Warmup redraw of my favorite screenshot of boy. He’s so precious in this, he looks so relaxed. I love his mouth especially in that screenshot it looks so cute.
I got a burst of inspiration and made drawings of @potatoizz22 and @inkyslinkystuff characters, Juliette and Ink, with their respective ships. I hope y’all enjoy 😌
Yayayaya little Franco paper doll thingy!!!!!!!!! Ahh I love him so much 😭😭😭😭 I plan to make accessories and more outfits for him soon, I also might make him a little closet for said things and if I make him a little closet I also wanna make him a little room and if I make him a little room I might make him a little house... I'm getting way ahead of myself but I'm full of so much love for him, I've nearly crushed him in my hands stimming about him but I have just enough self control not to GRRRRR hehehehe 🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱
Congratulations! We have finished our first series!! How are we feeling, huh?
If you haven’t guessed it by now, this entire fic has been based off of the album by Frank Sinatra:
Sinatra and Swingin’ Brass
And while the songs don’t entirely match the chapters, the names of the chapters are all taken from that album
Now for those who have missed or skipped the rest of the fic, here’s a full recap!
We, the reader, have disguised ourselves as a man to work under Salvatore Barbi to protect Franco after his murder sprees have landed him in hot water with rival mafia families. This is a separate AU where the Angelina incident did NOT happen, and is set pre Murkoff. Franco eventually began to develop feelings which he projected onto prostitutes due to period typical homophobia. During a scuffle, you have lost a section of your left cheek, exposing your teeth. Eventually, you two spent an evening at another bar, but after confessing he wanted you, under the influence of drugs, there was a halt in your work. Franco eventually called you back, and in a new burlesque, your secret of being a woman was exposed. Franco was understandably angry, but after a kiss in the rain, you two have made your way to a motel.
This was all a request!
TW: this fic contains the following!
•Smut
•Bottom Franco
•Erectile dysfunction
•This gets FREAKY
•Humiliation, rough handling of genitalia, like stepping on em and shit, how do I even write this💔
•Use of the word mommy to refer to reader because it’s a Franco fic, of course it’s happening,
•Fat shaming but in a more degrading way than a general hatred
•possibly bad writing of smut since I’m still not all that used to it but I could be wrong, again, this was all requested so I’m like REALLY nervous about this but I gotta do it,
•It’s also my first full length smut so I’m super duper extra nervous 😔
˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ 𝔸𝕚𝕟’𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥 ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
It was one of those shady motels, the kind where honesty was more common than sex. Franco had been here a bunch of times, but you always waited outside.
The woman at the front desk was unfazed, having seen it all, she tossed a key across the desk and returned to her novel. Franco snatched the key atop the surface and took your hand, barely glancing at the number across the key as the pair of you looked for the room.
304.
The room was relatively clean, not sterile, but that didn’t matter. You thought you were here for a quickie or something rough, but as you watched Franco pull down the curtains and take some spare sheets from the closet, using some push pins found in the bedside, probably from the last couple in here, to pin the sheets to the ceiling, forming a makeshift drape over the bed. He sits down on the bed, catching his breath, the prior task having taken a lot out of him.
You chuckle, catching his attention.
“What?”
“You could’ve asked me to do that.”
“You kiddin’? You’re a lady! I ain’t gonna ask a broad to do all this!”
“Ha! You think just cause I’m a woman I can’t do anything? You’re forgettin’ the man I was earlier tonight!” You toss your blazer aside, approaching the bed, body curling around the side Franco’s sat in on. Hands placed atop his own as you lean over him.
The man looked mesmerised, his eyes couldn’t decide if they wanted to meet yours or breathe in the rest of your face. His hands slid out from under your own, cupping your face gently, his thumb entering the open scar, caressing your teeth. You lick the tip of his glove through the window in your cheek. A noise in the back of his throat tells you everything.
Your teeth bit down a couple times on his thumb as you spoke, but he made no effort to remove it.
“Maybe you need a reminder. Maybe I need to teach you how much of a man I am in comparison.”
He whimpers, the manspread turning to a tight press together of his legs. You didn’t know what you were doing, but it was working.
You push him up on the bed while taking off your shirt, taking a moment to grieve the bra, it served you well.
You take a deep breath, the sigh following felt like a lock falling off your chest. It was always nice taking it off, but it wasn’t nice knowing it was broken. You pause, a moment of mourning taking over.
What will you do? Can you try again? Will you be able to stay? Will you get a new one? Can you get a new one?
A weight is lifted from your being, and when you look up from your broken bra, you find a pair of grabby hands kneading the dough of your flesh, you turn your head to Franco’s, laid upon your shoulder. You chuckle at the sight, your arm reaching around and ruffling his hair a little.
“Someone’s eager to say hello.”
“Can ya blame me? Look at this rack! How the hell does someone hide this?!”
You laugh, hiking a leg up on the bed beside you, letting Franco get a proper look, snaking a hand of your own up his chest, tugging at the buttons on his shirt.
“A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets.”
You both chuckle, the drapes making this moment feel more real, more genuine. It was an effort to make a shitty motel room pretty, and that was all you wanted, in all honesty. A gentle push landed him on his back, and following a pair of roaming hands, you could tell where this was going.
You’d heard rumours of his inability to perform, whispers of impotence, and the deaths that followed. You didn’t care, you’d find a way. Your tongue pushed deeper, your knee now between his legs, you ground down roughly. The moans elicited between your mouths told you to keep going, so why not get a little angry with it?
Taken from your ass, you pinned his hands either side of his head by the wrist, using the bone of your kneecap to grind until a leg wrapped itself around your thigh, the other hooked on your thigh. A string of spittle kept you connected as you broke apart, Franco moaning behind closed lips at the sight of your face, that anger must’ve been written all over you, your features softened a little when he noticed.
“What’s wrong?” He panted, barely keeping it together.
“Hm? Oh, nothing, just getting too into it.”
You both chuckle, his laugh cut off by a moan, he pushed his head to the side, his breath shaky and needy. You take the chance to lean down, kissing along his neck as you slide your legs to frame his hips, his protesting whines being evidence for needing you.
You group his wrists into one hand, keeping them pinned above his head as you reach back, palming him through his trousers, faltering for a moment at how soft it remained. And he noticed.
“No.. don’t you start- don’t you laugh at me!” A hesitant anger filled his voice, insecurity bubbling up in the form of tears. You turn to console him, kissing his cheeks and tears as they fall.
“I’m not laughing, I’m not laughing.” You reassure him repeatedly, lest it cost you your life. “Just a little surprised, don’t worry, I find it cute.”
You panic internally, why did you say that? How would he take that? Oh you’re fucked. You brace for impact, turning your head away to hide your fear, continuing to palm until you hear the moment he picks up the gun.
But it never comes. Just little whimpers and whines. You decide to try something, you still had your trousers and boots on after all. You stand up, you head nearly hitting the ceiling as Franco’s face falls in a mix of fear and need. You rest the front of your boot on his crotch, praying it works. Weight still resting behind you, you hesitate. It’s written all over his face to do it, but you still hesitate, you don’t know how testicles work, what if they pop?!
Against hesitation, you lean forward, using his groin as a stepping stone to place your left boot on the side of his head, nearly moving off at the sound, feeling the crunch beneath you made you jump, your skin crawl. But he was loving it! So you stayed there. You didn’t need to say a thing, he was saying enough. Muttering and mumbling for mommy to discipline him, put him in his place. Furthest thing from light, you lean back a little, putting your weight on the heel of your right foot, digging it in just that little bit more.
His arms wrapped themselves around your leg, for a moment you thought he was crying, but when he taps at your leg, you get off, a boot print left over, he sits up, staring at his crotch whilst you lower yourself back down, tugging your belt out of the loops.
“It’s up!!” He near squeals in excitement, rushing to pull the front of his trousers down enough to show you. You feel your cheeks get hot, he wasn’t as small as you expected him to be, but not as big as you hoped. You smile, pulling off your trousers and underwear in one. Stepping out of the rest of your clothes, you settle yourself atop Franco’s hips, his tip meeting the start of your happy trail. Your face gets a little hot as you remember it had been months since you shaved, you rush to apologise before Franco stops you.
Not a word. Not from him or you. Nothing needed to be said. You pause for but a moment before shaking yourself back into the moment, grinding your hips forward across his freshly bruising balls. He whines, pleading uselessly under his breath for you to put it in.
“Do you think you’ve earned it?” God what a woman you were, a devilish one. For the first time in months, you truly felt like one again.
“Oh mommy.. don’t be a cock-tease- I’m beggin’ ya! Please mommy, I’ll be so good for ya, so so so good… please do it, put it in!”
That was.. something. You certainly didn’t expect the M word dropped on you like that, but you smile, something about his words, his face maybe, the boot print still on his face.. it does something to you. Perhaps it was the pitiful nature, maybe even the name he gave you, but whatever. Sliding your hips up his body, your lips barely brushing against the tip, like a snail, leaving its slick behind.
“Why don’t you prove how good you can be?”
Pussy in his face, he does anything but disappoint, god, where was a tongue like that when you needed it?! Having been with so many women, the need to impress for his ego’s sake, Franco was one of those men who just knew. Knew what buttons to press, how hard, when, which fingers got results, which ones got laughs. Little muffled sobs vibrated against your clit, and you forced yourself up. You didn’t want it to end so quickly, you look back to make sure he’s still hard, smiling when you find he is. He whines, bucking his hips in hopes of finding something, ANYTHING! He cried, fat tears running down his messy face.
Hand on his hips, you pin him down his blubbering falling upon deaf ears as your hand snakes up his chest, unbuttoning the remaining buttons of his shit and pushing it aside, groping and pinching his pudgy belly. You pin his hips down with your body, pinching his cheeks
“Look at all this, you’re so fat, it’s stupid..” you chuckle a little, kissing along his collarbone
“Shhhuddup..” He slurred, drunk on love. He looked like he was holding in his thoughts.
“Talk to me, baby.” That did more than you anticipated, you could feel him squirm and beg, his words spilling all over the place.
“Oh fuck… oh god- I love you.. I love you so much I wanna fuck ya till I’m bone dry- fuck! Oh fuck, please lemme in! Promise it to me, sugar! Promise you’ll let me fuck ya, toots! Please, please, please lemme fuck ya!”
“What would you wanna do?” You were fucking with him at this point, anything to hear him speak before he could think.
“Tell me your ideal day.” You push your lips against his tip, his panting increasingly loud as he tried to think even just a little, every pause holding a pant between it, sometimes needing your encouragement to keep going, the odd grind catching him off guard.
“Fuck… I’d get home.. I- oh god- please sweetness… fuck.. uhh.. we- I’d.. I’d find ya upstairs… oh god… you’d be in a babydoll- one of them expensive ones… with a push-up bra! It’d be lacy and frilly and- oh fuck… it’d have a fur rim… it’d be a full set! Panties, garter belt, stockings… oh god and the shoes… it’d all be lavender with baby blue lace. Fuck… I’d crawl to ya, you’d stop me with the heels and bust my balls for even tryin’…”
The ramblings continue, building a story of your own. A fur boa would be draped across your arms, dressed to the nines! You would feel like a woman, and the power of controlling him from afar, it made you need him more than he needed you.
He continued, elaborating on how he would start kissing you everywhere, starting with the shoes and making his way up your legs until he reached your inseam, forcing himself to pleasure you before himself. He would make you cum once before continuing up your body, worshiping every last inch, kissing each finger tip, each freckle, every eye lash, how he would guarantee each kiss was dry as to not taint your skin with his spit.
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t you want that?”
“Ya too perfect sugar… too fuckin’ perfect…”
It struck a chord with you, but you dare not say so, masking your surprise with a reward. You pose his tip just on the edge and slam yourself down, his back arching, the crack being a line of sheet music to his lyrics, fingers bruising your hips at the sudden warmth enveloping his length.
You pant for a moment, the shock of the moment stunning you. You thank whoever you can for having him so distracted. And so it begins. Properly this time around.
Raising and lowering yourself, you keep him docile, plushy, soft enough to hold solidly yet still squish him into whatever you wanted him to be. And whenever he fell into some sort of clarity, you could just press your breasts into his face. Licking and kissing, squeezing and groping, it was a sobbing finish for Franco, one that came far too early in his opinion, but feeling your walls squeeze around him? God, you’d think a mosquito took to his dick!
When coming to, Franco felt lighter, a weight of guilt and shame lifted, finding himself buried in your cleavage, he’d press a kiss to wherever his lips landed. You’d turn to face him properly, a little tired but still happy to see him.
“Morning.”
“Fuck off, it’s not morning..” he’d stretch as he spoke, his voice a little strained, a chuckle bubbling from him as he sat up, watching you gather your clothes. It made him wonder..
“…what are we?”
“What do you wanna be?”
“..I wanna be yours.”
“I wanna stay working for your dad, is there a way we can have both?”
“…maybe.. maybe we could get you another bra like that magic shit you had.”
“And then what? Just spend nights on dates and fucking?”
“If ya want.”
You smile. You liked that idea, it was the best of both worlds. So you stayed, even if there wasn’t a big red X on Franco’s back, you stayed. The lie remained between those outside of what you both had, but it was worth it to feel his hands on your waist, lips on your skin wherever he demanded it, it was wonderful. It was a lie you lived in, a lie you loved in. And god forbid you have it any other way.
