#Frankie Morales

[capuccinodoll]

Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”

You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.

“That Frankie?” 

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?” 

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.

He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.” 

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.

“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.  

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.  

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?” 

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought. 

You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.  

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.  

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong. 

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you. 

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.

“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t. 

“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.

Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening. 

For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off  and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter. 

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage. 

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently. 

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside. 

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.  

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.  

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.  

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.  

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more. 

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.

“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 6th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—” 

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.  

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.  

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.  

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it. 

Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral. 

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?” 

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak. 

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—” 

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.

"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view. 

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.

“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.

“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.  

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.  

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.  

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.  

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.  

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.  

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.  

“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.  

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”  

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”  

“I know.” 

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”  

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.  

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”  

You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”  

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”  

“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”  

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.  

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”  

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.

“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”  

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.  

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.  

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.  

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”  

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”  

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”  

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.  

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.  

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.  

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.  

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.  

Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.  

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.  

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.  

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.  

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.  

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee. 

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.  

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”  

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.  

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”  

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”  

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”  

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”  

“Next Saturday.”  

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”  

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.  

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”  

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”  

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.  

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”  

“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.  

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”  

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.  

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.  

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”  

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”  

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”  

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”  

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”  

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.  

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”  

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”  

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”  

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.  

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.  

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.  

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.  

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”  

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.  

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”  

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.  

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”  

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.  

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.  

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

[littlevenicebitch69]

oohhh hot

receipts

Summary: Did you ever want to show off something so badly, because there's no way in hell people would believe you, that you took a video of it? Well that's how you felt about Frankie when he ate you out. And after raving about him on a girls night they joke that you should film him, so they can see for themselves. Surprisingly he's super into that idea when you tell him about it after.

Pairing: Francisco Morales x fem. reader

Wordcount: 3k

Rating: E

Warnings: smut (oral sex; f receiving), making a video of said smut, dirty talk, alcohol, general horniness

A/N: Enjoy this filth, cause there's a chance this is gonna be the last one for a while. Will focus on my Javi series from now on and hope the braincells agree with me

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Full Masterlist // Frankie Morales Masterlist

„Come on, I just need five more minutes,“ Frankie was kissing up a line on your neck as you stood in front of the sink, trying to apply your lipstick. 

Again. 

You were already fifteen minutes late, your new boyfriend Frankie having insisted he only needed five more minutes which, of course, was a lie. But who were you to complain about being eaten out and made cum twice on his tongue. 

Fuck, he was so good at that. 

You had a couple of boyfriends before Frankie, but no one had been as eager as him when it came to all things sex.

Mostly the men you’ve been with before thought foreplay consisted of fingering you for twenty seconds before they wanted you to suck their cock. 

You hadn’t even seen Frankie’s cock before you had been dating for almost two months, let alone touched it. He on the other hand let no opportunity go by to have you moaning his name, his head between your thighs or his fingers deep inside your cunt. 

Or both. 

„Later, baby,“ you took a deep breath and turned around, smiling at the adorable pout he gave you. You booped his nose and he smiled, kissing you very softly so he wouldn’t ruin your lipstick.

Again. 

„Want me to pick you up after?“ He asked, hands slowly moving down your back until his hands rested on your ass. 

„You don’t have to. I can take an uber home. It’s closer from the bar anyway,“ you said and he hummed. 

„What if I wait for you at your place?“ He asked and you smiled. 

„Can’t get enough of me, huh Morales?“ You teased and he shook his head. 

„Never,“ he grinned before he kissed you, leaving you to apply your lipstick for a third time once he was finished with you this time. 

You finally made it to the bar, thirty minutes too late. Frankie had driven you and you had given him your key so he could go to your place. He had picked up his toolbox so you were pretty sure he would be working on the sink that had been leaking for some time. And on the broken door. And maybe that Ikea table you had picked up and never build. He had noticed it the last time he was over at your place and insisted he took care of it. 

It wasn’t like you were spending much time at your place at the moment. 

You and Frankie had been dating for four months now, and you mostly spend your time at his place. Not because he didn’t like to stay at yours but because he had the bigger house. It was a small two story home on the outskirts of town, but he had made it his. You could see him in every corner of the home and you were absolutely in love with it. 

He also had a pool and with the hot summer you had you preferred to let the day tune out in his pool with a cold beer or iced tea. 

God, you were so in love with him it annoyed you sometimes. 

„Oh thank god, I’m not the only one too late,“ you sighed relieved as you sat down next to your friend Emily. She hugged you, kissing your cheek and you were attacked from the other side as your friend Carol sat down. 

„Katy is running behind. The babysitter’s car broke down. But she’ll be here in like ten minutes,“ Emily said. You ordered drink as you waited, catching up on life. Yeah, you spoke to each other frequently, but the older you got the more complicated it got to get everyone at the same place at the same time. 

Once the drinks and Katy were there, you felt all eyes on you and you sipped on your drink like you had all the time in the world. 

„Spill those beans babe. We know where you met Frankie but other than that we know almost nothing!“ Emily said excitedly and you grinned. 

„What do you wanna know?“

„Everything!“ They all said and you laughed. 

„Okay. So Frankie is 36 years old. He’s ex military and he owns a little massage place in the city,“ you began. 

„The massage place you met at?“ Katy asked and you nodded. 

„Yeah. Got a gift card and my back felt like shit so I went one Saturday and the only one around was Frankie. He works all weekend when his daughter is at her mom’s,“ you explained. 

„How old is she?“ Emily asked.

„Turns five in may. She’s adorable. And such a Daddy’s girl,“ you smiled. You remembered how anxious you were to meet her for the first time. It hadn’t been that long ago, only six weeks before. 

She was staying the majority of the time with him, so you knew if she hated you, things with Frankie would be over pretty quickly. Thankfully she liked you right away, both of you bonding over your love for nail polish. It was actually the first thing she said to you. That you had the prettiest nails she’d ever seen. 

„And she stays with him often?“ Kate asked. You nodded. 

„She lives with him full time. And when her mother is in town they arrange sleepovers. She’s pretty chill actually. Works as an stewardess so she’s away very often,“ you explained and they all nodded. 

„So the first time you met him you were naked?“ Carol asked and you rolled your eyes. 

„No, the first time I met him I was dressed. Ten minutes later I was naked and he had his hands on me,“ you chuckled and they all laughed. 

„I didn’t know if he was just quiet but he did not say a word to me for the entire time. Which was sad cause I really wanted him to talk to me. I think I liked him from the first moment on,“ you said quietly.

„Anyway, after he’s finished he tells me that he’ll wait outside, so I get dressed quickly, wanting to get out of there but before I could leave the place Frankie asked me if I would like to go out with him sometime. And well, I said yes,“ you shrugged and they all grinned at you. 

„It’s been about time that you got lucky too, babe. And I hope you are getting lucky a lot,“ Emily raised her eyebrows and you blushed, cheeks warming as you bit your lip. 

„You have no idea. I never thought sex could be that good, honestly,“ you said. 

„I mean he owns a massage place, I bet he’s great with his hands,“ Katy wiggled with her eyebrows playfully.

„Details,“ Kate demanded and you laughed. 

„Nuh uh. I am not drunk enough for that. And I am hungry,“ you pursed your lips. 

„So we gotta get you drunk is what I get from that,“ Emily winked and you rolled your eyes. 

Two hours and numerous drinks later you were chewing on some mozzarella stick as you listened to Katy tell you about the cockring she got her husband and how much they both enjoyed it. 

„He’s lasting so much longer. It’s a win win for everyone involved,“ she said seriously and you all barked a laugh. 

„So babe, are you drunk enough to spill the beans now?“ Emily asked and you hummed. 

„Haven’t told you that his callsign at the military was Catfish,“ you began and they all looked at you confused. 

„But it’s not because of the reasons you might think….“

„No honestly. He’s so good at it, I wish I could make a video and show it to everyone. Which I can’t cause ya know but…. Fuck…. I’ve never ever had a man that loved eating pussy that much,“ you said and they all looked at you with open mouths. 

„He made you cum four times? On his tongue?“ Katy asked a little too loud and some heads turned towards your table. 

You felt your cheeks growing hot and just nodded while they groaned. 

„Hey if you ever decide to take a video, we have all seen each other’s vag soooo….“ Katy smirked and your eyes widened before you uttered a oh my god under your nose, making everyone laugh. 

Yet the thought of it didn’t leave you alone. Frankie picked you up and was the perfect gentlemen as he took you to bed, cuddling himself against your back after the made you drink a whole glass of water and take an aspirin. 

The next morning you woke up with your head on his chest, looking up at him as he slept peacefully. 

He was so pretty. And he was all yours. 

And part of you wanted to show him off in every aspect. Even if you just kept it for yourself. 

„I can hear you thinking,“ he mumbled sleepily before his eyes fluttered open. You couldn’t stop but smile as you looked at him all cute and sleepy. 

„Don’t know what you mean,“ you mumbled and he grinned. 

„Does it have to do with your friends calling me Catfish when I picked you up?“ He said and your eyes widened, having completely forgotten about that. 

Hiding your face against his chest you felt him chuckle, arms coming around you. 

„Hey I know what you do on those girls nights. You get drunk and talk about the dick size of your boyfriends,“ he teased and you laughed. 

„That is…. Not completely untrue,“ you mumbled against his chest before you looked up at him again, finding him tiredly grinning down at you. 

„So what had you thinking so hard just now?“ He asked, one of his hands coming to brush over your cheek. 

„Just something my friend said,“ you said and he raised one eyebrow. 

„I told them about that time you made me cum four times on your tongue,“ you said, a little shy and he smirked, clearly still proud of himself. 

„What about it?“ He asked. 

„Just… that you’re so good at it that, that I wish I could take a video to show around,“ you said in one breath and now both of his eyebrows raised. 

„That something you wanna do? Show everyone just how good your man can make you cum?“ He hummed and you shivered at the tone of his voice. 

„Maybe…“ you said sucking your bottom lip in. 

„Well then come on,“ he grinned and you eyes widened just before he pulled himself up and turned you so you were laying on your back with him on top of you. He kissed you, humming against your lips. 

„What?“ You laughed. 

„If you wanna show me off so badly, who am I to stand in the way of that?“ He grinned, kissing your nose. 

„It’s a compliment really. You thinking I am so good at eating your pussy you want everyone to know,“ he kissed you, „to see,“ he kissed you again and you sighed.

„You would really be okay with me showing you around like that?“ You asked, still surprised. He shrugged. 

„It’s your pussy. You can show it to whoever you want,“ he said before he frowned and you suppressed a laugh. 

„Okay maybe not whoever you want. Not that I want to dictate who you show your pussy to,  it is a pretty pussy after all but…“ he rambled and you giggled, holding one finger against his mouth to stop him. 

„Frankie?“ You stopped him and he looked at you with wide eyes. 

„How about we decide later if and who I show my pussy to?“ You asked and he nodded. 

„Good idea,“ he huffed a laugh before he kissed you again. 

„Get your phone out,“ he mumbled against your lips and you shivered, but you blindly reached for your phone, finding it on the bedside table. 

He kissed down your body before he pushed your shirt up, his eyes lighting up once he saw your tits, leaning down to let the scruffy hair of his beard scratch over them, making you hum. He grinned up at you as he kissed the soft skin, nibbling on your nipple before he sucked one of them into his mouth. 

Meanwhile you shakily opened the camera app on your phone, pressing record. He grinned, nipple still in your mouth as he wiggled his eyebrows playfully. 

„Feels good baby,“ you smiled, the hand that wasn’t holding your phone coming down to brush your fingers through his soft hair. 

„Yeah?“ He mumbled, lips still against your skin as he slowly kissed a line down your stomach. He sat himself up, pushing the covers away, your phone recording his full body as he stretched, arms over his head. 

He was so fucking pretty. 

„Want this?“ He asked, wrapping his hand around his cock, pumping it slowly as he looked at you. 

You nodded, lip between your teeth. 

„Gonna need you to say it baby. The audience can’t see you giving me your fuck me eyes,“ he teased and you chuckled, before throwing a pillow at him. 

You put one of your feet up to his chest and he grabbed it, kissing your ankle.

„Get between my thighs and eat my pussy, Francisco,“ you hummed with a smirk and he huffed, shaking his head with a grin. 

„As you wish,“ he winked before he lowered himself down on the mattress, his big hands pushing your thighs apart, his tongue swiping through your folds as soon as his mouth was close to you. 

His arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling your whole body towards him as he got settled between your legs, his eyes on your pussy, the camera capturing the hungry look in his eyes before he looked up at you.

The look he was giving you was downright sinful, before his lips slipped into only the hint of a smirk as he leaned down and began to eat your pussy. 

He started slowly, his tongue teasing you, his fingers opening you up for him. 

Frankie hummed when his tongue slipped inside of you, his nose right on your clit. 

„Always taste so fucking good, baby,“ the groaned and you gasped as his tongue began to play with your clit. It took all your willpower to keep your phone in your hand to capture it all, even zooming into the way his tongue was working on you. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth, eyes on you while he swiped his tongue over it and you moaned, your hand coming down on top of his head, pulling at his hair as he worked on making you cum. 

And you were so close. 

„Baby….“ You gasped, your hips moving up to get even closer and he hummed against you, your legs shaking in his hold.

He focused all of his attention on your clit and you could feel the first waves of your orgasm.

„Cum for me baby,“ he mumbled against your folds, before he sucked harshly on your clit and you exploded. Moaning his name as you came, somehow still managing to film him, missing the way his eyes were looking directly into your camera as he worked you through your orgasm. 

You would only find out about that later when you watched it. 

„Fuck,“ you gasped, not even fighting him when you felt him take the phone from you, his mouth parting from you. 

„Look at how she’s drooling for me,“ he said and you looked at him as he brought your phone down between your legs, his fingers exposing your folds to the lens. 

„She’s so fucking warm and tight,“ he said, and you looked at him, lips still parted as your breathed heavily. 

„Can just slip two of my fingers inside,“ he said while slowly pushing two of his fingers inside of you, making you moan a low oh fuck as he did so. 

He pulled his fingers out, filming the way his fingers were covered in your cum, a thin line of it connecting his parted fingers. 

„So fucking good,“ he hummed, before he sucked his fingers into his mouth, all captured by your phone. 

„Oh my god Frankie,“ you said with a disbelieving laugh and he just winked at you before he threw the phone onto the bed and got on top of you. 

„Need to fuck you,“ he said as he kissed you and you wrapped your legs around him. 

„Please,“ you mumbled against his lips, gasping when his cock pushed inside of you. 

It was on your birthday some months later that you sat around the fire pit in Frankie’s garden with your friends. You had moved into his house only weeks before and your friends were visiting you there for the first time. 

„You really made a video?“ Emily asked and you sucked you bottom lip in, nodding slowly. 

„Several actually,“ you confessed and they hollered, making you laugh as you caught Frankie’s eyes where he was standing at the grill. 

„He even told me I could show you,“ you confessed and they all looked at you with wide eyes. 

„But… I am not drunk enough to show them to you,“ you said, chuckling when Katy reached for the bottle of Prosecco on the table, filling your glass. 

„We can work on that,“ she said, making you all giggle. 

„Who knows? Maybe we have the next big porn star sitting with us here,“ Emily teased and you smiled to yourself, deciding to not tell them about how Frankie and you had discussed maybe looking into setting up an onlyfans account after you had watched all the videos you made. 

„Yeah,“ you said as you watched Frankie walk towards you. 

„Who knows.“

[pascqlspunk]

hes such a slut i need him.

[ericamarie093]

"Father Figure" by George Michael will be living in my head rent-free with this man doing this little dance.

[berryispunk]

She Keeps His Shirt, He Keeps His Word

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

This is the final part of the "Complete Mess" series readable here. But definitely also enjoyable as stand-alone.

summary: This is not the way it’s supposed to be, or the time it’s supposed to be. Everything seems wrong. Maybe they will find a way to make it right.

tags: explicit ! 18 + ,unplanned pregnancy, talking of abortion, arguing, angst (lots of it), smut, unprotected PiV, sprinkle of dirty talk, nicknames (hermosa, baby, mi amor, mi vida), inner turmoil, mention of addiction, some (possibly) childhood trauma, social class talk (kind of), did I mention angst?, idiots in love, breakup, established relationship, getting back together, slight pregnancy talk, brief mention of birth, all the feelings, love confessions, ALL THE ANGST, fluff (a tiny bit), soft Frankie, Frankie and his girl, angst and smut

notes: It's happening guys, my series "Complete Mess" is ending and we're finishing like we started with ALL THE ANGST. The title is part of a TS song, thanks to my bestie who suggested the title months ago. If you didn't read the other parts I highly recommend reading them first here and here !!!!

word count: 4,4 k (oops)

That’s not how it's supposed to be. This is not how you wanted this to happen. 

It’s too soon, too much, not enough. 

This should be one of the most important moments in your life, you should overflow with joy but instead you stare at the second line wishing it’d disappear.

Fucking fuck. 

It’s been two weeks since your encounter with Frankie in the club, two weeks since you got back together. 

Five days since your period should’ve started. You’ve taken three tests, all with the same outcome. 

One unmistakingly has the word “Pregnant” on it. Pregnant, as in, a little life growing inside of your womb. It feels like a sick joke. A twisted turn of events. 

You sink to the ground, the last test still in hand as tears start to blur your vision. 

Your head feels like it’s spinning, the weight of it all threatening to crush you.

You feel numb, but at the same time you feel every emotion imaginable.

Anger, frustration, fear, sadness, all mixed up in a dangerous maelstrom of feelings.

You wanna scream, but you also wanna say nothing at all. 

Your hands are shaking as you start to sob and the test hits the ground with a noise. 

This is rock bottom, you think. You’ve hit the ground, both figuratively and literally. 

How the hell could this happen? 

How could you have been so careless ? 

You’re almost 28. You should’ve known better. 

You curl up in a ball, trying to soothe yourself but it’s to no use. 

Your sobs shake your whole body and your head is so loud, screaming at you.

The chaos of voices inside you raging. 

One voice is clear, overpowering all others. It’s repeating one simple thing, a name, one thing you can’t mistake for anything else. 

Frankie. 

You pull yourself together and frantically search for your phone. 

You finally find it on the sink, the lockscreen of it like a punch to your gut. 

It’s you and him, happy, in love, with not a care in the world. A fragment of happiness you both long for so much, but never be able to reach fully. 

Tiny glimpses of it scattered through your mess of a relationship.

With still shaking hands you dial his number and he picks up on the third ring, your stomach dropping.

“We have to talk,” you simply state. “Can you come over?” 

“Sure, hermosa. Everything alright?” The worry in his voice is palpable and you feel like you suffocate on the sob that leaves your throat. 

“I don’t know… Just come here, okay ?”

“I’m on my way,” he says with conviction and the line goes dead. 

Only twenty minutes later the front door opens. He’s let himself in with the spare key you gave him a while back. 

His brows are furrowed in confusion, his dark eyes scanning the room for you in the dim light.

“I am here,” you say quietly, standing in your small kitchen with a glass of water in your hand. 

“Baby?” he hesitantly asks as he steps closer to you. You don’t need to look up to feel his questioning eyes on you. “You scared the shit outta me on the phone… What is going on?”

Without saying a word you point towards the kitchen counter where the three pregnancy tests lie, offensively all spelling out the same result.

You don’t dare to look up. You’re not strong enough for whatever reaction he’s having. 

You expect the same emotions you experienced just minutes ago. 

But as Frankie stays threateningly silent, definitely uncharacteristic for him, you turn around to watch him look at the objects on the counter. 

His dark brown eyes are analytical, searching and possibly confused.

His brows lift up high before he looks at you. His gaze flickering from your stomach to your face, gauging your own reaction before there’s a wide smile spreading over his face and it throws you off way more than any anger could. 

Is he… happy?

“Is this real?” he asks and you scoff. 

“I peed on three of these dumb sticks, so I’d say so.” 

His smile only widens as he closes the distance between you and lifts you up, swirling you around like you weigh nothing as he exclaims, “We’re gonna have a baby!!” and his voice is so full of genuine joy it makes your stomach twist. 

You wrap your arms around his neck but your energy definitely doesn't match his.

“Wait- You are.. Are you happy?” 

“Of course I am happy! We’re having a baby, mi amor! This is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He takes a short breath and then adds, “Besides meeting you of course,” he laughs and the corners of your mouth twitch in the slightest hint of a smile. 

You wish you could mirror his excitement. 

But you can’t.

“Frankie, I–” You break off and pat his biceps to signal him to let you down again so he obliges and you take a small step back.

“I don’t know if… If I wanna keep it.”

His facial expression switches from joy to pure shock instantly, his eyes darkening.

“What?”

You suddenly feel so small under his intense gaze.

“What do you mean you don’t know if you wanna keep it?” 

You can’t look at him so you focus your gaze on the wall, on the kitchen counter that serves as your breakfast table. Anything other than his face. 

“I am not ready to be a mom,” you mumble.

“Nobody is ever really ready for this,” he objects and you sigh in response.

“You still struggle with the whole drug stuff…”

“I’ve been clean for weeks and you know that.”

“Yeah, but what if you relapse? Then what? I can’t take care of a newborn alone.”

He frowns heavily at this.

 “You won’t have to do it all by yourself. I am here and I will be with you every step of the way.”

“Your job?”

“I’ll quit.”

“We’re already struggling to make ends meet as it is, Frankie. Now imagine a baby on top of that. All the diapers, clothing, furniture,…” you drift off, trying your best to reason with him.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest, his face hardening, taking on the defense. 

“You’re just searching for reasons that this won’t work out. You’re not even considering it, are you?”

Ouch.

“Frankie, I–” 

But he stops you by lifting his hand. 

“Look, my parents were immigrants. We never had much but there was still nothing lacking, most of all there was love. Love, baby. That’s what created this new life in the first place…”

You scoff. 

“You mean your childhood in poverty was worth it because of all the love? Love isn’t enough, Frankie. It doesn’t pay the bills and it doesn’t feed another mouth.”

He looks at you as if you hurt him. His sad soulful eyes make you regret your harsh words instantly. 

“Besides,” you add, “I don’t know if you remember but I also come from a lower class family with a single mom. I remember vividly all the times I had to go to bed on an empty stomach. I don’t want this for a child. Nobody deserves that.” 

His mouth opens but you interrupt him before he can speak up.

“And don’t tell me about how this formed you as a person, how it made you resilient. That’s romanticizing. I don’t want our child to experience the same shit.”

He runs a hand over his face in frustration. 

“Fine. But you’re not alone in this. I am here and I will do anything to give you and the baby a good life.”

Your eyes narrow on him. 

“Yeah? How’re you planning to do this? Taking another of these risky and highly illegal jobs?”

He frowns again. 

“No, smart-ass, I will look for a steady job. One with decent pay.”

You snort sarcastically. 

“Yeah, right. Because your criminal record is so clean!”

The moment the words leave your mouth you realize it was a low blow, even for you, but it’s too late to take it back now. He looks hurt, defeated and lost as he looks at you. 

“Why did you tell me about this when you already decided to get rid of it?”

“I haven't decided yet. I just…" 

You don’t even know how to finish the sentence.

He takes a few steps back, pacing around the kitchen, the gears visibly rattling in his head.

“What can I do to convince you to prove that I’m serious about changing?”

“Frankie, I know you’re trying.”

“Yes, I am trying. And I will try harder because I have a reason. A reason to do better.”

He’s sounding so sincere and confident that for a millisecond you dare to dream about the three of you as a family. Maybe a life in a little condo apartment. Or even something with a backyard, so the tiny human can have a sandbox to play in and their own puppy. But reality catches up faster than you’d like and you’re reminded why this won’t work out, no matter how much you want it to. 

“Look, if things were different I’d be over the moon given the prospect of having a baby with you. Yet, in this life, you know as well as I do that the circumstances we’re in right now are far from ideal to start a family. We just got back together-”

“And?” “And, given our history it’s only a matter of time until we fight and break up again. You know how it goes.” “I would never leave you alone with a baby. You’re thinking that lowly of me ?”

You immediately shake your head no.

But Frankie already tenses up as the words begin to spill, every one of them more hurtful than the other.

“You’re thinking I am a lost cause, right? Doomed to repeat his own mistakes again and again and too dumb to learn a lesson for good. Is that it?” His voice is trembling with emotion and you feel like the biggest douche.

You open your mouth to say something, but Frankie interrupts you. 

“You claim you love me, that you’re proud of me for even the small victories but still you treat me like a damn child, wrapping me in bubble wrap afraid I might implode first chance I get. But let me tell you, I am trying. I am working so hard to be a man deserving of your love. Showing up, going through withdrawal, even considering therapy and all you do is think of me as the big screw-up, worth less than the dirt under your shoe.”

You feel hot tears building in the corners of your eyes.

“Frankiiiieee…” you whine but he shakes his head, his expression hard and  unapproachable.

The warmth in his eyes is gone.

“For you I’m just an idiot who’s in love with you but to me you’re all that matters, all I ever think about. The reason why I do all of this crap because hell, it’s fucking hard. But I constantly think about you, about your pretty smile and your soft words whenever I feel I am not strong enough. And now you’re standing here in front of me, telling me you’re pregnant with my child and you don’t wanna keep it because, still, after everything I’ve done I am not good enough, not worthy enough for you and it fucking hurts.”

You’re speechless for a moment, his monologue hitting you like a ton of bricks, taking your breath away so you just look at him, taking him in. His brokenness, his sadness and all you wanna do is to hug him, make this right. Do him right, like he deserves. But you can’t. Maybe the two of you were never meant to last anyway, maybe your fate was already sealed long before this moment in time. Your heart breaks the longer you look at him and you’re surer than ever of your decision. 

You are both too broken to be parents. Too caught up in your own wreckages that calls itself life. You can’t bring a baby into this. A life whose survival depends solely on the two of you, each struggling themselves to stay afloat. 

As your gaze finds his again, every emotion you’re feeling is mirrored in his eyes. You inhale sharply before you step towards him to wrap your arms tightly around his midsection and he holds you close, his face nuzzled in your hair, placing tiny soft kisses on your neck.

You’re equally searching for comfort in each other, even though you’re each other's reason for breaking in the first place. 

“I am sorry,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

You feel him shaking his head, hugging you just a little bit tighter, his face in the crook of your neck. All your broken pieces squeezed together even if only for this moment. 

You feel whole, you always do. His arms are your home and nothing beats the feeling of his body heat enveloping you and making you feel like maybe it’s all gonna be okay. His familiar scent fills your nostrils, so earthy and musky, so unmistakingly him, you’ll never tire of it. Sleeping in his worn shirts is the closest you have to tranquility when your mind is troubled yet again and you want to forget the woes of the world.

Eventually Frankie nuzzles his face against your ear, placing a feathery kiss against the sensitive spot behind it before his mouth wanders along the side of your neck and in a habit you tilt your head to give him better access, your hands finding his tousled locks which is always his weakness. 

“Frankie…” you mewl, your voice already betraying you. “What are you doing?”

He smiles against the skin of your neck before he whispers hoarsely, “Let me have this. Please, hermosa…” 

You shake your head but it’s a weak attempt at protest.

You could never say no to Frankie, no matter the circumstances. 

The two of you attract each other like magnets. Never really complete without the other. 

He gently pushes you towards the kitchen counter until the back of your legs are reaching the edge and you sweep the fucking test off the countertop before you hop onto it, not caring where they land. It’s not as if they would change anything now. His hands immediately find your hips as he stands between your legs and continues his assault on your neck. His mouth explores every bit of your skin taking his time before he helps you take off your shirt over your head and his mouth immediately latches back onto your skin, sponging hot open-mouthed kisses on your now exposed chest. 

Your every nerve ending is already on fire at this point as you eagerly open the zipper of his jeans and pull it down so it hangs onto the back of his knees, quickly followed by his black boxer briefs. Your hand finds his hardened member, pumping him a few times to which he answers with a hiss at the mere feeling of your hand around him. You kiss him messily, swallowing his moan as you keep stroking him, his hips bucking into your hand. 

One of his hands finds your hair, tangling in it to deepen the kiss, pulling your head back a bit and making you moan. The whole thing is a mess of tongues and teeth at this point and you don’t even remember the last time you were kissed like this. 

“Take this off,” he commands as he tugs at your shorts and you lift your hips so he can pull them down, revealing nothing underneath. 

His hand that was on your hip just moments ago finds your center, already wet and leaking for him and he hums in appreciation. “Always so ready for me,” he purrs as he sucks at your neck again, coaxing the neediest moan out of you as his hand simultaneously starts to explore your folds. His thumb on your clit drawing circles paired with the slightest bit of pressure before two of his digits sink into you and you gasp in response, your hand pulling at his shirt in a desperate attempt to hold onto something. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he praises as his fingers curl inside of you and find the spot that makes you see stars instantly. 

“Frankie, please,” you whimper frenziedly. 

“I know, baby. I know,” as he places another, now way softer kiss on your neck, before he tilts your chin with his free hand and with the other guiding his cock towards your entrance. 

“Look at me, I want to see you when I fuck you like this.” 

His goddamn fucking filthy mouth. 

You just nod and without another word he pushes into you, torturously slow at first, your eyes still locked and you feel like your whole body burns up with need. 

You wrap your legs tightly around him as he’s bottoming out, giving you a moment to adjust to him, taking him as deep as you can. 

He starts moving because you start wiggling impatiently, his hands on your hips as he pushes in and out of you.

This feels different, even if you can’t quite pinpoint why. It feels like a confession and a redemption at the same time. Like he knew all along how this would end.

You let your bodies talk and explain where words aren’t enough as your lips find his again, your hands slightly pulling at his hair as you keep kissing him like you’re drowning and he mirrors it perfectly. Without even noticing tears start streaming down your cheeks as he picks up the pace and fills you completely, satiating the void only he can fill. 

As he notices the tears on your face he stills for a moment, his brown eyes full of worry. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “No,” you breathe and you’re not able to look him in the eye so you bury your face in his neck. 

“Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head.

How can you explain to him that this feels like a goodbye?

“Don’t stop,” you whine, your voice thin. 

You can feel his hesitation, his hand gently caressing the back of your head but you can’t look at him, you simply can’t or it will shatter you completely. 

“Please. Frankie.” Are the only two words to make him nod and start moving again. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to find your release and you would lie if it doesn’t feel like coming home, like this is supposed to be like this, two people connected in the simplest but also most powerful way. He pants against your collarbone, trying to take back some control over his breathing again. You just hold him tight, your hands caressing his back gently as you place a kiss on his hair, inhaling his scent. 

But then something changes, the softness of the afterglow gone as he lifts his head, his dark brown eyes boring into yours. 

“This is it, isn’t it?”

You frown, not exactly grabbing the magnitude of his question, but you nod as tears blur your vision once again. He shakes his head, lost for words himself as he puts his clothes back on and hands you your clothes as well. 

The silence is heavy between you, so much to say but there are no words to pinpoint how you think or feel right now. 

“I wish things were different,” you finally say quietly. “Yeah, me too,” he answers shortly, way too distant given the fact how close you two were mere moments ago. 

“I am sorry.”

“That’s not enough,” he retorts, his voice hoarse. 

You lower your gaze as you finally hop off the counter to put your bottoms back in their place.

He walks towards the front door, his steps heavy and you follow him mindlessly. You don’t want him to leave, but open the door for him, both of you standing in the doorway now. You look in his direction, but you don’t look at him, as he looks outside. There weren’t any clouds earlier but it has started to rain and it’s literally pouring now. 

How fitting, you think to yourself. 

His gaze shifts towards you again before he takes a step towards you, his big hand resting on your cheek, his thumb caressing it and makes you look at him for a long moment, really look at him. 

Are you trying to memorize his features or is he trying to memorize yours, you wonder and try to give him a weak smile before leaning more into his touch and kissing his wrist. 

“I love you, mi amor. I always will, no matter what.” 

You take a shuddering breath before answering with a shaky voice, “I will always love you too, Frankie.” 

You watch him leave, the rain soaking his clothing, drenching him completely in the time it takes him to reach his car, he takes one last glance towards your front door before you close it, sinking down on the linoleum floor and drowning in your own tears as the sky mirrors your agony. 

—

Abortions aren’t glamorous and they aren’t easy. 

The whole process is longer than you’ve thought it would be and all the questions are draining. 

Is the father involved? Did you ever have an abortion before? When was your last period? Were you sexually active in the last four weeks? Did you have sex without contraceptive? 

You grumble slightly to yourself while filling out the questionnaire. You didn’t tell anyone about this, because you were convinced you’re fine on your own. 

But as your gaze drifts around the waiting area you see that almost everyone brought someone along and you feel more lonely than you ever did before. 

Your leg impatiently bounces up and down and without giving much thought you cover your stomach with your palm, lowering your gaze and whisper, “No worries, little bean. We’ll be fine.” 

As you look back up again you pray that no one heard you talking to yourself. 

What the fuck was this? You talked to this little bundle of cells like it could hear you. 

You clearly lost your mind, finally. 

As you look back onto the paperwork again, your vision starts to blur and a single tear drops onto the paper. You’re caught off guard. Why are you so damn emotional all of a sudden?

In that instant you wish for one thing only.

Frankie being here with you. 

He would hold your hand, caressing your back in soothing circles and tell you he’s here for you. 

Shit. 

You miss him more than you’d like to admit. 

You fish your phone out of your pocket, your thumb hovering over his contact. 

What are you even going to say? 

“Hey Frankie, I sit at the abortion clinic and guess what, I am not so sure anymore. Did you know their heart starts beating at 6 weeks? A whole fucking heartbeat…” 

“I know,” a familiar voice suddenly ringing in your ear. 

“Frankie?” you ask back, still in disbelief that you really called him absentmindedly. 

“Hey,” he chuckles softly through the speaker and your heart skips a beat.

“Hey yourself.. Sorry, that was… I don’t know what that was.” 

“It’s alright,” he assures you, although you are pretty sure it isn’t but you can picture him smiling faintly. 

“I sit here all alone filling out that damn questionnaire and I swear I never felt more alone than I do now and all I wished for was…” You can’t finish that sentence, because if you’d do, you’d give in. To him, to everything you desperately fought for to forget, trying to not feel anymore. 

But the second you heard his voice it felt like all reason flew out the window. Your mind subconsciously decided for you.

“I wished you were here with me, holding my hand,” you press out of your lips, your voice nothing more than a whisper. 

“You want me to accompany you?” 

“No. Yes… Urgh, I don't know,” you stumble over your own words. 

There’s a laugh at the other end. 

“Make up your mind, hermosa.” 

And in this very moment you do. You see clearer than you did in weeks.

Him kissing your baby bump, massaging your feet when they’re too swollen to walk on. 

You painting the walls in the spare room, him admiring you and stating you’re glowing, even if you feel like a damn whale. 

Him with your baby in his arms, rocking it gently, soothing it back to sleep and your heart hurts, it physically hurts to even think about it because you long for it, you crave this new life more than anything else. 

“I did. I have,” you finally say. “We’re having a baby, Morales.” 

—

9 months later you’re giving birth to a baby girl. The perfect mix of both of you. His dark brown curls crowning her tiny head and your bright eyes looking back at you. 

Her first cry is powerful, announcing her arrival, taking her rightful space in this world and you never saw something as perfect as the baby that rests on your chest. 

Frankie is a crying mess next to you full of pride as he kisses your hair. 

“You did so good, mi vida,” he praises and his voice is nothing more than a muffled whisper against your hair before you start to cry yourself. 

“She is beautiful,” you say in awe as you take her teeny tiny hand in yours, kissing it gently. 

“Almost as beautiful as you are,” Frankie whispers, watching his two girls with nothing but tenderness. 

You feel like you’re exploding with love, your heart suddenly living outside of your body and you swear to yourself no matter what, your daughter will have a good life. 

One worth remembering. She’s the center of your universe now and as you tilt your head to Frankie you smile softly, leaning against him. 

“We’re a family, Frankie,” you say as your voice chokes up with all the emotions. 

“We always were, but now we’re parents too,” he answers and the weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. But you’re not afraid of the responsibility anymore. 

You are happy, truly happy because for the first time in your life you feel like you’re exactly where and who you need to be. 

my masterlist in case you’re hungry for more :)

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

POLL TIME! (Part 3)

Hello my lovelies,

It’s time for another Buried Secrets poll! Feel free to argue your choice in the comments. I want to know the whys, too.😏

Is it all snakes? Only poisonous snakes? Snakes big enough to eat you? They will be in the middle of the jungle after all...

👉 See all the polls so far, HERE.

More to come!

💜Mysty

Tag group 1: @2birdsofafeather @72scsuze @76bookworm76 @a-beautiful-but-sassy-world @almostfoxglove

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine @annalovesflorida @anniet852 @ashleyfilm @ashlovesdrpepper

@auteurdelabre @avastrasposts @biggetywitch @bitchwitch1981 @bluestar22x

@bunniboo0015 @burntheedges @captainredspade @chaoticfestninja @cheekychaos28

@christinamadsen @copperhalfcent @darkheartgatita @diabaroxa @din-cognito

@elisabethloves @fifitheragertot @for-a-longlongtime @girlofchaos @guelyury

@harriedandharassed @hisandsnakes @imdrinkingpedro @jackie923 @janeie87

@jeewrites @jensensational71 @jessthebaker @jessthebaker @joels-darlin

@kate-skates @katw474 @kels976 @lady-bess @gwendibleywrites

@ladyofmidlo72 @lizzie-cakes @madnessofadaydreamer @maggiemoo1892

[popcornforone]

Appreciation

Day twenty one of the Seasons of Life Drabble Challenge

A Frankie Catfish Morales Fic

MASTERLIST

It’s the day @berryispunk has been waiting for. It’s Frankie’s Turn, & for Aviators as the Prompt it was the natural choice for sure. Also I’m sure @lady-bess & @fanfictionoverload will still love it.

Synopsis:- It’s Frankie Birthday.

Word Count:- 500 (on the button)

No real warning here, I like doing soft Frankie.

Don’t worry no additional post today just this one, yesterday was a one off. See you all tomorrow.

Frankie had never been one for the limelight. So when his birthday rolled around, it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t make much of it. To Frankie, it was just another day. But you had other plans.

The idea came to you one night as he fiddled with an old, scratched pair of aviators he’d bought years ago at a gas station during one of their ops. He wore them religiously, despite the crooked fit & fading tint, they meant the world to him.

On his birthday, you waited until everyone else had piled in for breakfast at the diner they always met at. Frankie had strolled in last, his ever present baseball cap slightly askew.

“What’s all this?” Frankie asked, sliding into the booth beside you.

“Just breakfast,” Pope said with a shrug, not quite hiding the wink he threw your way.

The moment came after the plates had been cleared, the coffee cups refilled, & Frankie had loosened up enough to lean back with a small smile on his face. That’s when you slid the neatly wrapped box across the table toward him. He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this?”

“Just open it,” you urged, unable to hide your grin. Frankie’s rough hands made quick work of the paper, revealing a black case. When he unzipped it & pulled out the aviators, his breath hitched. They weren’t just any sunglasses; they were a designer pair, the kind pilots swore by. Sleek, sturdy, & stylish. He ran his fingers over the frame, his lips parting slightly as he tilted them to catch the light.

“These are nice,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“You needed an upgrade,” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “Those gas station specials were an insult to your whole vibe.” The table erupted in laughter. He slid the aviators on & looked around, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

“How do they feel?” Pope asked.

“Like I could take on the world,” Frankie replied, & though the line was delivered with a hint of sarcasm, there was no mistaking the genuine gratitude in his voice.

For the rest of the day, he kept the glasses on, even as the sun started setting. It wasn’t about the price or the brand, it was about the thought. Every time he glanced your way, his lips curled into a smile that seemed reserved just for you.

Later, as the two of you sat on the hood of his truck, watching the waves roll in under the sun set, he turned to you. “Thanks for the aviators,” he said simply, but the way he said it held more weight than the words alone.

“I know your old pair were sentimental Frankie,” you replied, leaning back & watching as he adjusted the glasses, . “& If you don’t like these…” you then hand him a carrier bag”… I also got this pair for $5 at the gas station” he laughs loudly.

“That’s my girl” he kisses your forehead.

“Happy birthday Frankie”

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[ihrtglrz]

[daydreamingmiller]

pedro pascal as frankie morales triple frontier (2019)

[xdaddysprincessxx]

Thank you for reading my sweet love!!!🥹🩷

I need to lock in and work on a second part lol it was wayyy too much fun writing this 😉😇

Princess Treatment

Surprise! @almostempty I’m your secret santa!!! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it(:

Dave York x Nanny!reader x Frankie Morales

Warnings: 18+, SMUT. We’ve got infidelity (dave is married w/kids hence the need for a nanny) threesome, two splash’s of cuck, a small side of pre ejaculation, double penetration, sprinkle of hidden camera, a facial and I think I got everything. Not beta’d, lightly proofed by me. All mistakes are mine.

Wc: 3663

And now, time for the main event

Good ole suburbia. Home sweet home. Perfectly built houses lined up and down the street, all filled with perfect little families. Well behaved children played in the front yards. Neighbors would throw bbq’s in the summer and invite everyone over. Wife’s sending their husbands off to work in the morning. Picture perfect. Of course it’s all a facade. The big blue house tucked back in the cul de sac is home to the York family. Dave and his wife Carol and their two daughters Molly and Alice. To the outside world, they are a beautiful family. Doting father of two with a government job and subservient wife who takes care of the kids and keeps the house clean and dinner on the table by 5 oclock sharp every night. They hired you about a year ago as a live in nanny. Dave is frequently going on business trips and Carol decided she wanted to go back to work and she would need the help with the girls. They were a lovely couple when you first interviewed. You always felt a more warm welcome from Dave than Carol. It was like she had a bad taste in her mouth around you.

You tried your best to ignore the weird vibes you got from her since you were mostly around her on a daily basis. For the most part it wasn’t that bad and you got paid a very pretty penny too which absolutely helped. About a month into living at the York house, you accidentally overheard Dave and Carol arguing. They were trying to keep it hush but you could make out that Carol didn’t like that Dave paid you as much as he did. It seemed like she was overall just bothered by your presence. After that you kinda just kept your head down and did everything expected of you and kept to yourself. You were in charge of getting the girls up in the morning and on the school bus, getting them off the bus in the afternoon and getting them to all their extracurriculars. Not too hard.

After a full year being the York’s nanny, you’ve grown quite close to Molly and Alice. You and Carol are cordial. And then there’s Dave. If tall, mysterious and handsome were an actual person, it would be Dave. He has this aura about him. You could never fully explain it but you could feel it. When he was at home, you felt safe but also felt like you could never shake the feeling that his eyes were always on you somehow. Even when he was away, you could still feel his eyes on you but it wasn’t as strong as when he was home. You’ll never forget the day you caught him blatantly staring down your shirt. You had been wearing a simple black tshirt with a v neck. When you had caught him staring you couldn’t help but be shocked and he just smirked at you as if to say “Yea I’m looking and what are you gonna do about it.” That night you gave into your deepest desire and you got yourself off multiple times thinking of Dave. Your poor fingers were cramped but you kept going. You’d been attracted to him since day 1 but you buried it deep due to the whole he’s a married man thing. You thought of his thick fingers fucking you, how he’d feel coming up behind you, bending you over and just making you take every inch of his dick. You fantasized him using you whenever, wherever. You came thinking about how good he’d feel as you cockwarmed him after a long day at the office.

There was a change in the air the next morning after this. It was a Sunday, which is your off day. You woke up around 6:30am, rolled out of bed and into the shower before getting dressed in a simple, cute black tshirt dress. As you walked down the stairs and towards the kitchen, you noticed it was quiet. Quieter than normal for a Sunday morning in a household with two kids. No cartoons playing, no toys going off, no arguing over who’s turn it is to play with whatever the girls are currently obsessed with. As you rounded the corner, you saw Dave sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a dark blue t-shirt and grey sweatpants with his hair still tousled from sleep.

“Good morning sleeping beauty, I know todays your day off but Carol decided to take the girls to go visit her parents last night so it’s just the two of us today.”

“Oh okay I was curious about the quiet.” You said with a soft giggle as you smiled at Dave before looking down at your feet. As hot as Dave is, it’s hard for you to hold eye contact with him for long. He has a strong, intimidating stare.

Dave goes to stand up and walks over to where your standing,

“Please, help yourself to anything in here. I’m sure you probably know what’s in here more than I do,” he chuckled, “if you need me I’ll be in my office.”

Looking up at him, you gulped and nodded, “Thank you Mr. York.”

Dave’s hand comes up to your face, his thumb and fore finger gently grab your chin as he makes you look at him.

“It’s Dave, sweet girl.”

“Dave” you repeat in a whisper. Knees weak from the proximity to your boss.

He flashes you a toothy smile and a wink before dropping his hand and stepping to the side to get around you to leave the kitchen.

The rest of the morning moves rather quietly into the afternoon when you hear a truck roar into the driveway. You sneak a peak out your bedroom window to see Dave’s friend, Frankie Morales, step out of his truck and make his way to the door on the side of the house that leads down into the basement. You’ve met Frankie a couple of times before. Old military buddy of Dave’s, pretty cute, single father of one. He doesn’t intimidate you like Dave does. He has a softer look, one that makes you wanna cook him meals and surprise him with head after work. You get the vibe he wouldn’t be the type to be overly dominant in the bedroom and on occasion that he does, he feels bad and apologizes immediately after. You like that though, you have a soft spot for men with a tough exterior that are really just big softies.

About an hour has passed since Frankie came over. You start to feel hungry so you decide to go see what Dave would like for dinner. As you go downstairs into the basement, you could hear music playing and the clank of balls being shot into the pockets of the pool table.

As you step off the last step before you even have time to make your presence known, both men stop what they’re doing and look up at you.

“Well speak of the devil, we were just talking about you princess. You’ve met my buddy Frankie before. Come on over, don’t be shy.” Dave has both hands on the pool table as he slightly leans over it. Frankie’s standing next to him, holding a pool stick. You cross the distance from the steps over to the pool table as you nibble on your bottom lip.

You stand across from the men and give them a soft smile as Dave picks up his stick and comes over by you. He lays his stick on the table just so and crouches down, getting eye level with the ball right before he pulls back and lets the stick shoot forward. His target falls into the corner pocket.

He looks up at you, smirking,

“You know how to play sweet girl?”

You shake your head no as Frankie comes over, now sandwiched between the two men.

“Here take my stick.” Frankie hands his stick over to you. As you grab it from him, his big hand covers yours as he reaches behind you and grabs your other hand and places it higher up on the stick. His broad frame covering you as he leans in closer, his face now next to yours.

“Bend down, you wanna be more eye level with the stick to see what angle it’ll hit the ball.”

“Okay” you say softly before taking your eyes off of him and bending over. Your eyes go wide as you feel his bulge press against your ass.

“Don’t overthink it too much or you’ll overshoot.” Dave’s smooth voice interrupted.

You can feel the heat of Dave’s body right next to you with Frankie’s body practically swallowing you whole. You try hard to focus on the game in front of you but in reality, you are zeroed in on the two men. Frankie moves the stick in your hands, you can feel it glide in between your fingers that are covered by his. Before you even realized, the stick shoots forward. The sound of the ball getting smacked and rolling into a pocket snapped you out of this trance you seem to be in.

“You know I was just telling Frankie here a funny story. I saw something last night and,” he chuckles, “I think you’d get a good laugh out of it too. Here,” he slides his phone into your line of sight, a video playing. The video shows a woman laying on a bed, legs spread as her fingers move in a circle on her clit. Her head thrown back, a breathy moan “oh Dave oh fuck me dave please”

Something about this is eerily familiar. After a few seconds it dawns on you.

Your eyes go wide and your face heats up as you watch you finger fuck yourself on your boss’ phone.

You can feel Frankie smile behind you as he takes the stick out of your hand and lays it on the table but still continues to stand behind you.

“Wanna tell me what this is about sweet girl?”

“I - I I I’m s- so sorry Mr York I - I’m not I promise I didn’t mean -“

Dave clicks his tongue as Frankie lets out a chuckle.

“Don’t try and lie to me. I watched you try and finger your poor abused little pussy all night long. Is that any way to treat her? I’m right down the hall baby. Could’ve sent me a text and told me to meet you in the bathroom since you were so needy.”

Your mouth dropped open, absolutely gobsmacked at what he just said. Frankie now fully grinding into your ass as he giggles at the scene in front of him. Dave gets up and walks over to the couch and sits down. Frankie follows his lead and sits on the chair that sits to the side, half facing the couch. Frozen in spot, it takes Dave to give you a come here movement with his fingers before you feel your legs carry your body over to where the men are sitting.

“Come sit on my lap honey. Let’s talk.”

You follow his orders, a part of you terrified your boss knows your deepest darkest secret and the other half hoping they both fuck your brains out. You move on autopilot as you turn to sit on his knee, doing your best to not put a lot of weight on his leg. Dave quickly puts an end to that as he grabs you by the hips and pulls you back on his lap. Your thin dress and his sweatpants leave nothing to the imagination. You can feel his hard on, plain as day.

“I’ve told you before, no need to be shy sweetheart. Spread those pretty legs of yours.”

You lean back against his chest as you look at him shyly before opening your legs for him. His big hands run up and down your thighs before pushing up your dress, revealing your soaked panties.

“Damn baby all this for me?” He says, eyes fixed on your pussy as he pulls them to the side.

“You don’t mind if he watches right?”

“N no”

Dave gives you a big grin, “Good.” His eyes go back down to watch as his fingers go up your wet seam. You watch his fingers as he slowly spreads your lips open, gently exploring your pussy.

“How many fingers you think she can take?”

Before you can even answer, Dave plunges two thick fingers deep inside you illicitly a gasp from you. His fingers alone are so thick, you feel yourself being stretched wide open on them. He moves them in and out at a slow pace as his other hand moves up to grope your tit.

Your eyes flutter shut as he keeps fingering you, pushing in and out, filling you up.

You manage to open your eyes and look over at Frankie. He was leaned back in the chair, manspreading as he palmed his hard cock.

Dave noticed you watching Frankie, taking his fingers out, “Frank, come here. Let’s see how much this tight little pussy can take.”

Frankie gets up and sits next to you and Dave before sliding his hand up your thigh,

“I don’t know Dave, I don’t think she can handle both of us.”

A horny demon seems to take over you and you quickly shake your head yes,

“I I can try”

For as eager as you are, you are equally nervous. You’ve never taken on two dicks at once but holy fuck are you turned on and wanna try.

Both men just smile, more so to themselves as Dave’s fingers pull one side of your pussy open and Frankie’s pulls the other side open. Dave’s the first to plunge a finger in and Frankie follows. They find a nice rhythm as their fingers move in and out. You throw your head back and let out a deep moan that you’ve been trying to hold back. Dave bites the side of your neck as he sinks another finger in. Your pussy convulses around the thick digits. Frankie pulls the top of your dress down and pulls your tit out, leaning down and taking your nipple in his mouth. You can’t help but put your arm around his head and hold him close as he sucks your breast. The feeling of both of their fingers moving in tandem has you on the verge of tears.

“Oh fuck look at that baby, taking four fucking fingers. Soaking our fucking hands, goddamn baby that’s it.” As soon as Dave said that, you managed your best to look down and they both had two fingers plunged deep inside you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away when you felt Dave’s other hand press on your lower stomach. It was like a light switch. You somehow felt them even deeper. The pressure from that and from their fingers moving amplified. Tears escaped your eyes, you couldn’t take much more. This deep build up inside of you clawing its way out. You had started to squirm, your ass now rubbing up and down Dave’s lap. Dave’s breath hitched in your ear.

“Breath baby, just breath, you’re doing so good. Come on breath with me.” Dave managed to get out in a hurried whisper, his own voice giving him away. Seeing you like this has him on the verge of his own orgasm. The friction of your ass rubbing against him added to the sight of you and knowing he’s the reason your falling apart.

A sob wracked through your entire body as your orgasm crashed into you. Your hips practically levitating

Frankie and Dave both watched as you gushed out, practically pushing their fingers out. Dave’s own moans finally coming out as his dick starts to spurt cum inside his sweat pants. His chest heaving as he pants in your ear, holding you close to him.

“Fuck that was hot.” Frankie said breathlessly before leaning in and claiming your lips with his. Your cheeks were wet from the tears as you still felt disoriented but managed to kiss him back with as much fierceness as he had.

Frankie grabbed you by the hips and pulled you on top of him. Your own body still trembling from the aftershocks of that mind blowing moment.

Frankie moved your hips up and down, causing you to grind against him while he continued to claim your lips with his. After a few moments he broke the kiss and made quick work of taking his dick out.

Out of breath and just barely getting ahold of yourself again, you look down at his throbbing cock as he gives it a few pumps before he’s pulling you back close again. You put your arms on his shoulders as he does the work for you, putting his dick right where you want him.

You’re so wet, you slide down his cock easily but the delicious burn of the stretch still makes your jaw drop as it takes your breath away.

Frankie’s head rolls back as his eyes close, feeling every inch of your pussy as he uses you like a fleshlight. Moving your hips up and down as he fucks you slowly. He knows he has a big dick and he doesn’t want to hurt you by going hard too fast. He takes his time and builds up speed before wrapping his arms around you and jack hammering his cock up into you. You collapse, hanging onto him as he makes you take his girthy dick. The two of you so lost in what you were doing, completely forgetting Dave sitting right next to you.

But Dave is very much enjoying the show. He’s pulled out his own cock using his cum as lube, stroking himself as he watches Frankie fuck you.

“Fffuckk that’s it baby, god look at you. What a fucking whore. I wish you could see how you look right now, fucking beautiful.” Dave starts to ramble as he works himself up again. His voice startles you a little as you try to lift your head and look over at him.

Frankie slows his thrusts down, grabbing your ass checks as he rolls his hips up. Grinding deep inside you.

Dave stands up and hets behind you. His big hand pushes on your back causing you to fall forward on Frankie.

You feel his finger probe your asshole, just barely poking in before he sinks in to the knuckle. Your poor pussy starts to convulse on Frankie’s dick, getting even wetter.

“Don’t get scared now baby, you can take us.” Dave said as he starts to move his finger in and out. He bends forward a little before pursing his lips and spitting. A wet splat lands in between your cheeks as he takes his finger out to move it down to your hole. Without notice he sticks a second finger in, slowly working you open. Frankie’s holding you tight to him, not moving inside you as his friend stretch’s you open so you can take both cocks at once.

Your face buried in Frankie’s neck, squeezing your eyes shut as this amazing, full feeling washes over you. It’s so much having a cock in your pussy and feeling his fingers in your ass.

After a few minutes of getting you ready, Dave takes his fingers out. Spits on his hand to add to his already cum lubed dick. Guiding his cock to your back entrance, he slowly pushes the tip in. You gasp as all the air leaves your body. Clinging to Frankie as you try to accommodate both men.

“You’re doing so good baby, that’s it. Fucking beautiful.” Dave grunts out as he pushes all the way in. Once his cock is buried in your ass, you can feel him throb. Dave reaches up and gathers your hair in a ponytail before giving you an experimental grind. Slowly moving back out, he starts to fuck your ass. Frankie begins to thrust up into you. The two men quickly work up a rhythm, both cocks moving in and out, fucking you. Dave tugs on your hair, causing you to lift your head off Frankie’s shoulder and bend back. Loud moans tumble from your lips.

“There she is, look at you taking us sweet girl. Taking it so well, fuck.”

“She’s so wet Dave, I think she likes being stuffed with two dicks. Don’t you baby? Such a slutty little pussy, needs two men to fuck her properly huh?” Frankie groans as your pussy answers for you, tightening on his cock.

A symphony of grunts and moans fill the air, balls slapping against skin, cocks sliding in and out of your holes.

“Frank, I think we should give our girl a nice facial. To thank her for letting us use her pretty holes.”

“No better way to show our appreciation Dave.”

Dave pulls out and pulls you off of Frankie. Doing his best to gently guide you to your knees. Your own legs jelly from the most intense fuck of your life.

Both men stand in front of you, jerking their cocks in your face as you stick your tongue out as far as you can. Dave and Frankie both tap the tip of their cocks on your tongue. Frankie starts to spurt cum first, painting your face with thick globs hitting above your eye and on your tongue. Dave cums next, his hitting you on your cheek and around your mouth. Frankie scoops a little off your face, putting it in your mouth. Closing your mouth around his digits to suck them clean.

“Thank you” you say with a smile and the little bit of air you have left in your lungs.

The men look down at you and smile. They are going to throughly enjoy having you around.

[liminaltourist]

Found this photo and it's totally Pedro Pascal coded. Am I wrong? 🤔 I'm afraid I've fallen down the rabbit hole 🐇

P.s. if you write something a fic about this please tag me. Would love to read it!

[pedrorascal]

[berryispunk]

I enhanced the pic as good as I can !!! My service for my fellow Frankie fans 🙂‍↕️

[misstokyo7love]

I love love love him in that scene.

All the Frankie in Triple Frontier, part 52