So Sexy - Tumblr Posts
AU where we start with Cumulous as a visiting cousin of House Rocks where he travels with them for the majority of the journey, but dies in the fight at the Ice Cream Temple and THAT is where we meet Lapin for the first time. As an enemy of the Sugar Plum Fairy, whom she probably called as an ally to aid her against the group but turned on her, and also an enemy of the church but an inside man with a direct relationship to the Pontifex.
It should be illegal to be this hot!! 🥵❤
Alex by Søren Solkær.
Here is the merged videos of Jensen & Jared in lederhosen and Misha in the pink dress. (original videos here https://www.instagram.com/stories/brireland_black/?fbclid=IwAR0eJVaxi1oPGsk59dGIDgZEgQmIMUDqa_eyNXNwqf5bz93lK4RfbV1_4jo )
You and I | On Call
part iv
summary: frankie has one last question.
pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader
ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. idiots in love, reader is good with kids. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. fluff, drinking. praise kink. the boys (minus tom). SMUT! fingering, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v. cum kink? creampie. frankie retains the title of pek 👑
reader is a teacher, has hair, and can be lifted by frankie (he's a big strong boy, don't worry about it) but she is otherwise a blank slate.
wc: 10.8k
an: well, here we are gang. thank you for joining me and for all your sweet words. i've been so awful with reblogging your kindness on this little thing because of how busy i was when i wrote most of it, but i want you to know i appreciate it so much. i've loved sharing these two with you - it's been a privilege <3
shoutout to @jolapeno for helping me with the chapter name, and for very gently reminding me that 20k chapters probably should be split 😉 love you <3
dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics
series masterlist | main masterlist
When he wakes, it’s well past twelve.
Nine hours which he imagines he probably needed, but really it puts him two hours behind.
He showers and dresses in a rush, running out the door to his truck, but still taking the time to register that your curtains have remained closed. It makes him smile, knowing you’re likely still tucked up in bed, your stories about the night before resting before they make their way to him.
He practically sprints around the supermarket, grabbing anything that even vaguely crosses his mind as something he might need. Meat, bread, salads of sorts, sauces, soft drinks, beers. He picks up your favourite dessert just in case, and then hauls the bags back to the truck, keeping a nervous eye on the time as his fingers tap against the steering wheel.
Will and Benny are already there when he gets home. Grinning, leaning against Will’s car as he pulls into the driveway.
There’s a sharp pull of joy in his chest even as Will laughs out a ‘You’re late, Fish’, pounding his back as he pulls him into a hug.
‘Can’t be late to my own fuckin’ house.’ He grumbles back, pulling Benny in in the same way.
‘Can, and you are.’ The younger man laughs.
‘Thought you might be out with your lady.’ Will teases, and Frankie flushes right to the tips of his ears.
‘She’s still asleep.’ He says without thinking, a smile pulling at his lips. It’s comical, really, the way the two men freeze and look at each other. ‘Help me with these bags, will you?’
The brothers remain unmoving, staring at him with some degree of bewilderment.
‘Still asleep?’
Frankie sighs, a little exasperated.
‘Yeah. She was out last night.’
Will’s eyes wander to Frankie’s bedroom window just as Benny’s mouth begins to form a question. The realisation dawns quickly.
‘Not in my bed,’ he scowls, ‘Next door.’
‘Oh.’
He turns his back on them, heading to his front door, arms laden with groceries. A nervous, giddy feeling swirls in his stomach.
‘Had us going for a minute there, Fish.’ Will calls after him. Frankie bites his lip against the memories of you in your living room, the desperate kisses you’ve shared since. He feels like a teenager, on the verge of spilling secrets like he’s at a sleepover.
He hums instead, flicking a glance over his shoulder to see Benny grab more stuff from the back of the truck. He grunts and grimaces under the weight, shooting a look at Frankie.
‘What do you have in here? Are we feeding the five thousand?’
Will laughs, loading his own hands with bags, tutting at his little brother.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be the athlete here?’
Benny drops one bag just to give him the finger.
‘This is my rest day, motherfucker.’
He groans again as he picks the bag back up, Frankie laughing along with Will.
‘Lift with your knees, not with your back!’ He shouts.
‘Quit telling me what to do, asshole!’ Benny hollers, the older men still chuckling as he shoulders the front door open.
Santiago arrives not too long after, setting up the last of the food - the salads out on the table, more beers in the fridge. They’ve all clocked Frankie checking his watch, checking his phone, your text that you’d be over in the next five minutes burning a fucking hole in his pocket.
He’s nervous. And they can tell.
He has the distinct impression he’s being cornered when they all turn to look at him at the same time as he fiddles with the burner on the grill. It feels ridiculous - this desire for everything to be perfect. You’ve seen him in all of his less-than-perfect moments, have never shied away. But this - today - feels different.
Pope leads the offence.
‘How’s your girl then, Fish?’
Frankie’s heart drops low in his chest before thumping hard behind his ribs, a hand coming up to try and wipe the sudden smile from his lips. He tries a gruff tone, failing miserably as soon as he speaks.
‘She’s not my girl.’
Will whistles lowly, smirking.
‘Still? We gonna have to smush you together like Barbies?’
Benny snorts, and Frankie shoots him a look which immediately makes him straighten and soften.
‘We won’t. They won’t. Scout’s honour.’
Santi takes a pull from his beer, a glint in his eye.
‘No progress at all?’ He probes.
Frankie takes a deep breath, eyes lowered to the floor before finding the deep brown of his best friend.
‘We’re… seeing each other.’ He murmurs, this time unable to hide his smile, hand scratching at the back of his head.
Silence. Quiet that puts Frankie even more on edge as he watches his friends exchange looks, as a slow smile tilts the corners of Benny’s lips.
‘Well - that’s an improvement.’ Will grins.
‘A marked improvement.’ Santi agrees.
‘So you told her how you feel?’ Benny asks, eyebrows raised.
Frankie sucks air through his teeth, clears his throat. His face grows warm, fingers twitch a little.
‘Not quite -’
Will barks a laugh.
‘Morales, you dog.’ Followed by the deep rumbles of amusement from the other two men.
‘Oh, the tried and true manoeuvre - the Catfish Canoodle.’ Benny snickers.
‘The Morales Marathon.’ Will adds, tilting his bottle to him. Pope is next, grinning lasciviously.
‘The good old Five Finger Fish Fu-’
‘Frankie?’ You call from inside the kitchen, ‘I have beers, but there’s no room in the fridge -’
You pop your head round the backdoor, beaming immediately when you catch sight of the men in the garden.
‘Oh! Hi,’ you say brightly, emerging fully. Frankie’s heart stutters. You’re wearing that sundress he remembers - hasn’t been able to forget - from when he mowed your lawn weeks ago. Gorgeous, the way it drapes over your curves, the way it lets your skin glisten in the afternoon light. He feels his shoulders drop, his whole body relax. Feels the way he goes a little weak at the knees, knows he’ll be looking lovesick in front of the boys. And he doesn’t care.
‘Sorry I’m a little late,’ you say, hopping down the porch steps towards them, ‘I wish I had a good excuse, but I just - don’t.’
Benny laughs, moving with Will and Santi to greet you. Frankie just about catches the look Santiago throws him, a sweet holy shit, brother.
‘Ah, the elusive neighbour. We were starting to think he’d made you up.’ Pope says, matching your smile. You giggle, arms outstretched as he reaches you.
‘Funny,’ you smirk, ‘I was thinking of not turning up just to prove you right.’
He laughs as he releases you, Benny sweeping you into his arms and planting a kiss on your cheek.
‘Even more beautiful than he said you were,’ he says, and Frankie watches your eyebrows shoot up as you fix him with an oh, really? look. His heart drops to his stomach, neck grinding in an effort to shake his head before a shit-eating grin splits across your face.
‘I had no idea he was so - complimentary - behind my back.’ You laugh against Will’s shoulder as he spins you around.
‘Oh, he is,’ he chuckles, placing you gently down with your back to Frankie. Frankie glowers at him half-heartedly as Will winks back, and the dark-haired man raises a finger, mouthing at him to shut - the fuck - up. ‘Feels like we’ve known you for ages.’ Will continues.
You turn, planting your hands on your hips, cocking your head at Frankie.
‘Just can’t stop talking about me, huh, Fish?’ You tease, and Frankie huffs as he pulls you in for a lingering hug, wondering if it’s too much to kiss you in front of his friends.
‘Guess not.’ He whispers into your ear.
You’re biting your lip as you pull away from him, hands lingering on his shoulders as his stall on your waist.
Will clears his throat.
‘You gonna introduce us then, Morales?’
Frankie rolls his eyes at him as he turns you around, hands at your hips, pointing a finger at each friend.
‘William Miller,’ he says, as Will pulls a face - just Will is fine - ‘Benjamin Miller,’ - Benny, please - ‘And Santiago Garcia.’
‘I’m only Santiago when I’m in trouble,’ Which is most of the time, Benny laughs. ‘Santi is much better.’
You grin as you give them your name, and Will nudges your arm with his elbow.
‘I thought we were on Bug terms.’
You laugh, batting his arm.
‘You can call me Bug if you really want to.’
Benny shrugs, squinting his baby blues at you.
‘Maybe,’ he grins, ‘But your name suits you. It’s pretty. I like it.’
Frankie rolls his eyes again, squeezing your waist against the flicker of possessiveness that rises in his gut. It’s nothing more than teasing, kindness - something they’ve almost always extended to partners welcomed into the fold. But he’s not blind - they’re a handsome group, and he wants you to himself.
‘You gotta stop that,’ you giggle, ‘Before I wanna hang out with you guys all the time.’
Will throws a gentle arm around your shoulder, leaning back to wink at Frankie.
‘Hear that, Fish?’ He chuckles, ‘She’s in.’
He groans.
‘It’s not too late to back out,’ he murmurs lowly in your ear, ‘Though we’ve got a fuckton of food.’
His heart leaps as he feels your fingers reach for his, tangling briefly before squeezing.
‘I’m stayin’,’ you promise, as Will moves around you to turn the grill on. ‘You guys put on a hell of a spread, anyway.’
From behind, Will claps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder, shunting the younger man forward a little.
‘That would all be Fish. Must be a special occasion.’ He smirks, and Frankie looks up to the heavens to try and stop his wish for the ground to swallow him up.
‘Sure is,’ you smile, ‘Feelin’ pretty lucky to be meeting you guys.’
‘Pleasure's all ours, kid.’ He grins.
Frankie smiles softly at you, brown eyes filled with something warm.
‘Want a drink?’ He asks.
You smack your lips, hand grabbing at your throat.
‘Please, Fish,’ you gasp, ‘I’m parched.’
The screen door has barely shut behind you before he has you backed against his kitchen counter again, stealing kisses like you’re about to get caught.
His lips are slow, sweet, hands so lazy, so indulgent in the way they hold you you’re not sure it’s really happening, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He crowds you a little closer, licking into your mouth as he fists the skirt of your dress, palming at your ass. You barely manage to catch your breath before he’s mouthing at your neck, nipping at the skin there as you huff against him.
‘Good time last night?’ he breathes against your shoulder. You nod, eyes shut tight.
‘Yes,’ you gasp, ‘Really good time.’
‘Good,’ he murmurs, ‘I’m glad.’
You moan softly as he grips your hips, pulling you up against his thigh. There’s a thrill to it, knowing the boys are just outside. It makes your blood run hotter. Dangerously hot - no-turning-back hot.
‘Should get back outside. Before they wonder where we’ve gone.’
‘Don’t care,’ Frankie rasps, tugging at your dress again, ‘This fucking dress drives me insane.’
You nip at his bottom lip as his mouth meets yours again.
‘You’re driving me fucking insane,’ you gasp, lips tipping upwards, ‘In your kitchen, humping your leg like a dog in heat -’
He groans against you, forehead knocking against yours as he breathes heavily.
His eyes are almost black, palms warm and rough as they cradle your cheeks.
‘Once they leave,’ he whispers, ‘We’re spending a week in my bedroom. Or yours. I don’t care which.’
A whimper slips up your throat, mouth pressed hotly against his again as you start to count how many hours until it might be acceptable to drag him away. One hand slips from your cheek to your waist, inching up until he can squeeze at your breast, running a thumb over your nipple. You shudder, whole body ignited.
‘Fuck.’ He breathes.
‘Frankie -’
‘Hey! Lover boy,’ Pope whistles from behind the screen door. You leap apart at the sound of his footsteps on the porch. ‘Hope you’re decent in there, I’m coming in -’
Santi appears, grinning widely as he pushes his way into the kitchen. He shields the side of his face facing you with a hand. ‘I’m not looking,’ he says, ‘But we’re gonna get grilling.’
‘We’re not naked, Pope.’ Frankie says, bemused. You giggle as Santi drops his hand.
‘Thank God,’ he sighs, before fixing you with a look, ‘I’ve seen enough of this man’s ass to last me a lifetime.’
He’d hoped it would be easy, knew that they’d love you. But he’s never seen these three men take to someone the way they have you.
He smiles as you stand with Will at the grill, watches the brotherly affection develop in real time. The soft smack of your palm against the older man’s shoulder, snorts of laughter, whispered jokes and more serious stories swapped. Frankie relaxes into it more and more, gazing at you over Benny’s shoulder.
When he brings more food over to cook, Will stays stood by his side as you take his place with Benny and Santiago. The three of you huddled around the crackling firepit, hooting with laughter. He catches his own name a few times, turns to find you watching him with shining eyes as Pope and the younger Miller brother no doubt regale you with embarrassing stories from his youth. Things he hasn’t thought to tell you, things he may well have forgotten. And you fill a chair so easily, so effortlessly, it’s like you’ve always been there.
Clinks of cheersing bottles, conspiratorial shoulder bumps, lowered heads and loud exclamations and giggles. He feels like he’s in a fucking coming of age movie.
‘She’s a keeper, brother,’ Will murmurs to him over the lip of his beer bottle. He turns to him, a little surprised, but Will looks so at ease, so content with his little smile, that he knows there’s no bullshit there. ‘Fuckin’ funny. And smart as hell.’
Frankie hums, busying himself with flipping a burger. His hands are a little shaky - even after everything that’s happened over the last week, there’s still something that’s keeping him unsteady. The rock of a world turned on its axis, the deep want of willing this to work - because he loves you. So fucking much.
‘Don’t go all shy on me now, Fish.’ Will says, turning with him so his back is to you.
‘’M not.’ Frankie says, softly. Will sucks a breath through his teeth, squinting up at the sun just over the roofline of your house.
‘Do you remember what I was like when I first met Charlotte?’
Frankie looks at him - the beard, the hair pulled back, the clear blue of his eyes. He nods.
‘And the way you wound me up? How I was always looking for her, always checking for her? And at the end of the night, you asked when I was buying the ring?’
Frankie chuckles at the memory, the comment made stood at the bar with his best friend, manifesting the future he’d have. The ring that now sits on Charlotte’s finger, the wedding planned for the end of the year.
‘I do.’
Will looks back at him, teeth exposed with his smile. Teasing, full of humour, but it’s genuine, not goading.
‘When are you buying the ring, Frankie?’
Blood rushes to his head so fast he feels dizzy, so fast he has to put the tongs down. He scoffs, the way it sounds out loud so outlandish, but something pierces deep through his chest at how clearly Will sees through him.
Because he’s thought about it.
He shakes his head, swallowing roughly. There’s nothing he can say. Anything like not even my girlfriend yet would sound like a denial. But admitting it, that secret thought, even to Will, feels insane.
He’s still grinning at him.
‘I know it when I see it, Fish,’ Will continues, ‘And I know what you’re thinking.’ He pauses, shrugs. ‘Bring her to the wedding. She might catch the bouquet.’
He can’t move. Can’t turn to look at you, he’s sure his cheeks are burning so brightly. Can’t even twist his head when Benny calls,
‘Are you done grilling over there? We’re starving.’
He can’t stop thinking about it. Can't stop his whirring brain as the five of you eat, passing sauces and salads. Can’t stop thinking about a future, a life with you as you sit across the table from him, meeting his eye, chatting, laughing. Can’t stop the thoughts from ploughing through him as your foot catches his under the table, can hardly swallow his burger against the words lumping in his throat. Can’t stop the pounding of his heart when he catches you gazing at him halfway through a story, chin cupped in your hand, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars - can’t stop wondering whether you’ve ever pictured the same.
He’s barely snapped out of it when the plates are stacked and carried through to the kitchen, bits of salad and smudges of sauce halfway cleared up before you pile outside again, Will and Santi jostling over the chair free from the smoke of the firepit. You walk with him and Benny, the younger man listening to you talk with such interest, such fondness already, that Frankie wonders whether he’s too young to have a heart attack.
He’s only pulled from the conversation by the crack of broken furniture, the three of you stopping short and quiet as Will wheezes, sprawled on the ground atop the remnants of the coveted chair. He holds a hand up in the air, craning his neck at Frankie.
‘His fault,’ he croaks, pointing at Santi, who holds his palms up in surrender.
‘Not my fault that he’s so heavy.’
You trap a giggle between your teeth and bottom lip as Frankie and Benny start to laugh, Will scrambling to his feet with the help of Frankie’s outstretched hand.
‘Santiago.’ Benny snickers, and your bright eyes find Frankie’s.
‘Well. Now you are in trouble.’
Frankie grins, fixing Santi with a faux stern look.
‘In so much trouble you’re gonna have to sit on the floor.’ He chuckles, and Pope pouts.
‘My knees will never recover, Fish, and you know that.’
He shrugs, settling into a chair at the same time as Benny and Will. You stay standing, warring silently with yourself before you gesture to the empty seat for Santi to take.
‘It’s yours,’ you smile, nervous as you turn to Frankie. ‘Is this seat taken?’ You ask, looking pointedly at his lap.
His eyes blow wide for a second, breath caught in his chest. Unsure, for a moment, of your meaning, ready to give the chair up for you. You raise an eyebrow, palm lowering gently onto his shoulder.
‘No.’ He rasps, blissfully unaware of Will’s smirk.
‘Good.’ You say, lowering yourself onto his thighs, an arm around his shoulders, his around your back, hand at your hip. He swings your legs over his without thinking, and you settle, limbs tense at first, before shuffling a little to get comfortable.
To their credit, the boys don’t make it a thing. They continue the conversation as normal as the two of you join in, wrapped up together, crowing with laughter as your bodies vibrate against each other.
You hold each other closer as the evening wears on. Head resting against his chest, nuzzled against the fabric of his t-shirt. Laundry detergent, light scent of cologne, the warmth of his skin. His hands are broad and calloused where they cradle you, so easily - never a limb falling slack, never goosebumps that go unsoothed. He rubs his thumb against your thigh in soft semi-circles, leans his cheek against the top of your head, breathing in your shampoo.
Lets himself be warmed by the pressure of your body against his, willfully ignores his cock when it twitches hopefully as you shift. Which is hard, as you begin to shift more and more the later it gets, the hotter you burn above him. And as hard as you try, you just can’t keep still. Can’t stop trying to find relief for the ache in your core, the wetness pooling in your underwear.
He finally grips your hips against a particularly wicked wriggle, head dipping to growl in your ear.
‘Stop, baby. Please.’ And it works for a moment - only a moment - as you’re frozen by the flashbacks of him unravelling beneath you eight days ago. Eight days too long.
As though he’s read the shift in atmosphere, Will stands and stretches.
‘I’m heading in,’ he says, rolling his head on his shoulders. ‘The spare room calls.’
You stand, reluctantly, and Frankie is quick to readjust himself as inconspicuously as possible. Will gives you a sweeping hug, kissing just before your ear as you say a muffled see you tomorrow into his shoulder. Frankie takes his outstretched hand, pulling him into a back-clapping embrace of sorts, and when he pulls away he’s surprised to see Benny and Pope also bidding you goodnight. He checks his watch.
It’s not even eleven.
His eyes twitch from you to the boys as he works out whether you’re heading back to yours, too.
Santi catches the look, slapping a hand onto his shoulder as he whispers a do not come back into this house, pendejo. He looks over your shoulder at Benny as Will makes you giggle again, and is met with the firm waggle of a finger.
Stay, he mouths.
Fuck you, Frankie mouths back, watching their backs retreat into his house.
The backyard falls quiet, only the snap of logs in the fire, the buzzing of insects, and the rush of blood in his ears to be heard.
You turn, facing him in the dark, half your face lit by the dying embers of the fire pit.
‘Are you - are you tired?’ He asks softly, afraid of disturbing the hushed moment.
‘No,’ you whisper, ‘Are you?’
He shakes his head, swallowing thickly.
‘No.’
You nod, gentle smile pulling at your lips.
‘Good.’
You step towards him, slowly, like something out of a dream. Glowing in the low light, sparkling with something divine.
You cup his cheeks with both hands, press your body in a firm line against his, hoping to convey exactly what you mean through the touch. Affection, of course, love, adoration - everything you’ve been planning on giving him over the last week, but now, more pressingly - want. Pure, unadulterated want.
You tip your head to slant your mouth against his, hot, heavy, teeth clashing at the initial meeting, breath mingling, tongues licking into each others’ mouths. You tug at the back of his neck, hand buried in the soft curls there, yanking his head back a little to open his mouth up to you. You let go. Lips suckling at his tongue, teeth nibbling at the pillow of his lower lip. Further. Pecking at the scruff of his jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck. Nipping, raising red on his skin, before soothing it with a tortuously slow lick of your tongue.
Your breathing is so heavy, hands so feverish, you lose the sense of where you end and he begins. Feel fingers scrabbling for purchase, bruising grips, on you and him. One scorching palm runs the length of your dress down to the top of your thigh, grabbing at the flesh there. You shift your stance, moaning into his mouth, finding that hand with your own, moving it closer to that burning place between your legs. Frankie follows your lead.
You press his hand up, and his knuckles graze along the sodden fabric of your panties, lips falling away from his as you whine and he groans. You’re soaked, wetter still as he runs the length of his fingers up and down the material clinging to your pussy, feeling the bite of your teeth as you try to muffle yourself against his collarbone.
He shushes you, coos at you, pressing a particularly firm stroke against your cunt that makes your legs shake as he asks you -
‘You gonna let me feel it, baby?’
You gasp against his mouth, nodding feverishly. He chuckles, slowing the pace of his kiss so he can really focus on how soft, how warm and wet you are as he pulls your panties to the side with deft fingers, slicking them up before swirling them around your clit. A stuttered breath escapes you, cutting off into a loud, unabashed moan as he slowly, slowly fucks his fingers into you. He sinks right down to the bottom knuckle, kisses forgotten as he breathes raggedly against your cheek, feeling you clench and whimper around him. He curls them slightly, and your knees practically buckle, stomach contracting, hands grasping at his shirt.
‘Frankie,’ you plead, almost losing your train of thought as he plants a kiss just behind your ear. ‘Take me to bed.’
He pumps his fingers, once, runs his thumb softly over your clit before withdrawing them altogether, mouth slanted firmly against yours, stifling your whine. You stumble a little, pulling at the collar of his shirt for him to move with you before pausing briefly, watching as he brings his fingers to his lips. He slips them deep inside, groaning around them, eyelids fluttering as he takes in the taste of you. Your breathing is heavy as he slips them from his mouth, offering them to you. You take them willingly, bobbing your head to feel how thick and heavy his fingers are on your tongue, the taste of your slick diluted with his spit making your mouth water. He stares as you flick the muscle between and around his digits, brow furrowed, eyes dark, before he retracts them. You frown at him, and he licks into your mouth with such ferocity you’re quick to forget your disappointment.
‘Yours. Now.’ He murmurs, and then you’re grinning, running. Sprinting over his lawn, hopping the fence on unsteady legs, striding towards your porch. You slam up the steps, glancing behind you only once to watch him follow you. Giddy with want, warm all over, soaking wet, you can't help but look for him.
For the first time since you moved next door, Frankie willingly hops the fence.
He catches up to you before you can get the front door open, clutching your hip, turning the handle with the other. He backs you into the hallway, kicking the door shut behind him, shoes toed off blindly. There’s no reprieve from his lips, no other thought than his hands on your body, guiding you into your living room, hips bumping into furniture, deaf to the clatter of objects falling - not a single fuck given over what - one hand - whose, you’re not sure - flying out to flick a lamp on before he’s crushing you against the sofa.
Calves to the furniture, you fall, and he follows you - two hands braced either side of your head before returning to their homes on your cheek, your waist, your breasts. Palming at the flesh there, kneading, thumbing over your nipples. You’re gasping, rolling your hips in hopes you’ll catch against something, because he’s everywhere, only to come up empty every time. He lowers both hands, tongue running strongly against yours. One shifts your hips, the other pressing against your panties again.
‘Let me taste you,’ he groans, voice hoarse, ‘Please, baby. I have to - let me taste you.’
You nod fiercely, tugging on his curls again, mumbling a fuck, Frankie, yes, before he pulls away. His lips are spit-slick, swollen, cheeks flushed. Breathing haggard, eyes blown, curls frayed. He looks almost how he did a week ago.
He holds your gaze for a moment, searching again, letting the question float through the air. You nod, softly, and he begins his descent.
His lips are wet against your skin, leaving shining marks as he presses them to your clavicles, your breastbone, closing them around your covered nipples. He mouths at them, tongue dampening the fabric of your dress, warming, cooling, the fabric sticking to you in a way that makes your back arch. He works one with his fingers while his mouth is occupied, teasing them into peaks as you whimper and buck your hips beneath him. He watches you darkly, eyes heavy lidded, eyelashes almost fanned against his cheeks. And you ache. Ache so badly, so unforgivably. You can feel how wet you are - panties soaked, dampness all the way down into the cleft of your ass, smudging along the tops of your thighs. He waits until you whine again, louder, higher pitched, nails scraping in his curls, against his scalp - please Frankie, please - before he moves lower. More kisses pressed to your covered stomach, lower, lower, large hands pushing up the hem of your skirt, tracing every bit of skin they can find. He shifts on his knees to get closer as you lift your hips so he can shove your skirt all the way up, lips parting, eyebrows furrowing in a desperate look of need as he fixes his eyes to your clothed core, as you buck again at the look in his eyes, breathing heavily. His palms come together at the very tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing along the hem of your panties either side of your pussy. You huff again, hands leaving their clutch of the sofa to bury back into his curls, tugging him forwards.
He groans, deep in his throat, easily led. Presses his nose to your clothed cunt, inhales deeply, grinds the tip just against your throbbing clit. You whimper, tugging once more, and he nuzzles your bud again, mumbling something into your heat.
‘Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Frankie - if you don’t fuckin’ - touch me in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna cry.’
‘I am touchin’ you,’ he growls against your hip, head tilted to look up at you. His hot breath on your skin has your flesh breaking out in goosebumps. You shake your head, frustration burning behind your eyes.
‘I want - your tongue -’ you pant, ‘Want to feel your mouth, Frankie.’
He groans, thumbs digging under the waistband of your panties to rip them down your legs, eyes never leaving your core as he reveals you - glistening, messy, wet, drooling for him. He splits his fingers into a V, spreading your lips as you keen and mewl above him.
‘You want me here?’ He rasps.
‘Yes,’ you breathe, ‘I fucking do.’
He finds it in himself to show you mercy.
The first stroke of his tongue is strong, wide. As though he’s trying to take as much of you in as possible in the first go - licking deep and long to taste your slick, tracing the dip of your hole, ending with a final swirl around your clit. Your chest shudders, eyes squeeze shut, hands tense in his hair.
‘Okay, baby?’ He asks, so soft.
You lick your lips.
‘Yeah.’
He pushes your at knees to spread your thighs wider apart.
‘Look at me.’ He says, and you crack your eyes open to watch as he manhandles your legs onto his shoulders, tilting his head as he considers, pushing them back towards your chest in order to find the best angle to eat you from. Fuck.
He’s not gentle, and he isn’t taking his time.
The week you’ve waited, the months building up to this, do not mean you have the patience to make this last any longer than he’s already teased you for. He eats you like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything like the heaven between your legs. Long, firm strokes of his tongue, flicking at your swollen clit, watching as your head tilts forward, heavy, unable to tear your eyes from him. Chest heaving, something about the way you’re still wrapped in that fucking dress making him leak steadily in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper. He’s barely spared a thought for it so far, caught up in the way you look, the way you feel, smell, taste. He moves his grip from one of your knees to palm himself roughly, and you moan, watching him.
Your lips part, and he knows, knows that you’re going to beg him to fuck you before the words even leave your mouth. And he will.
He just needs this first.
‘You’re gonna come in my mouth,’ he rumbles, stroking your clit with his thumb, levelling you with a dark, stern stare, ‘And then we can do anything you want. Just need to taste you like this first.’
He watches the pulse of your cunt, the gush of slick that escapes you at his words. Coos at you, so pretty, baby, before leaning back in.
Closing his lips around your pearl, sucking, flicking, tracing shapes - tracing the letters of his name against you - watching as you buck and cry and moan. You’re so fucking beautiful, leaking around him, wetting his chin, his lips, his cheeks. He can only taste you, only smell you. And it’s fucking divine.
Diving in as you bury your hands in his hair again, pulling his mouth closer, reeling in the soft plush of his lips, warm wet of his tongue, the sharp nip of his teeth against your skin. He lets you use him, lets you grind against his face, winding your hips against him. He holds his mouth open, tongue lapping where he can, mumbling against your skin. Blissed out, pussy drunk.
Yes, yes, fuck. Fuck, baby - use me. Use me, just like that. Take what you need, Bug. Taste so good, feel so fucking good.
His eyes dart from your cunt to your face - this beautiful mess you’re making, the fucked out, glassy look you watch him with. Mouth dropped open, brow scrunched in ecstasy, broken little pants and moans, cries of his name. He stretches an arm, a hand above his head, kneading at your breast, pinching your nipple, the other settling above your mound, thumb pulling back the hood of your clit. You shut your eyes quickly, your shout of fuck coming loud, a yelp.
He can taste how close you are, willing you to come with his eyes when you meet his gaze. His come, baby, is muffled, but it’s all you need.
You break, back arching, breasts heaving, pussy fluttering and clamping around his tongue, heat blasting through your belly, a rush of bright white feeling pouring from you. Your hips freeze, jerk, twitch against him, and he closes his eyes briefly, worried that if he watches you ride the high the whole way through he’ll come in his fucking pants again.
Your hands loosen in his hair, letting him lick and suck dazedly until he’s content. Nose pressed against you, inhaling, tasting as you whimper, thighs tightening a little around his head at the oversensitivity, and he backs away, pressing kisses to your thighs as your ragged breathing begins to ease into a more even rhythm.
He nips at your skin as you stare at him, something flooding your chest. You feel like you’re still riding that wave, feel like no one’s ever really eaten you like that, nobody’s ever really let you use them like that.
You bring a hand to his cheek, thumb tracing the glisten of you on his lips. He tilts his head into your palm, and you smile, mouth dry.
‘Where’d you learn to do that?’ You ask. It’s a dumb fucking thing to say, but you can think of nothing else that could quite explain the light-headed awe you’re feeling. He laughs, a deep rumble, real, into your thigh.
‘It’s a gift.’ He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your belly, shifting on his knees, adjusting himself. Your eyes soften, dropping to his hand.
He sees the question in your eyes again.
He leans forward, squatting, hands moving to the crease between your thighs and ass, before he stands, bringing you with him. You mouth at his neck as he stumbles to your stairs, taking them steadily, shouldering open your bedroom door through the darkness.
He drops you where he knows the mattress, your bed will be, separating himself from you only briefly. He yanks the curtains shut as your fingers flick on a dim light - you’ll be damned if you're not watching this.
He stops before you at the edge of the bed, between your legs. You reach out, looking up at him - sharp curve of his nose, chocolate of his curls illuminated by the light, the heat of his eyes, soft clench of his jaw, rough swallow of his throat. He reaches to stroke your hair, cupping the back of your head. You tug at the hem of his t-shirt, and he holds your hands, loosening them so he can pull it up over his head. And then he’s all golden tan, freckles. Stupidly broad shoulders, strong arms, muscle moving beneath the skin as he discards the garment on the floor. Curls of hair over his chest, down his softening stomach, down below the waistband of his jeans. The bulge straining against the denim there. You draw your hands down the lines of him, pausing only to trace the silvery mark of the scar on his abdomen. He sucks a sharp breath in at the tenderness, the intimacy, takes your fingers in his. Watches as you blink up at him, as you move to press your cheek against the heft of his cock, a kiss against his zipper. Hands making quick work of freeing him, tugging down the denim and his boxers. He steps out of them, bending only to pull his socks off, before he stills in front of you. His hard cock bobs against his stomach - you’re briefly distracted by his thighs, the delicious, smooth patches of skin where his hips meet his torso - but he is impossible to ignore. Thick, throbbing. Precum beading down the shaft, head flushed a heady, deep red, veins pulsing beneath the skin. Curved upwards, twitching beneath your gaze. You swallow thickly.
‘Holy shit.’
You don’t even realise you’d said it out loud until he laughs, a little bashful, a little proud. You look back up to him as you reach out, fingers wrapping around his base. Skin like silk, like gossamer, hot and strong. He hisses through his teeth, knees weak and hips bucking all at once. You pump once, twice, letting your breath fan over him.
‘So pretty,’ you murmur, ‘Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.’
He flushes at your words, his retort dying in his throat when you wrap your lips around him, gently taking his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue in circles, dipping into his slit, teasing the skin on the underside. He watches, breath caught in his throat, head pounding as you dip forward, hands flat against his thighs, eyes fluttering blissfully as you take him deeper. Watches as he disappears inside your mouth, as he feels nothing but warm and wet, nothing but your tight swallow, your fluid grip at his base, the vibration of your hum, the glint in your eyes as you look up -
He retracts his hips reluctantly, sliding his cock from your throat. You try to follow, whining as you shift forward, still connected through a delicate line of spit and precum, stretching thin as he pulls you back with a firm hand in your hair. He breaks it with his fingers, letting his thumb catch the dribble of it against your chin. He offers the digit, and you obediently take it in your mouth to suck the mixture off. Your eyes are still wide, pleading. He smiles softly.
‘Not gonna last like that, baby,’ he mutters. ‘Wanna feel you this time.’
You pout, words slurred in your pleasure filled haze, eyes heavy lidded as you hold his gaze.
‘Wanna watch you come every way. Wanna make you come every way. Wanna - wanna taste it, wanna feel it, want you to cover me -’
‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he grits, cock throbbing painfully at your words, head spinning. He never thought he’d hear you talk like that, cock drunk on the edge of your bed, mouth all sad without his dick in it. ‘Get this off.’ he hisses, tugging again at the hem of your dress, pulling it up as you hold up your arms. It comes easy, exposing your bare pussy, soft skin of your stomach, plush flesh of your breasts.
There's so much blood south of his brain Frankie thinks he might pass out.
He bends to kiss you, groping at your tits again, fingers swiping fleetingly between your legs to find you still soaked.
‘Perfect,’ he growls, ‘So fucking perfect.’
You whimper, backing up across your sheets. He follows, both knees dipping onto the mattress, tongue searching for yours, pecks and nips pressed to your forehead, cheeks, lips.
Your hands find purchase wherever they can, squeezing the tops of his arms, nails grazing the skin, grasping the meat of his hips, tracing the contours of his belly, squeezing and stroking his cock. A deep groan rumbles in his chest again, and he's breaking the kisses to divert and scoot back against your pillows. You crawl to him, eye contact only broken as his eyes flick over your shoulder, and he freezes, shivers. You smile wickedly, guessing at what he can see. You pause between his legs again, lowering your head to kiss at his base, cup his balls, arching your back a little more so he can really see the angle you’re exposed at in the mirror behind you.
He doesn’t know where to look. Where your mouth and hands are, teasing at his cock again, or where he can see your glistening pussy, tilted up, shining, ready.
He’s losing his fucking mind.
He reaches over, curling his body around yours to land a firm smack against your ass. You whimper at the contact, hot pant of air against his skin, eyes glassy again as he groans, watching the flesh ripple, watching the claim he has staked begin to form.
You move to kneel, coming face to face, your eyes wide, wanton, desperate.
‘Fuck me, Frankie,’ you whisper, pleading. ‘Please, fuck me -’
He shakes his head, kissing your temple.
‘Gotta get you ready first, bebita,’ he breathes, pulling you closer, moving your legs. ‘Come here for me, turn around. Come closer. Like this.’ He arranges you so you’re sat, cradled between his legs, your back to his front. He spreads your legs wide, hooks them with his ankles so you can’t close them. Runs his hands down your body, your eyes tracing his movements - every squeeze, every pinch, every circle he draws.
Your breath hitches as his hands travel lower, parting your folds again, feathering over your clit. You turn your head to speak directly into his ear.
‘Don’t tease, Morales.’ You purr. He chuckles, turning to peck at your lips.
‘I won’t, princesa.’
You cry out as he sinks two fingers inside your heat, making good on his promise. Your chin dips, but his spare hand comes up to cradle it gently, angling your head so you can watch him work you in the mirror. The two of you rendered speechless for a moment - just gasps, moans, the slick sounds of your cunt in the room. His dark eyes on yours over your shoulder, in the glass. The firm press, scissor, pulse, of his fingers inside you.
The silence is only broken by a ragged moan from you as he presses against that delicious, spongy spot tucked away inside you, and he chuckles in response.
‘Look at you, baby,’ he breathes in your ear, ‘So pretty. Been thinking about you like this all week.’
You moan as he curls his fingers at a particularly delicious angle, pressing the meat of his palm against your clit. Your hand closes around his wrist, keeping him there, pulling him away - a mix of both. The feel of him is too wonderful to be rid of, too much to take.
‘Longest fuckin’ week of my life.’ He growls, biting at your earlobe, flicking his wrist faster again, drawing a desperate cry from your lips. A pressure building, your pussy obscene in the quiet, so fucking wet, and you can hear Frankie thinking it, marvelling at how your body responds, how you leak and clench and writhe in his grip.
There’s that pressure building again, your breath heaving in your lungs, cunt getting slicker, tighter. Frankie coos in your ear, his other arm still banded around your middle. You hiccup, moan, arch your back against him.
‘Fuck,’ you murmur, ‘Fuck, close.’
He hums, tracing his nose along the fine skin of your neck.
‘Yeah?’ He says, voice cracking a little. ‘S’that good? Tell me. Tell me it’s good, baby.’
You whine again, thrashing your head against his shoulder, driving your hips down onto his fingers, pleading for more.
‘So good,’ you moan, ‘So fucking good, Frankie. You have no idea.’
You can feel him rutting against you - slowly - all velvet skin, wiry hair, sticky wetness. His mouth pressed to your shoulder, licking, nipping, kissing alternately, his fingers pressed deep inside you, other arm loosening around your middle, hand playing messily with your clit. His eyes in the mirror, trapping you there with him. Unashamed in their exploration of your body, greedy, watching your soaked cunt pull him in, the sopping sounds she makes as she tries to hold him there. You’re surprised at how hot it makes you feel, how wanted, how turned on. The streak of slick and sweat against your skin, Frankie's wet fingers that spread it there.
You whine again, skin burning, glistening with sweat. Tip your head back, onto his shoulder, to nip his skin impatiently between your teeth.
‘Frankie,’ you murmur, breath sweet against his ear, ‘Wanna come on your cock.’
‘Fuck,’ he rasps, ‘Is that what you want? You want my cock?’
You moan again, louder, drunk on the feeling between your legs, his continued movement.
‘Yes.’ You hiss, as he sucks a mark onto your neck.
‘Say it. Need to hear you say it.’
‘Want your cock. Need your cock, Francisco.’
You swear you see his eyes roll into the back of his head in the glass of the mirror, and then he’s moving fast, with precision.
He eases his fingers from your pussy, gentle, not a drop of hesitation. He pushes your hips until they rise, tilting your whole body forwards until you’re on your knees, hands pressed into the mattress. You feel like jelly, so loose and warm-limbed you’re sure you could be moulded into any shape he wished.
‘Good girl,’ he mumbles, pressing hot kisses against your shoulders, down your spine. ‘Good fucking girl.’
His hands are on your hips, ready to move you, but in a second, you’re turning to face him. He’s watching you, reverent, like he can’t believe you’re here, that he’s here. You place a knee on either side of his, one hand pulling at the curls at the nape of his neck, titling his head back so you can slant your mouth against his, licking between his lips as you lower yourself gently, rocking your soaked folds over his sensitive cock.
The movement knocks the air from his lungs, mouth stuttering against yours, unable to kiss you back. Feeling you on his fingers was one thing, but having you sliding against him like this is a whole nother. You giggle at him, and a whimper clears the back of his throat.
‘You okay, baby?’ You smirk, voice hoarse. He supposes it’s only fair, now you’ve got the upper hand. He lets you keep it, hands roving desperately, kneading and pulling at the flesh of your ass, mouth dipping to your nipple, letting you glide over him. Now processing how hard he is, how painfully his cock throbs.
He’s ready to be greedy, ready to find out how he fits inside you.
He pulls you up, closer, by the hips. Grips his cock firmly between your legs, swipes it between your folds, making sure to bump against your clit just to hear you whimper.
You brace your hands against his chest as you rest your leaking hole against him, the tip just breaching the tight ring of muscle. You whine, scratching fine lines into his skin.
He swallows - so handsome. Dark curls, dark eyes. Strong body, a body that feels like home, like someone who has always kept you safe, has always made you feel seen.
‘Look at me,’ he says, for the second time. You drag your eyes to him, stalling your movements. He waits until he knows your brain has caught up with your body. ‘Slowly.’
You nod, lowering yourself against the blunt head of his cock, clenching your teeth at the sweet stretch. He anchors you with one hand cupped to your cheek, the other firm at your ass, listening to your hiccuped moans, your shuddering breaths, releasing his through his teeth. You’re so warm, so wet, so tight.
And he fills you to the brim. Every inch you take a marvel, pressing against every nerve ending, every tender spot, like he was made for you. You settle when you reach his base, clit catching on the wiry hairs there, rocking slightly to feel him even better, letting your slick soak him, feeling yourself pull tight, loosen, ebb, flow.
You knock your forehead with his, finding his eyes. Bright, fiery, needy. You close the space between you, kissing him as you pant together. Feeling so full, so open, forgetting every worry, every niggling doubt. You rest your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, shaking as you lift your hips, feeling the thick glide of him, clenching, releasing, dropping back down slowly, again, listening to the squelch of him moving inside you, desperate, needy little noises leaving your mouth. It’s intoxicating - the more you move, the louder you get, the louder he gets. Deep rumbles of praise, heavy grunts, hands soothing, pinching every inch of skin they can find. You grind a little more on the downwards movement this time, keening at the scrape against that bundle of nerves again, choking on your words.
‘God.’
‘That’s it, Bu- baby.’ He groans, and a huff of amusement leaves you at the slip.
‘What, am I not Bug anymore?’
It’s breathless, your tease, not your usual gnashing comeback. He groans, teeth grazing the bud of your nipple.
‘I am not using the nickname my daughter gave you when I’m inside you.’
You giggle at the thought, body clenching a little. Frankie moans, open mouthed, eyes squeezing shut, hands grasping at you.
‘Don’t laugh,’ he gasps, ‘Holy fuck, please don’t laugh. I’ll come.’
You hum, giving in, dragging your body up and down again, smooth, slow, letting the feeling, the warmth, the pressure, the ache begin to build again. You lean back a little, one hand on his thigh, one loose on his shoulder, and the change in angle has you crying out, cursing, Frankie watching your face before his eyes fall down your body - beautiful, glistening in the orange light. The curve of your waist, the quickening bounce of your tits, and then your cunt. Watches as he disappears inside you, watches as you stretch around him, watches the glisten of your wetness down his length, where it’s tacky at the bottom, staining the two of you where you’re connected. You reach back with your other hand, moving faster, leaning back further so he can really watch you fuck yourself onto him.
Your movements grow hungrier, a little more uncoordinated; stomach tensing, mouth hanging open, cut off, broken cries of his name, feeling yourself wind tighter, spill more onto his lap. He runs a large palm down your body, thumb finding your clit, catching it, rubbing firm circles. He feels you clench for real this time, whole body shuttering at the feeling, your hand clutching his.
‘Fuck, Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Please, I’ll -’
You’re cut off as he changes his rhythm, his pressure, finding the pace that makes you moan with every breath, mouth stretching in a smile.
‘You’ll what, princesa?’
You whine, huffing, thighs burning, release so close you can almost taste it.
‘Motherfucker -’ you bite, no real venom.
‘Words, baby.’ He coos.
‘I’ll come,’ you pant, ‘Frankie - I - I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, please, gonna come, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie -’
You sob, loudly, euphoric as your orgasm shatters through you, body cramping, juddering. A gush of liquid between you, your pussy squeezing him tight, so tight -
‘Good girl, bebita, such a good fucking girl -’
And he’s flipping you, deftly, a hand protecting your skull, so you’re on your back, mind and body reeling as you continue to shudder, still calling out for him, nails carving pink half moons in his shoulders as you wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, the angle deepening, his body pressed flush to yours.
‘Fuck,’ he snarls, ‘Feel like heaven, baby, wanna watch you come every day, every hour, all the time -’ he’s babbling, he knows he is. But he’s caught up, entranced by how you look beneath him, his thrusts sloppy already, watching your eyes roll back, your chest heave, tits bounce. Lower again, where he’s fucking into you, soaked with your release. He winds a hand around the back of your neck, gently tilting your head to make you see what he’s seeing, to watch him fuck you.
You clench painfully around him, gasping - shit, Frankie, oh my God, so good, so good - your body rallying for another, senses overwhelmed, aflame with pleasure. He clutches your thigh, hitches your legs higher up his waist. Licks at your pulse point, sucks different mark there, leaning back to take you in again.
‘Look so pretty, bebita,’ he moans, ‘All fucked out on my cock like this.’
And it’s like a switch is flicked. Frankie sees it pass through your eyes, a wicked glimmer. The way the corners of your lips twitch, even as your eyelashes flutter at the sensation of him drawing his thick cock back out of you, even as your body whirs with a second orgasm.
‘Yeah, baby?’ you coo, ‘You like how I look taking your cock?’
He can’t say anything in reply, mouth only hanging open as you start to talk again.
‘Like how I look when I’m full of you? Wanna be full of you all the time, Frankie. Wanna feel you even when you’re not inside me like this. Wanna - fuck - wanna feel you dripping out of me -’
He groans roughly, almost animalistic.
‘Don’t say that.’ He grits.
You moan at his tone, fingers twisting through his hair, mind getting hazy as you flutter around him.
‘But I want it, Francisco,’ you rasp, ‘Want you to come inside me, want you to fuck me full of you -’
He bares his teeth a little, nipping at your bottom lip. Balls drawing up, heat at the base of his spine, faster, harder -
‘You want that?’
‘Please, Frankie.’
He moans again, sees stars when he closes his eyes, as your whimpers pitch higher.
‘Gonna come,’ you whisper, ‘Come, Frankie, please, come inside me -’
You’re not sure who’s first, you’re not sure who’s louder. A shout of your name, his name, ripping through the air, you clamping down around him, the jerk of him inside you as he paints your walls with his cum, fucking it into you as long as he can, the squelch, the sensitivity drawing out your highs.
He eases when it gets too much, rolling you onto your side, keeping you full until he softens enough to slip out, kissing all over your face. You share breath, teeth knocking against each other, tongues gliding along lips, whining as you feel him begin to drip out of you.
Fingers slipping against his damp skin, pulling him close, sharing whispered secrets, tugging him closer still when he starts to harden again against your thigh.
Hours slip by, the darkness behind the curtains blooming into something like daybreak. He tastes you again, fills you again, you make sure to take him in your mouth.
And when the first birds begin to sing, you are fast asleep in each others’ arms.
His fingers are tracing your shoulder, your face pressed to his chest, murmuring conversation in the light of the morning. Sun stretching through your clumsily closed curtains, rustle of the trees outside the window, cracked open for fresh air when the scent of sex was laying heavy in the room. Legs tangled together, further entwined in your sheets.
In a moment of quiet, Frankie speaks.
‘Your picture’s fallen over.’
Twisting your head, you look to what he’s pointing out and snort, burying your face in his warm skin.
‘What?’ He asks, amusement curling the word.
You pull a face.
‘It didn’t fall over. I turned it over.’ You admit.
A beat.
‘Why?’
You rest your chin on his pectoral, taking in the crease of confusion between his brows. You lean to kiss it away, because you can, now. Because you never have to think about it without doing it again.
You squeeze your lip between your teeth.
‘It’s uh - it’s a picture of me and Dad.’
He frowns again, eyes searching your face. You exhale.
‘I didn’t… I didn't want him to - see?’
He chuckles softly, pink dusting his cheeks as he swipes a hand across his jaw, thinking, remembering.
‘I didn’t see you do that -’
‘I did it before I came over.’
You cringe a little at the confession. Silly now that it’s happened, but still.
‘Before…?’
You nod. Mhm. A smile teases at his lips, eyes lighting with mischief.
‘But we didn’t - I mean - we didn’t plan it -’
‘I know,’ you groan, hiding your face again. ‘I just had a feeling.’
Frankie snorts, squeezing your hip.
‘Good feeling, baby.’
‘Asshole.’ You giggle, nipping his skin between your teeth.
He laughs again, shifting you in his arms so he can hold you properly.
‘Good job I didn’t try anything last week, then,’ he smiles, ‘Can’t have him thinking I’m not a gentleman -’
‘Frankie, you literally came in your pants -’
He gasps in mock offence, squeezing you tighter.
‘And so did you!’
You laugh, properly, against him, chests leaping against each other. You press your lips to his neck as he presses his to your hair.
‘Hell of a first kiss, though.’ He chuckles.
He feels you tense as your heart leaps in your ribs.
One last secret.
He loosens his grip, watching you, a flicker of worry cooling his joy. You chew your lip, brow furrowing, eyes flicking from somewhere in the middle distance to meet his.
‘What, baby?’ He whispers. You inhale deeply.
‘How much do you remember from Pride?’
He grimaces, relieved at your answering smile.
‘After eleven? Not a lot.’
You hum, pulling yourself from his arms. He lets you go reluctantly, watching as you stand. Your gorgeous body - gorgeous curves, the places he’s gotten to know so well over the last few hours, the marks that have begun to bloom after his lips and teeth.
You rummage around in a dresser draw, turning to face him with a single thin, glossy strip of paper in your hands. You step back towards him, eyes catching on the way he's sprawled out before you. Golden skin, broad shoulders, one hand behind his head, bicep flexed. One leg thrown out from beneath the covers, his modesty - or what’s left of it - barely hidden by your sheets. A flash of heat moves through you. You bite your lip.
‘Do you remember the photobooth?’
‘Mhm. A little.’
You nestle back down next to him, the slip of paper still clutched to your chest. Your eyes dart to his again.
‘Our first kiss wasn’t last week.’
‘What?’
His eyes are wide, mind whirring as you hold out the paper for him to take.
A series of five shots of the two of you. Laughing, close, and then with mouths pressed together, hungry. The last one messy, still locked in a searing kiss, but he can see the drunk grins peeking through.
He exhales heavily.
‘We kissed at Pride?’ He asks, bewildered.
You nod, twisting your hands in your lap.
‘We did.’
He looks back at you, still confused. A little worried, a little disappointed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he breathes, ‘I don’t remember -’
You laugh, knocking his shoulder with yours.
‘Neither did I, baby.’ You say, kissing his curls.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
You suck a breath in through your teeth, shrug.
‘You didn’t remember, and I - I panicked. Didn’t know if it was just a thing for you or, you know, a thing.’
‘Like last week?’
You nod, sombre.
‘Like last week.’
He shakes his head.
‘You’re my favourite idiot, you know that?’
You scoff, brightening.
‘Dick. I had no idea -’
‘I love you.’
The simplicity of it takes your breath away. Winds you, catches you right in the chest, battering against your heart.
His eyes are shining, and the truth of it is there. Has always been there. Somehow, you just never saw it before.
I love you.
The weeks of wanting, of worrying. Of denying, of lying awake thinking about it -
‘I love you, too.’
His eyes crease at the corners, mouth lifting, tongue peeking from between his teeth.
‘Yeah?’ He breathes.
‘Yeah.’ You whisper. He swallows.
‘Think a part of me always has.’
There’s a prickle in his throat, heat behind his eyes. He wonders when it happened for you.
Wonders whether you had him from that first glimpse from Lucia’s room, from searching for bugs in your yard. Your tenderness with his daughter, the laughter in your eyes. From those moments you curled into his side on his sofa, when he’d come home, so relieved to find you in his house.
Knows, for sure, you’d had him long before his realisation on his porch, sand still between your toes.
He clears his throat, tangling your fingers.
‘That mean I get to call you mine, now?’
You smile, eyes watery. Hey, neighbour. I’m Frankie - from across the way. His curls in the sunshine, water balloons over fences. His broad back to you as he cooked dinner, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders. His gentle hands as you cried, phone calls through kitchen windows.
‘Please.’ You whisper.
The lightness in his beam is infectious, a tear spilling over as he kisses you and kisses you. Mine. Mine. Palms skating over skin, tangled in hair, an endless moment in morning sunshine. Your heart swells impossibly, stitched together, glued together by this man in your bed. You don’t know when he did it. But he holds it now, whole, fixing something you know your Dad never wanted to break.
‘Thank you.’ You rasp against his lips, chin wobbling. He doesn't ask what for. He knows, just by the look in your eyes. He shakes his head minutely, voice thick, quiet.
‘My honour.’
He holds you close, bodies melded together. You never want to let go, the tightness in your chest easing again as he makes you laugh, as you say it again, outloud, breathless. Mine. The whispers only broken by rumbles of noise outside, voices -
Deep voices in his backyard you can hear even from here. You groan into each others’ mouths, the sound dissolving into a laugh.
‘They’ll be wanting breakfast.’ You giggle quietly.
‘They can cook,’ he mumbles against your lips, ‘I’ve got mine right here.’
He squeezes your ass, dragging your hips against his thigh. Still wet, leaking from the two of you, something heating in his chest at the thought.
You hum, not helping the case by kissing down his chest.
‘Should really say goodbye at least.’
He grunts as you nibble at his belly, neither acquiescing or disagreeing.
‘And then,’ you continue, ‘I remember something about you keeping me in bed for a week?’
You pause, looking up at him. He curls a hand around your cheek, so tender.
‘Me too.’ He whispers.
You grin as you clamber back up his body, planting a firm kiss against his lips.
‘Couple of hours,’ you promise yourself, ‘And then I have you all to myself.’
He chuckles against your lips, an eyebrow lifting, repeating your words from a week ago - a lifetime ago - back to you.
‘We’ve got the whole summer, Bug.’
You giggle, wiggling your eyebrows.
‘Plenty of time for a ride in the sky, then, too.’ You grin, nudging him.
He presses a long, sweet kiss to your mouth.
‘I’d take you to the moon if I could.’
look at the sexy bitch that started growing on a trail near my home!
i just nutted UNTOUCHED (/j/j/j/j)
7:14pm | Draken
cw: fem!reader, explicit smut/MDNI, fingering, squirting, Draken calls reader "good girl" and "baby," mentions of aftercare because Draken is a king. not proofread, i got excited. | wc: 715
I’m a firm believer that Draken is proficient at making you squirt. He will have no “I can’t, Ken,” or “I’ve never done that.” Nope. When you meet Draken, he’ll be sure to have your sheets ruined in a matter of seconds.
– – –
“That’s a good girl, c’mon, gimme another.”
He’s got you on your back near the edge of the bed. He instructed you to hold your legs open, but by now your grip was slacking behind your knees after having just made a mess of the duvet underneath you. It was like nothing you had ever felt before.
Draken was still only using his fingers, two plunged inside your cunt and curled upward to press the pads of his fingers to the one spot that was sure to make you cum a little harder than normal. You had half a mind to wonder how he even knew about that spot if it weren’t for the fact that he grew up in a brothel.
Some would call that cheating, but to Draken it only means he gets to open the door to this new wonderful pleasure that he enjoys just as much as you presently do. Your chest heaved, trying to swallow air as fast as you moaned it out. Your thighs started to shake, wet and shiny from your own release, but Draken wanted you drenched, soaked down to the core.
“Keep those legs open f’me, baby,” he cooed, using his free hand to hold you down at your abdomen while his occupied one continued to finger you at a rapid pace. His palm cupped around your pubic bone for leverage to press his fingertips harder into your g-spot, waiting for your walls to contract once again to signal another orgasm.
It was everything to simply keep your hands from slipping, already so fucked out from the intensity you felt in your core. Your eyes started rolling back, moaning so sinfully that it only encouraged him more.
You tried to move your hips, chasing your high almost autonomously because your mind was gone. It’s as if your body was saying again, again. Your abdomen felt tighter, an indescribable sensation creeping its way up your spine and through every single one of your nerves.
“K-Ken… fuck, I’m– I–” You were clenching down on his fingers, voice reaching a higher pitch but your throat closing off because you were overwhelmed by the shocks you were feeling as his fingers literally hooked into you and his palm stimulated your clit.
“Let it go, baby. That’s it, make a mess f’me, pretty girl.”
It felt like a twenty foot wave crashing down to shore, blood roaring in your ears and your vision going hazy as you cried out. Your pussy gushed like a waterfall, trickling down to the bed cover and splashing against your thighs and stomach.
“K-K-Kennnn!” He slipped his fingers out of your cunt to quickly rub his digits over your clit, which turned the knob already at max way over your limit. The muscles in his arm tensing at the effort of his movements. The shrillness of your voice cut through the air, seeing stars at the back of your eyelids.
By now there was a puddle of your own making beneath you. Your pussy clenched around nothing as Draken slowed his motions, settling on a slow languid roll of his fingers around your pretty little nub. He thinks he’s in love with the ‘schlick’ sound of your cunt, admiring your fucked out face and spent body.
“You did so good, baby. I told ya you could do it.” He stretched a smug smile across his features before helping you relax your legs, crawling up the bed to tenderly kiss your forehead and make sure you were still somewhat present. Your eyes fell heavy searching for him, exhausted beyond belief and truly astounded that he was able to make your body do that with such little effort.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” There was never any doubt that Draken would give you the proper aftercare, helping you get your arms around his neck so he could get you in the shower. You already know you’ll be sleeping so well tonight, and looking forward to the next time Draken gets you to ruin the sheets.
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