel. i got you. watch her. watch her eat your pretty pussy. she's gonna make you feel good. i'm gonna tell her just how you like it, okay?"

she sniffs, so brave. "okay."

at last, she obeys. wild-eyed and needy between her thighs, you never break her gaze as you close the space between your mouth and her cunt, pressing a tender kiss over her puffy, soaked folds. 

you moan in unison the second your lips make contact with hers. she's soft everywhere - but softest here, velvet smooth and wet. she's sweet all the time - but sweeter here, drenched with juices that taste like yours but different, better because they're hers.

"she wet?" your joel asks as he positions himself on the bed behind you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

"so wet, joel," you hum in wonder, your lips hovering over her most sensitive spot.

"taste her," her joel orders you gently. your heart hammers and your own pussy throbs as you lick a stripe from her core to clit, slick collecting on your tongue. she chokes out a quiet whine and her joel kisses her ear, whispering something you can't quite make out, something just for them.

"how's she taste?" he grumbles to you but his face is still buried in her hair, watching her. always, always, always watching her, you notice.

"so sweet," you moan, lapping at her core again and again, savouring everything she gives you. a hand is grabbing at your ass then, toying roughly with the plush flesh there. joel. yours. "she tastes so fucking sweet."

"think your man wants a taste," the older joel says, and when you peer up at him this time, his eyes are on the other man, the one still perched behind you with a hand on your ass.

you sit up and twist to face him; you find his eyes are black, wrecked. he tilts your head back by your hair and cranes down to lick greedily into your mouth, groaning when he tastes her on your tongue.

"she's right," your joel grunts, speaking to the other man but looking right at you. "so damn sweet."

her impatient whine redraws your attention. "come back," she pleads.

what a beautiful thing to be wanted by her. you don't need to be told twice.

"easy," the older joel warns but you're already retaking your place between her thighs, spreading her lips apart with your fingers to find her swollen clit. you flatten your tongue over it, just the way you like it.

"it's okay, joel - ah!" her voice cuts off when you begin to circle, closing your lips around her and swirling your tongue over the bundle of nerves. a fresh wave of slick pools at her centre and coats your chin. she's everywhere. her squirms and cries are all for you now.

you hum with delight but you feel so empty. your pussy clenches around nothing each time she whimpers and moans for you. you're dripping down your thighs - dizzy with want - but right now, there's only her.

you unlock a newfound respect for your men, who always take such time and care with you when they're burying their faces between your legs. but then, with the way she's threatening to come undone as you lick and suck at her sensitive clit, you think you understand why they do.

"think your girl might need some attention," the elder miller says then. 

god, how can he always tell? 

you look up to see him staring right passed you to your joel. you don't let up your efforts on her, but the promise of something more, something for you, has your heart racing.

"yeah?" your joel presses, speaking to you now. "need this cock, gorgeous?"

you whine against her in response and he chuckles.

"you want her fingers, angel?" her joel asks her and she mewls softly, a pleading sound. "want her to fuck you with her fingers while she's takin' his cock?"

you gasp and your joel chuckles behind you. his hands are already on your hips, hoisting your ass up further and lining his stiff cock up with your entrance. you can feel the tip prodding against you and you rock back into him, ready for it, but then his hand comes down on your ass in a harsh slap, and you think it feels almost chiding.

"focus on her," he commands from behind you before he's sinking into your waiting heat, burying himself to the hilt in one swift motion.

you moan at the stretch, at the fullness. always so, so full of him. she's keening beneath you - demanding your attention - but then joel starts to move and you can barely remember your own name.

"please," she's begging and joel smacks your ass again, digging his fingernails into your flesh. her joel reaches down then to snatch your hand and guide it towards her pussy.

"one to start," he tells you. "she'll be tight."

determined, you nod, joel's thrusts coming slow and even, measured as he moves in and out of you.

you prop yourself up on an elbow and her joel lets you take over as you poke at her hole with one finger, working to focus on her face as you curiously push it inside.

"fuck fuck fuck," she cries.

she's so warm, her walls constricting around your finger, slick dripping out generously over your knuckle.

"you copy me, sweetheart," your joel instructs. "fuck her like i'm fuckin' you."

"slow," her joel emphasizes. like the younger joel doesn't already know.

the joel inside you slows his movements even more, pulling almost all the way out before languidly sliding back in. you mimic his motions with your finger inside her, each agonizing drag of his cock into you eliciting heady moans from you and her, almost like he's fucking you both.

but of course he's not. you're making her feel good. you're doing that.

"just like that," the older joel orders. "put your mouth back on her. lick her clit."

she's squirming again; her joel has to practically restrain her to keep her still. when you close your lips around her clit again, your joel's hand is suddenly on your neck, holding you against her and forcing you to breathe through your nose as you lick and lap and flick at her sensitive clit, maintaining the steady movement of your finger in and out of her pussy, in time with joel's leisurely thrusting into you.

"joel, more, please, i can take more," she's whining and you hum into her, echoing her pleas. you want to give her more. you need more. more more more. it's never enough.

"yeah?" her joel eggs her on. "you want another finger, babygirl?"

"mhmm."

"ask her for it."

you can't imagine the look she sees on your face, wound up with euphoria from joel's cock filling you up, the slick of her all over your face and mouth, his hand still gripping the back of your neck.

you must looked wrecked. when your eyes lock, you think she does.

"please. another finger."

you nod - as much as you can - sinking another finger into her alongside the first and groaning at the way she stretches open for you.

you disregard your orders, opting instead to search for that spongy spot inside her, the spot you know will make her feel the very best, the spot that joel always finds without any difficulty at all.

it's hard; joel, seemingly unable to help himself, is fucking you harder and faster, filth tumbling from his lips like it always does when he's getting caught up in you.

"look at our perfect fuckin' girls, huh? you like eatin' her pussy, don't you, sweetheart? she looks so pretty with your face in her cunt."

"yeah, she does," her joel agrees and when you peek up at them from under your lashes, his face is buried in her hair again, kissing and nipping at her ear. "so fuckin' gorgeous, angel. you're doin' so, so good."

she whimpers and at last your fingers find what they're looking for. she cries out wordlessly, her back arching off of her joel's chest as you nudge at that perfect spot with expert care.

"oh, fuck," your joel groans behind you, his pace increasing so he's pounding into you, the tip of his cock colliding with your cervix, crashing you forward into her heat. with some difficulty, your lips find her clit once more.

you offer her tender kitten licks while your fingers continue their beckoning motions inside of her and the sounds she's making have your insides curling.

"oh, she likes that. good girl."

it's her joel, you realize, but he's talking to you, praising you sweetly just like yours would. his hands are on her breasts, kneading them between his fingers and flicking her nipples with all the care and precision of a man who knows exactly what his girl wants.

your joel growls in agreement, his hands clamping down tightly on your sides, his movements growing more erratic. he jostles you against her but it only pushes you more firmly into her, forces your fingers deeper.

"she's close," your joel warns.

"gonna come for her, babygirl? gonna come on her mouth?" her joel asks her.

"joel - it feels - different - "

"yeah? let go, angel, it's okay," the older joel assures her.

different? different how?

she's gasping, bucking her hips into your mouth, so needy, right on the edge. you hum in encouragement because it's the most you can muster, eager to feel her finish.

you pucker your lips around her clit again, feeling her body tighten beneath you, and then she's gone.

she quivers as she comes, moaning out a string of curses that sound like prayers in her honey sweet lilt. you're so lost in it, it catches you off guard in the very best way when a stream of liquid collides with your lips and face, her moans choking out into strangled cries.

"oh, look at that, baby," her joel hums in awe. "good fuckin' girl."

you don't have to ask to know she's never done that before. the realization that you'd made her squirt for the first time has you feeling warm and electric, almost proud. her come drips over your chin, soaking your cheeks and tongue, leaving a wet spot on the sheets below her. you'd done that.

"oh god, oh god, oh god," she chants above you, writhing away from your touch when it ends, when you've swallowed down every drop you can, pulling out your fingers slowly and lapping at her wet folds just to hear her scream out at the overstimulation.

she immediately buries her face into her joel's neck.

"i’m sorry," she chokes. "was that - "

"don't be sorry, angel," her joel whispers, softly petting her hair. "that's normal. just means she was makin' you feel extra good. we gotta find out how to make you do that again."

"yes please," you agree, offering her a smile. she returns it shyly.

he kisses every inch of her he can reach, murmuring sweet praise into her skin. you could watch them forever, you think, her limp body pressed into his while he holds her to him lovingly. they're so fucking beautiful.

you're conscious then of the younger joel's ragged grunting behind you, his hand reaching around to toy with your clit as he tugs at your hair with the other. your back arches and you whine out a chorus of his name as he beckons you closer to your own climax.

"look at them," her joel whispers to her, gripping her chin and tilting her face towards you and joel. "she looks good when she's gettin' fucked, doesn't she?"

"yes. yes, joel," she agrees breathily, still visibly reeling from her orgasm, eyes glassy and wide.

"she's gonna look real pretty when she comes on his cock," he adds and she nods, staring you down with something akin to anticipation.

"joel, i'm - " you start to tell the younger man but he just growls lowly, already knowing. he pulls you back into his chest, putting you on display for them. he pistons in and out with reckless abandon, deft fingers working over your clit while his other hand grips the base of your throat.

"give 'em a show, gorgeous," he purrs into your ear and it's the moment you finally break. your knees shake and your walls flutter around him as you come on his cock, your joel's firm arms around you holding you upright as he fucks you through it. you do as he says, moaning lewdly and throwing your head back over his shoulder, making sure they see every curve and bounce and clenching muscle.

you're still coming when he empties himself inside you, his thick fingers coiling tighter around your neck as he does.

"what'd i say, huh?" you hear her joel say. "real pretty."

it feels like eons before your joel lifting you off his cock, his spend dripping from your centre as he pulls you back into his lap to affectionately nip at your neck and shoulders.

"so fuckin' perfect, sweetheart," he whispers, just to you. "so good for me. for them."

"fuck," her joel groans, sounding impatient as he shifts on the bed, maneuvering her so she's lying on her back and he's hovering over her. he strokes his cock, hard and leaking, in quick, desperate pumps that tell you he's aching to find his own release.

"fuck her," you brazenly suggest. she glances at you with wide eyes and you offer her an encouraging smile. "she can take it."

her joel seems reluctant, always nervous to push her too far. his eyes never leave her face, waiting for the moment she turns to face him with a steely expression and a pleading gaze.

"you want it, angel?" he asks her, gliding a calloused thumb over her cheekbone. "you want my cock?"

she nods.

"yes or no, honey," you remind her and your joel chuckles behind you.

"yes," she breathes. "please, joel."

he doesn't wait for further confirmation, just grips her sides and lines himself up with her core, sinking inside her inch by careful inch. still so slow.

"attagirl," your joel praises her when the other joel bottoms out inside her, his thick arms bracing on either side of her head. you imagine she must be spent, sensitive where you've just made her come, but she takes it so, so well, her lips parting when he begins to move, gentle strokes that make her gasp each time his hips connect with hers.

"beautiful," you add because it's true.

"hear that?" the older joel murmurs to her, his face just inches from her. "don't i always tell you how beautiful you look when you're all fucked out, babygirl?"

she whimpers softly, tears pricking at her eyes. but not the bad kind. you've come to recognize those tears. the sweet ones, the blissful ones, the ones she often sprouts when she's experiencing all the pleasure she'd once been denied.

"m'not gonna last," her joel admits with a shake of his head, his thrusts growing shallower, faster.

"come on her tits," you request.

"you wanna taste him, don't you, sweetheart?" your joel grins behind you, biting at your earlobe. you just giggle. of course he's right.

the older man's movements grow more desperate, the muscles of his arms flexing. he's concentrating on her face as his climax nears, like it's the last thing he needs to take him over the edge. it probably is.

"tell me, baby," he pleads with her.

"come, joel, please," she obliges, voice weak and cracked. "come on my tits."

his lips twitch into a devilish grin before he's hastily pulling out, pumping himself over her furiously till hot ropes of seed paint her stomach and chest. he curses under his breath, hissed pants passing through his teeth and then it ends, the taut muscles of his belly softening as he dives forward to kiss her waiting mouth.

when he pulls away from her, your eyes remain fixed on the white splatters of come that line her smooth, inviting skin. both joels note the way you're staring.

"go on," yours encourages you with a firm smack to your side. "know you want to."

you shift to crouch over her, smiling as you lick your way from her belly button to her sternum and collect as much of his spend as you can on your tongue. you peer up at her from under your lashes to find her watching, always watching. her eyes flash to your mouth full of his come and you already know what she wants.

your lips are on hers in an instant, come-coated tongue clashing with hers and spilling into her waiting mouth. she moans when his flavour hits her taste-buds, when your spit and his seed become a shared cocktail between you.

"dirty girls," your joel comments affectionately. "how's he taste, sweetheart?"

you just hum in answer to this question as you kiss her deeper, your hands on either side of her face, just as you'd begun.

"coffee?" you hear her joel ask yours while you remain lost in her kiss.

"coffee," he agrees.

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.”

Paper Rings

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Warnings: MDNI blog in general is 18+ go on now, get. Fluff, innuendos, panicked Marcus, cussing, think that's it?

Summary: Marcus wants to ask you an important question.

Mood board made by the amazing @jay-zzle, divider made by @saradika-graphics

Prompt by: @swiftispunk, let me know what ya think!

thank you @notjustjavierpena for taking a look at this and helping me with it! ❤️

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Tonight’s the night, Marcus thinks on his drive home. He’s going to ask her to marry him. After their first date, he knew deep down she was the one. Three years later and the feeling hasn’t changed. He’s asked her dad’s permission, the ring has been sitting in his dresser for months now, the reservations have been made at Mastro’s Steakhouse. He clicks the remote for the garage as he pulls into the driveway, taking a deep breath in and out before getting out of the car and going into the house.

You hear the door open downstairs; Marcus must be home. Just in time too; he had told you earlier this morning about making reservations somewhere and to dress pretty like you always do. Working on the finishing touches of your makeup, you see his reflection in the bathroom mirror smiling at you, leaning against the doorway.

“Hey babe,” you greet him with a warm smile, “I am almost done. Is there anything you need to do to get ready?”

“Not much,” Marcus responds, walking away from the doorway to the dresser, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re still in the bathroom, and slowly opening the drawer he knows the ring is in, “Need to use the bathroom before we go and might change my suit jacket.” His hand creeps to the very back of the dresser, feeling for that velvet box he knows all too well is there. His fingers touch it, grasping it in his hand, quickly pulling it out, and shoving it into his jacket pocket just as you’re leaving the bathroom. He shuts the drawer quickly and turns to look at you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, giving him a suspicious look.

“Nothing,” he replies, raising his eyebrows, noticing the lone pair of socks on the floor that escaped the drawer as he was pulling the ring out, “Was going to change my socks. My feet feel gross.”

“Okay?” You giggle, shaking your head, getting your shoes on, “Weirdo.”

“Shush, you love me and wouldn’t have it any other way.” He grins at you, picking up the socks and going to sit on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” You grin, “Will you help me with the back of my dress?”

He helps zip your dress up, giving the back of your neck a light kiss, shucking off his suit jacket, and laying it on the bed on his way to the bathroom.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

__

“Where are we going?” You ask, looking over at Marcus, waiting for the red light to change.

“Now what’s the fun in telling you when it is supposed to be a surprise?” He says, squeezing your thigh, “Patience.”

You roll your eyes and scoff. The car starts moving again when the light turns green. Marcus is so meticulous in everything he does. Always has a plan, a certain way of doing things, likes to be spontaneous to an extent but usually always a set schedule. You love those things about him, he’s the comfort in the chaos that life can sometimes be. He pulls  into one of the fanciest restaurants in Washington D.C.

“Oh my god, Marcus,” you whisper, “How on earth did you get a reservation?”

“I was able to make some calls,” he says, stepping out of the vehicle, making his way to your door. “Had some people who owed me some favors.” He explains, opening your door for you and offering his hand. You take his hand and let him lead you. Handing off his keys to the valet. Walking into the restaurant you are greeted by the hostess.

“Good evening, sir,” she says with a bright smile, “Name?”

“Should be under Pike.”

“Ah yes, right this way.” She says, marking in the book and grabbing a couple menus before leading the way.

You cannot believe your eyes looking around at this place. There is a bar, a live jazz band playing, and plenty of couples sitting at the other tables.

“Is this table okay, Mr. Pike?” The hostess asks when she stops at an empty table.

“It’s perfect, thank you.” Marcus smiles, stepping over to the chair closest to you and sliding it out for you.

“Your waiter will be right with you.” She says, giving a small nod setting the menus down on the table.

You sit in the chair, grabbing the menu, watching Marcus move to the other side of the table to sit down across from you.

“So, Mr. Pike,” you smirk, “What on earth is the special occasion?”

“Just wanted to take you somewhere nice,” he replies, cocking an eyebrow, “Is that not allowed?”

“You’re up to something.”

“I am not,” Marcus grins, opening his menu, “What do you think you’ll have?”

“I’m thinking the salmon, although those crab cakes would be a good start, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

“Good evening and welcome to Mastro’s Steakhouse, I’m Jared and I’ll be your waiter this evening.” A young man who approaches the table says, “Can I get you two something to drink?”

“I want whatever wine pairs the best with the New York strip, sweetheart?”

“You know, I’ll think I’ll do the same thing he’s doing, Mr. Wine Connoisseur over there,” you laugh, “Whatever pairs well with the salmon dish.”

“Alright, I will ask the chef what he thinks would be the best.”

“Oh!” You say as Jared starts to leave the table, “Crab cakes! We want the crab cakes as our appetizer.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

—

It’s now or never, Marcus thinks. The evening went exactly how he wanted it to, the meal was fantastic, the wine amazing, the dessert ordered to go will be arriving soon. This is the perfect moment to ask her.

“You know,” Marcus says, grabbing your hands, rubbing them softly, “You were right, I do have something special planned for us.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Marcus takes a deep breath in and lets it out, “Babe, I knew from the moment that I met you I wanted to be with you.”

He pulls your hands to his lips and gives them a soft kiss.

“After our first date, I knew you were the one I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.”

He stands up and gets down on one knee. You can hear people begin to whisper around you, watching the scene before you unfold.

“Oh my god” You say holding his hand tighter, “Marcus?”

“Baby, I love you so very much and I—” he says, patting the pocket of his suit jacket. “Fuck.”

“Babe?”

“No, no, no,” Marcus says, frantically searching his suit jacket and pants. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“Marcus,” you say, holding his face, “Look at me.”

He looks up at you with those big brown eyes you love. “I swear there’s a ring. I changed my jacket not even think—"

“Babe, I don’t care.” You smile, interrupting his panicked ramblings, “Ask me.”

“But the ring?”

“Don’t care, ask me.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck slotting your mouth against his. You can hear several of the other patrons clapping.

“Congratulations!” Jared says, returning to your table with your dessert.

“Thank you!” You say, beaming with joy.

—

On the drive home you can’t stop smiling like an idiot while holding Marcus’ hand. This is everything you dreamed about as a little girl; finding the perfect person to spend your life with and that is Marcus through and through.

“I still can’t believe I forgot the fucking ring!” Marcus says, shaking his head.

“Babe, you could’ve asked me with a ring made of paper and I would’ve said yes,” you laugh, “That’s the last thing I care about.”

“Well, a paper ring would be better than nothing!”

Approaching a gas station on the side of the road, an idea popped into your head.

“Stop!” You yelp, “Stop at that gas station!”

Marcus gives you a sideways look but pulls in regardless. Never one to refuse your requests.

“Cash?” You ask with your sweetest smile.

“Why’d we stop here?” He asks, rolling his eyes while getting his wallet out and handing you a twenty. You just give him a mischievous grin while getting out of the car. The door dings when you step into the gas station, making a beeline to the candy aisle and finding exactly what you were looking for: A bag of ring pops. Unable to contain your excitement, you let out a little squeal while grabbing them and head to the front.

“That’ll be $4.98.” The cashier says after ringing up your candy. You slap the twenty down on the counter and grab the bag running out.

“Thank you! Keep the change!” You shout behind you.

Getting back to the car, you see Marcus shaking his head trying to hold in his laughter. You make quick work of opening the bag, getting one singular ring pop out, and opening that as well, tapping on his window quickly, telling him to get out of the car.

“What on earth are you doing, honey?” Marcus laughs, opening the car door.

“You said something would be better than nothing,” you laugh, “Here’s something!”

You hand him the ring pop. He shakes his head looking at it.

“Baby,” Marcus starts looking up at you. “A ring pop? Really?”

“Marcus!” You huff, crossing your arms, “Are you gonna ask me?”

“Here?!” Marcus looks at you with surprise, looking at the ground, “Babe, this is a gas station parking lot!”

“And?”

“Babe, my pants—“

“Marcus Vincent Pike,” You scold, giving him a look that he knows means business.

“Okay, okay,” He says laughing, grabbing your hand, sliding out of the seat of the car with one knee on the ground, “Baby, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

“Duh!” You say, jumping up and down as he slides the ring pop onto your finger. “It’s beautiful!”

Marcus bursts into laughter as you shove the ring pop into your mouth. “Tasty too!” You say after popping it out of your mouth.

Marcus grabs your hand, lifting it to his mouth, pushing the ring pop in, hollowing his cheeks a little, letting out a soft sigh. You can feel your mouth getting dry while you watch him suck on the ring pop. The makeshift engagement ring makes a soft pop as he lets it leave his mouth.

“I can think of something that’s sweeter,” he says with a sly smile and wink, letting go of your hand.