#francisco x reader

[juletheghoul]

AN: The gif of this man as a sheriff, sent my ass into a SPIRAL and this is what happened. I originally wanted to post this for my birthday, but with Canadian Thanksgiving falling on the same weekend there was no way I would have been able to finish lol. I am still trying to post more often, please be patient with me, hopefully this makes up for the lack of posting for the last few weeks. Special thanks to @wheresarizona for betaing and just general wonderfulness, to @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me through comments and in whatsapp over this, and to @frannyzooey for screaming at me through discord lol (And for making me some super awesome edits that I will post after!) Hope you enjoy xox. 

(PS, I have an idea for a part 2, let me know if you’d want to read it!)

Pairing; Sheriff Frankie Morales x f!reader (Blue / Bluebell as a nickname)

Warnings;  sweet, lovestruck Frankie needs his own warning I think-piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, Frankie eats pussy like the champion he is, a non-consensual creampie, angst, longing, yearning, some violence (involving guns / war, accurate for the time period-I tried not to let it get too gory or graphic) brothel mentions - let me know if I missed anything.

Word count; 13k 😅

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

Dust swirled around him as he made his way into town from the train station, the sun beating down on his every step, and although he hadn’t been home in over a decade, he still knew the way just as well as if he’d never left. Difference was he’d left practically a boy, and now he’d come back a man. 

People he both did and didn’t recognize passed him as he carried his suitcase down the sunny high street, some of them smiled, most of them ignored him. It made no difference to him. He would be their new sheriff just the same. Besides, there was only one person he cared to see again. There would be time enough for that later, though. First, he had to get settled. 

The brothel was busy, a surefire sign of the town’s growth evident in the number of horses tied up in front. 

“Well, hey there, sugar–” He tipped his hat and smiled at the young lady calling out to him, smiling as she leaned against one of the columns flanking the entrance, “-you coming to make a woman out of me?” She batted her big eyes at him. 

“Don’t count on it.” His tone was polite, his smile in place. She tsked, giggling at his manners before being called away by someone inside.

Sweat was starting to collect on his brow with the effort of lugging his suitcase all the way from the train station, and he let out a relieved sigh when he finally stepped through the doors of the sheriff's office. It was somehow even hotter on the inside. 

“Can I help you?” A kid no older than he’d been when he’d left greeted him from one of the two desks in the small room. 

“I’m Francisco Morales, I’m here to see–”

“He’s here to see me, he’s my replacement.” A grizzled but familiar voice sounded from behind him, “You’re early.” The older man walked past him on his way to the second, bigger desk, where he put his cowboy hat down before turning to face him once more. “I was under the impression you’d be here by the end of this month. You in that much of a hurry to retire me, boy?” 

He set the suitcase down before wiping at the back of his neck with his handkerchief. 

“No sir, just wanted to get settled in, have some time to reacquaint myself.” He put the cloth away. “Fix up the house before starting. Thought I’d check in with you first, though.” He’d gotten in plenty of trouble growing up, and most of the time, this man had been the one to pull him by his ear and make him smarten up. It was a novelty to be in this office and not be in trouble. 

“Well, you’ve checked. Go on and get settled. The desk and the badge will still be here in a week.” Sheriff Carson had always been one to speak plainly, and he did so now. 

“Yes, sir.” Francisco picked the suitcase back up and braced himself for the glaring rays that would greet him just outside. 

“Son,” He turned at the sound of the old man’s voice, “I was sorry to hear about your folks. They were good people.” He nodded back at the old man once and made his way back out the door.

—

“Try again.” You crossed your arms, “We both know I’m not paying that much.” You kept both your voice and expression as neutral as you could, keeping your real interest in the supplies he had close to your chest. Interest and necessity always cost more. 

He narrowed his eyes, and you raised your eyebrows in return, holding your ground. 

“Price is an even one hundred dollars; had to ride halfway around the world to get most of it-” You curled your lip in disgust.

“Bullshit, Dale! You rode to the nearest town, and that’s only a day's ride at the most. I’ll pay fifty, and that’s twice what it’s worth.” 

“You tryna rob me, woman?” He crossed his arms, mirroring you, “I’ll go down to eighty, but that’s final.” He rose to his full height, his posture making him look like some giant, petulant child. 

“Seventy-five. And I want some tobacco.” 

“Goddamn, you drive a hard bargain. Fine.” He extended his hand, and you shook it with a satisfied smile. 

“Good man. Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, robbin’ me more like.” He grumbled good-naturedly and unloaded the supplies while you counted out the money to pay him with. “Goin’ back in a couple weeks, make sure you let me know what you’ll be needin’ before I go.” He tucked the money away and left. The rest of the morning was spent restocking the various bottles and cabinets with your new stock.

It was therapeutic, sitting behind the big mahogany counter to take inventory of your shop. The shop that had taken you years to finally acquire. Every so often, you took stock of all the work you’d put into it and felt a significant amount of pride in what you’d accomplished. All of it done on your own. 

The customers came and went throughout the day, buying tinctures and tonics, and you helped them all to the best of your ability until the end of the day eventually found you, and you locked up the shop. With a final sweep to ensure everything was in its right place before closing up for the night.

The sun was blessedly low as you made your way home, but the streets were busy. Ethel, the youngest and friendliest of the girls who worked in the brothel a few doors down from your shop, was smoking her pipe on the porch, waving and smiling as you passed. 

“Hey Ethel, how you keeping?” You called out to her, “Fall in love again today?” She laughed, a plume of smoke wreathing around the halo of her hair. 

“Of course, saw a tall drink of water today. Think I’m gonna marry him.” She winked, a devilish smile on her pretty face. 

“Uh oh, sounds like he’s in trouble.” You laughed, waving as you passed by the house. 

“He will be if he ever comes in here, bye Honey, see you later.” 

The buildings thinned as you moved further and further away from the main street, giving you a clearer view of the surrounding ranches and houses scattered throughout the plains. Your own house came into view, and you smiled to see it. The view of it had the pride swelling again; it had been run down and ragged when you’d purchased it, but money wasn’t the only thing you’d invested. That house was the result of your blood, sweat, and tears. Hours and hours of elbow grease, blisters, and bruises, cuts, and had you not been very careful, it would have cost you a few broken bones as well. 

There was another house on the way to yours though, one that wiped the smile right off your face as you passed it. It was a house that drew your eye no matter how many times you walked past, no matter how many times you tried to ignore it. It was empty now, but years ago, it had been full of life, full of love and mischief and happiness. It had been full of hope and promises. It was empty now, one of the windows broken, much like the promises had been. 

You couldn’t help but watch it as you passed; something flashed in the window, but you ignored it. There hadn’t been anyone there for years. 

Wish it would just burn down or sell. Wish the ground would open up and swallow it whole. 

Your feet ache when you finally make it to your house, eager to unlace the boots imprisoning them. You did your best to hurry through all your chores and feed yourself, the promise of a hot bath and sweet-smelling soap carrying you through. 

—

The house was so much worse than he’d thought it would be, and he’d thought it’d be bad. A couple of windows had broken, and half a town's worth of dirt and dust had blown in through them. He sighed at the state of it, knowing his mother would never have let it get this bad, and for once, he was grateful she wasn’t around to see it. 

He set his suitcase down and made a mental list of what needed to be done. First thing first, he needed a few things. 

With a wagon full of supplies and considerably less money in his pocket, he began the long process of making it habitable. With a stiff brush and an even stiffer broom, the dirt was returned to its rightful place outside the house. The windows that weren’t broken were opened to let in fresh air, and floors and counters were washed. Food and supplies were put away; the bed was made with new, expensive sheets and linens. 

He worked his fingers to the bone throughout the day and most of the night until he’d done as much as he could. There was nothing to be done about the windows; the glass had been ordered, but it would be a few days, possibly even weeks, until he could fix those. 

By the time he’d boiled water to bathe himself with, he could barely keep his eyes open, and once clean, he dropped into bed and into the sweet abyss of sleep. 

-

It was strange for him to wake up in the same house he’d grown up in, even stranger for him to wake up in the bedroom his parents had owned. He’d been so dead tired that he’d forgotten to close the shutters, and the room was flooded with the golden light of dawn, chasing away any and all hope for a few extra hours of rest. 

Those earlier years were vivid in his mind now that he was here, in this house. He could practically hear the younger, wilder version of himself climbing out his window to go find her. Could still taste the stolen kisses in his mouth, could still hear her delighted laugh when he’d wrap her up in his arms and declare his undying love.  

He rose, trying and failing to leave the memories of her behind, and got ready for the day. The coffee he’d bought from the general store wasn’t half bad, and he drank the whole pot with gusto, making a mental note to make sure he picked up some more before he ran out. 

The current sheriff didn’t want him underfoot while he settled his affairs, and he didn’t plan on making Carson’s life harder, but he did want to reacquaint himself with the town he’d soon be the law in. He figured the best way to do that would be to go into the businesses and talk to the people, and make his presence known. 

You should be looking for her, give her an explanation–demand one in return. 

He shook his head, ignoring the rational part of his brain. After all, he didn’t even know if she was still here. He thought about her as he left his house, imagining he could see the two of them as they’d been before. He, in his transition into manhood, her in the bloom of her youth, the two of them inseparable. The ghosts caught up to him though, and then he saw her–the real her, standing just outside the apothecary, waving someone away. 

She saw him too, and his heart raced. She was even more beautiful to him than he remembered; it was as though for a brief moment, all of the years between them melted away. 

A very brief moment. 

The look of shock and hurt, and what he hoped had been love on her face was replaced with a look that, thankfully, could not hurt him. It was pure and unadulterated anger, no–fury. 

His legs moved, bringing him towards her. This was definitely not how he wanted this meeting to go. He just hoped she’d listen, but judging by the way she stuck up her middle finger at him, it didn’t look good. 

–

The nerve of him. The unmitigated gall! 

“Wait–” His voice sounded as you turned to make your way back inside the shop. 

“No!” You yelled back over your shoulder, not even bothering to face him, even as your heart raced to see him again. 

“Goddamnit, woman, wait! Let me talk to you–” He was closer than you thought, barely managing to avoid you slamming the door in his face. 

“Don’t you ‘woman’ me, Francisco Morales!” you yelled up into his handsome face, hating how gorgeous he looked, how his neck- one of your favourite parts of him- stared you in the face. “Do me a favour and take off for another fifteen years. Leave me be.” 

“Come on, Bluebell, you gotta let me explain.” He managed to slip through the doors before you had a chance to lock them, but it didn’t matter, the pet name he called you stopped you in your tracks and rocketed the fury to new heights. 

“Bluebell?” You couldn’t hide the edge of violence in your voice, “How dare you call me that? I am nothing but a stranger to you at this point. You lost any and all privileges to call me anything at all when you left.” He was taller than when he left, but his eyes still burned into yours the way they’d done when you were young and in love. 

It would make you laugh if you weren’t still so hurt about how everything had gone down. The way he was standing in front of you, hands on his hips, frustrated frown in place. You didn’t give him an inch, but it hurt to admit just how badly you’d missed him. You shooed the swirl of feelings for him away, focusing on the one easiest to deal with: anger.

“Will you listen to me at least?” 

“Why should I?” You turned from him, busying yourself with putting a few of your jars back in their place. 

“Well, because I owe you an explanation–” You let out a bark of cruel laughter.

“That’s an understatement.”

“-I know, I always intended on coming back for you. You have to know that.”

“Do I? Do I just have to know that Francisco?” You all but slammed the jar into its slot on the big cabinet, taking up the whole wall behind the counter. “You know, you have some goddamn nerve–” the little bell above the door jingled when the Sheriff walked in, his bushy, white eyebrows raised into his hairline as the look on your face. It didn’t take an overly in-depth investigation to see that Francisco wasn’t exactly in your good books.

“You never could stay out of trouble, could you, son?” He moved past him to stand at the counter before you, “You want me to come back later, sweetheart?” 

You sighed, doing your best to smile at the older man. 

“Not at all. I have the tonic ready; give me just a moment to wrap it up for you.” You did your best to smile and ignore the big, aggravatingly effective puppy dog eyes shining at you from your peripheral. “Here you are, Sherriff, that’ll be thirty-five cents.” He dug into his pocket, counting out the right amount and handing it over before thanking you and turning to leave.

“You make sure you let me know if you need anything–” He gave Francisco a frown, “-and I mean anything.” 

“Yes sir, thank you.” With another jingle, he was gone, but other customers made their way inside, and Francisco sighed. 

“You can go ahead and leave. I am at my place of business.” 

“I will come and find you later. Then we can actually talk.” He took a few steps back, his hand on the door handle. 

“I won’t hold my breath.”

—

Much to his annoyance, the sheriff was waiting for him outside of the apothecary. 

“Can I help you with something, sir?” He spoke the words through a tired sigh. 

“Boy, I do believe that woman hates you.” 

“No sir, that woman loves me. If she hated me, she would have shot me.” He moved away from the sheriff, ignoring the raucous laughter that followed his every step. He ignored it and set about doing what he needed to do, telling himself that he’d be able to deal with it later when she let him explain himself. It made no matter what he told himself, though, his mind wouldn’t let her go. 

Instead of using the time productively, he found himself counting the hours until she closed up the shop, loitering around the door like some lovestruck teenager. He scoffed to himself, ignoring the cloying heat of the sun. Isn’t that all he was? Just some lovestruck fool? She couldn’t know that, though, not with the way things had gone down. 

Any hope he had of her cooling down throughout the day died at the narrowing of her eyes, her expression now as she locked the apothecary door so different from the one that had kept him going throughout the years he’d spent away. 

“Still here, shocking.” She waltzed past him, “Just leave me be.”

“I can’t do that., I need you to listen to me.” It took him a few long strides to catch up with her, “Can I please just explain?”

“Why? What does it matter at this point? I don’t want to hear you–” He stood in her way, blocking her path on the dusty sidewalk.

“Listen! Please!” He held onto her arms, keeping her still so he could look into her eyes. “I know you aren’t happy with me–” She scoffed, and he spoke over her, “I know, but you have to know that I missed you all this time. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but I can’t help that now.” She shrugged out of his grip, crossing her arms. 

“You okay, Honey? This man botherin’ you?” An older woman shouted from the porch of the brothel, her hand on the gun at her hip. 

“No, Ma’am, I’m fine. I know him–well, I knew him.” She turned towards the madam and smiled, “I got it under control.” She sighed and walked around him, turning to him after a few steps. “You have until I get home.” 

He rushed behind her and kept the smile to himself.

“I see you’ve done really well for yourself. It makes me really happy to see how you’ve been–” 

“This isn’t an explanation. You’re wasting your time with flattery I won’t respond to.” 

“Right, I’m sorry.” He frowned, trying to keep pace with her. “I sent you letters–”

“You sent me a few letters, all of which I responded to.” She spoke loudly, cutting him off. “A few letters in almost fifteen years–”

“I sent you dozens of letters.” It was his turn to frown and her turn to slow down, “I wrote to you as often as I could, even after I stopped getting your responses.” He knew he wasn’t exactly the kind of man her parents had wanted her to end up with. He remembered the sour looks on their faces when he’d come calling.

“I got a few letters the first year and then nothing else.” Her expression was wary, her eyes narrowed. “Did you really write to me? Or are you saying that so I’ll forgive you?” She crossed her arms, stopping to gauge the truth in his words. 

“I wrote to you for years, figured I would have to come and talk to you in person, but then I thought maybe you’d met someone else, or moved away, or worse. Then I told myself I’d come and find you, but life is the way it is, and things got in the way. When I heard they needed a new sheriff, I sent word to Carson to see if he’d consider hiring me–I was shocked when he responded yes.” She stared at him, eyes bright but mistrustful. “I swear on my mother's grave.” He took her hand, holding it to his heart. “I should have come sooner-” She pulled her hand away gently, fire still burning in her gaze, but now it was coloured with sadness as well as fury. 

“Yes, yes, you should have.” She sighed and continued walking towards their homes, “I am so angry at you, Francisco. I am angry you left and angry you came back.” She looked away from him, her hands flying to her face momentarily before facing forward again. 

“I know.” His house came into view, and he fought the urge to invite her in. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” She didn’t respond, only kept her eyes forward. “What time do you leave in the morning?”

“What?” She frowned.

“What time do you usually leave? I’m not sure what time the Apothecary opens–”

“It opens at eight, but I like to get there early. Why?” 

“May I accompany you? I would like to walk with you if I could.” He knew she wouldn’t forgive him so quickly. Her fiery temper was one of the things he’d always loved about her. 

“You want to walk me? I am fully capable-”

“I never said you weren’t. I would still like to walk with you. I’ve missed talking to you, it would be a nice way to…reconnect.” He chanced a smile, hoping it would still have the effect it used to. 

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t smile in return. Her house was closer now, his time with her coming to an end for the day. 

“I suppose I cannot stop you.” It wasn’t a yes, but it definitely wasn’t a no.

“See you tomorrow then, goodnight Bluebell.” He stopped a few yards from her door, waiting until she was safely tucked inside before turning and going home.

-

The moon was high when you finally dug out the letters you’d hidden away deep in the chest at the end of your bed. The paper had yellowed, and you didn’t even bother getting up off the floor. With shaky hands, you untied the little bundle and spread them out in front of you, trying your hardest not to tear up at the little hearts and flowers he’d drawn in the curled-up corners. 

My Dearest Bluebell, 

I cannot even begin to tell you how much I miss you. Things here move so quickly, but I’m doing so much, making more money than I’ve ever seen! More than enough for us to start our lives together–

You pushed the letter away, finally letting go of the sob that had been squatting in your throat since seeing him earlier that morning. The love he’d had was so evident in his scratchy script, and the pain of his apparent silence reared its head in your soul to see it again after all of the years you’d survived without him. The last letter he’d sent held no clue as to why he’d ever stop writing, and now a nagging suspicion filled the corners of your mind. 

Your mother had made it more than clear that Francisco wasn’t her first choice for you. She’d treated him less than kindly whenever he came calling, would turn up her nose at him whenever she’d seen the two of you together, and had smiled a big, cruel smile at the news that he’d be leaving. Would she have gone so far as to hide letters from him? Something in your heart said yes. 

Suddenly, it was too much to see his words surrounding you, and you gathered them up hastily, tossing them back into the chest before surrendering to the exhaustion in your heart and in your bones and getting into bed. You tried to think about something else as you lay there, anything else–but he kept popping up, making you wonder–against your will–whether or not he’d actually be there in the morning.

-

He didn’t let you wonder.

His heavy knock made you practically jump out of your skin as you did your best to tie the laces of your corset. You chewed on your bottom lip, annoyed with how you rushed to throw on your dressing robe, sighing at the speed with which you made it to the door. 

He smiled as you opened the door, testing every measure of self-control you’d built up in his absence with a single dimple. 

“You’re here.” 

“Yes, just like I said–I figured it would be best to be early.” His gaze raked over you in your half-dressed state, “You look lovely.” 

“Sure I do.” You scoffed, “I need more time. I usually leave a little later.” He scratched at the back of his neck, unsure what to say, and you had to work extra hard to keep from laughing at him. “Come in then. You can wait in the kitchen while I finish getting dressed.” You turned and left then, leaving him to close the door. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You kept the door slightly ajar in your bedroom, your heart racing to know that after all this time–he was in the same house as you. You shook your head, shooing away the novelty of his presence to call up the anger and the fury that had kept you from falling apart in his absence. 

“The house looks great!” He called from the kitchen, “You shoulda seen the state of mine when I got here.”

You bit your lip, relishing the deep tones of his voice as they filled the house. 

“Still haven’t been able to fix the windows–had half a desert's worth of sand in the house. Took me forever to clean it.” He continued speaking as you finished dressing, completely unaware of the way you contemplated whether or not to use some of your very pricey, very precious perfume. You ignored the disappointed little voice in your head as you dabbed a few drops behind your ears and on the inside of your wrists. 

“-hopefully, they'll come in by the end of the week-” He was still speaking when you made your way back into the kitchen where he sat at your little table, the long lines of him entirely too big and too wonderful for the tiny space. 

“Have you eaten?” You cut off his speech, pulling down the cast iron pan from the rack above the woodfire stove.

“I, uh, I had some coffee.” 

“So, no?” You shoved some kindling into the open door of the oven, striking a match to light it. 

“Well, no–”

“Okay then.” There was enough time, and you got to work. 

“Can I help?”

“No–actually, yes. You can go fetch some water from the well out back.” You shoved the big kettle into his hands and sent him on his way, where he went without comment. 

Soon enough, you had biscuits baking and coffee brewing, and the house smelled better than any perfume you could buy. You once again ignored the little voice, the one that curiously sounded like your mother when you put out both the butter and the jam. 

When they were out of the oven and steaming, you couldn’t help but smile at how well they'd turned out. 

“It smells like heaven in here.” You could practically hear him drooling, and it was with a great sense of both satisfaction and pride that you watched him throw caution to the wind and eat one without waiting for it to cool down. He moaned at the first bite, making your heart soar and silencing the mean little voice. 

“You like them?” You had to hear it, had to hear the words in his voice.

“Like them? Honey, I’d kill for them.” You narrowed your eyes at him but let the endearment go without comment. Already, you were softening up for him. “I could eat this whole goddamn plate.” He pulled another one open, no doubt burning the tips of his fingers but continuing on just the same, slathering it with both butter and jam before taking a huge, steam-filled bite. 

You ate yours slower, unsure what you liked best, the biscuit or watching him eat. 

He poured you a cup of coffee before pouring one for himself, and for a moment, your heart shattered at how right it felt to have him here. For the first time since he’d left, you let yourself feel just how lonely you’d been without him. 

“I know you’re angry with me.” He put the remnants of his biscuit down, “I know you think I abandoned you, picked up and found a new life outside of this place, but you have to know–” He reached over, taking your hand in his, “I never stopped thinking about you.” The tears flowed without your permission, what felt like years worth of them dripping steadily onto the bodice of your dress. “I have loved you since I was a boy, and I should have come back the second I thought something was wrong. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you worry or letting you imagine for a single moment that you weren’t everything to me. I know it’ll take time for you to trust me again, but I’ll work as hard as I can.”

You wanted to rip your hand away, to scream in his face and tell him to give you peace, but you couldn’t. Instead, you let the tears fall, let him stand and tentatively pull you towards him, let him crush you in the first hug you’ve had in years. For a moment, it’s as though you cannot get close enough, your hands like claws digging into the fabric of his overcoat, knuckles cramping from the force of your grip, and he sighs into your hair. The relief of the painfully familiar smell of him is so great that it almost knocks you off your feet. 

When you finally push him away, you know your eyes are puffy. 

“I believe you–” He smiles through his own tears, “-but I am still angry. I cannot just let go of my hurt. Not so quickly.” It takes everything in you, but you untangle yourself from him softly. “I have been living in this for so long, I don’t even know how to stop feeling this way.” The handkerchief that usually lived in your pocket made itself useful now. “I don’t even know where to begin. I loved you so much–” His face contorted in pain, the use of the word in the past tense like a stab to his heart. “-I don’t think I ever stopped. It’s the reason it hurts so much.” He let out a shaky breath, smiling a watery smile. 

“I know, I’ll work for it, I promise.” 

“I know.” 

–

He felt like he was flying. His steps were so light, surely he’d grown wings. He knew it was going to be a long road for them, but for the first time in years, he had hope. 

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face throughout the day, the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her in his nose, all of it made him feel like any errant puff of wind would blow him away. He had a skip in his step as he made his way over to the Sheriff's office, uncaring whether the man wanted him there or not. He had to keep his time away from her occupied with something, and learning what it took to do his job effectively was the next best thing. 

“I haven’t seen that look on your face in years, it meant trouble back then, and I doubt it’s changed.” Sheriff Carson frowned at him, “Your house all fixed up then?” He didn’t stop what he was doing, instead continuing as he spoke. 

“As fixed as it can be, sir, until the replacement window panes come in.” He sat in the chair in front of Carson without invitation. The man only grunted in response. 

“I want to start early, get a feel for what you do so I can do it properly.” At this, the older man looked up. 

“I know I wasn’t the easiest kid–” The older man scoffed at that but let him continue. “-Yes, yes, I know. I was a helion. I’m a man now, and I’ve grown up. I just want to keep this town safe, want to do my job.” The older man's eyes narrowed, and Francisco frowned. “Why did you say yes when I applied?”

“Part curiosity, part hope, I guess.” He set the pen down, leaning back in his chair, his arms coming to rest crossed on his belly. “You’ve always been a smart kid, Frank, and if you really are as grown up as I think you are, I think you got the makings to be a great sheriff. Especially if you’re anything like your daddy.” It was probably the nicest thing Carson had ever said to him. He didn’t know how to respond. 

“I just don’t want you to hurt that girl–” He raised his hands to forestall any response, “I know what you felt for her was real, but she was a shell when you left, and I don’t want to see her like that again. We clear?”

“Yes, sir. I’m here. I’m home for good.”

“Good, now let's get to work.”

-

Francisco was no stranger to hard work, but Carson seemed determined to make him jump through every single hoop in order to prove he could do this job. It didn’t deter him in the slightest, not with the promise of the life he’d always wanted so close on the horizon. Instead, he took notes, followed Carson, did everything he asked, and paid as much attention as he could, but secretly counted the hours until he would see her again. 

He heard the gunshots as he organized the disaster that was Carson’s filing system. 

“Suppose you oughta come with.” Carson slipped his holster on, handing a gun to him before leading the way toward the sound. 

A half-naked man was rolling around on the ground just outside the brothel, clutching at a blood-soaked arm. His eyes were wild with pain and anger, and he only seemed to get more frantic at the sight of the two of them approaching. 

“Sheriff! Arrest that woman!” He pointed with his good hand at the young woman on the porch. “Crazy bitch shot my damn arm-” 

“You put your hands on me, and you lose your hand! Them’s my rules!” She was screaming mad, a painful-looking shiner blooming on her pale face. 

“Enough!” Carson’s voice rang out loud enough to silence everyone within earshot, “Now–Who’s gonna tell me what happened? I can listen, or I can arrest the lot of you and be done with it.” He rested his weight on one leg, hand resting on the gun at his hip. 

The madame stepped out from behind the younger woman, her face austere. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious; he took a liberty, smacked my girl around, and he got bit.” She put her arm around the younger woman's shoulder. “Ethel is one of my best. Now she’s got this to deal with. He’s lucky she didn’t shoot his pecker off.” The man scoffed, pulling his shirt on as best he could before moving towards the women. 

“I don’t think so, pal,” Francisco spoke directly to him, pulling his own gun and holding it at his side in warning.

“I got witnesses, Carson. Lock this fucker up, and let us get back to work.”

“I’ll need to come in and get some statements, Mabel. You know that as well as I do. Frank, take this moron over to get patched up.” 

“So I’m just gonna lose my fuckin’ hand!?” He was incensed. 

“Lucky you didn’t lose your life. Now get out of my sight. I’m gonna give you until sundown to be out of here; if not, you can spend an undetermined amount of time in my jailhouse.” Carson’s voice held no room for anything but complete obedience, and after a tense moment, all of the air went out of him, and he let Francisco lead him toward the town physician. 

-

You tried not to be upset when he wasn’t waiting for you outside the apothecary at the end of the day; after all, he hadn’t said he would be. Instead, you locked up as usual and set about making your way home.

“Bluebell!” His voice rang out from behind you, making your head whip around. Your frown turned from annoyance to worry at the sight of dried blood on the white of his shirt. Your hands clutched at the collar of his shirt before you had a chance to catch yourself. 

“What happened?” Any and all propriety went right out the window with how frantically you pulled at his layers to see where the blood had come from. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine–it’s not mine.” there was something in his voice that brought you back to your senses, a tenderness that pierced the very heart of you. His hands held onto yours for a moment before you pulled them away slowly. 

“Oh. I’m glad.”

“There was some trouble at the brothel. One of the girls shot some idiot who got handsy. I had to bring him to the physician.” The thought of him anywhere near the brothel made your hackles rise. You stamped the feeling away and continued your walk back home. He fell into step beside you. “What was that?” His smile was big now.

“What was what?”

“That look you just gave me.” He bumped his shoulder into yours, and you frowned. 

“What are you talking about? I didn't give you any look.” 

“You gave me a look, Blue, when I said the word brothel, a jealous look.” His smile was so wide you wanted to smack him. 

“I did not. You are free to do as you please. We aren’t married.” You kept your eyes on the horizon and did your best to ignore the bark of laughter he let out beside you. 

“Fine, I’ll drop it. I got no business in a brothel anyway. Even if I’m not married, yet.” 

You sighed, ignoring just how right he was. 

There was a man with a wagon waiting just outside his house as you passed it. 

“Can I help you?” He called out to the man outside his house. You can’t help but notice how he put himself between you and the stranger. 

“I have some window panes to deliver.” He walked around to the back of the wagon, uncovering it to show the cargo 

“Oh! Yes, I’ll take those.” He jogged over to the man, helping to bring the glass inside. You followed him despite yourself, unable to keep the frown off your face at the state of his home. You were still looking around when everything had been brought inside, and the man had been sent away. “It still needs work, but at least the windows will be intact.” You could see how he surveyed his home, his eye just as critical if not more than yours.

You set down your things. 

“Need to boil some water.” You hauled out the biggest pot you could find. 

“What?” He came over and took the pot from you, putting it onto the stove for you. 

“We need to boil water to clean these floors, and we should wash these windows too.” 

“Yes, but I can do it–” 

“Francisco. Go get water so we can boil it and get this place in order.” You raised your eyebrows at him and relished the way he watched you. He’d always liked it when you were assertive. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled before heading out to his own well. 

Once the water was boiled, you got to work with a stiff brush while he set about replacing the broken windows. It wasn’t easy work, getting down on your knees to scrub the years worth of dirt and dust out of every nook and cranny embedded in the floorboards. It was worth it, though, to look up every so often and see the hard lines of him working, both his jacket and waistcoat shed and thrown onto a chair; his shirtsleeves rolled up. 

He’d always been beautiful to you, with his big brown eyes and his golden skin, the maddening dimple, even the curve in his nose. He was even more gorgeous now, with age and experience etched on his face, even hardened, he could still make you swoon. 

You gasped at the sting, snatching your hand back cat-quick. Blood beaded on your finger and dripped down onto the freshly washed floor, an errant piece of broken glass sitting on the floor. It was a few seconds before he was gathering you up from off the floor and guiding you to one of the chairs. 

“I’m okay, just a little cut.” He moved away for a moment, moving towards the back of the house. “Really, Frankie, I’m fine.” He came back with a few pieces of clean linen and a little jar of something clear; you can only imagine what it is.

“I know. I still want to clean and wrap it, though.” He set his things down, moving to the remaining boiled water on the stove to dampen one of the pieces of cloth, using it to clean the wound before opening the little jar. His eyes found yours then– ”You gonna be brave for me?” He held it over the cut, waiting for you to answer. “It’s going to hurt, but I know you’re gonna be good for me.” He winked and then splashed a little bit of the moonshine onto it. He may as well have stuck a hot poker into your hand. “There there, Blue, almost done.” 

By the time the stinging abates, your finger is wrapped up, and any evidence of injury is gone. 

“Thank you.” You held your hand close to your chest, ignoring the way it shook a bit. 

“Of course, I think we’re done for today. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I would like for you to eat something.” He pulled out what looked like some crusty bread and some dry meat. “It’s not much, but it’s what I have for right now.” He set it down in front of you, giving you everything he had to offer, and for the first time in years, you smiled at him. 

“Are you done with the windows?” 

“Yes, I just need to get rid of these broken pieces.”  He gestured to the pile on the counter. 

“Okay, let's go back to my place. I can make us dinner.” You stood to move, and he followed you, protesting for a moment. 

“But your hand–”

“My hand is fine. Let’s go.” You moved to pick up your things, but he stopped you, gently knocking your hand aside to carry them for you.

-

The stew came together as quickly as it could with the way your hand throbbed. The bread, too, and soon enough, you were both sitting at the table eating the steaming food quietly. He ate with gusto, and you wondered briefly if he’d been eating well in his time away. He looked strong, but then again, he’d always been broad. 

He pushed his bowl away with a dreamy smile, his hands coming to rest on his belly. 

“That was the best thing I’ve eaten since I left. Aside from the biscuits this morning, I mean.”

“I’m glad.” You finished eating as he sat there, enjoying his company far more than you’d ever admit. Once you were done, he grabbed your bowl and put it into the sink, pouring some of the leftover well water to begin cleaning up. “You don’t have to do that–”

“I know. You don’t have to feed me either. I’ll just clean these and then get out of your hair.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t convince him otherwise. 

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you, you’ve fed me better today than in the whole time I was gone.” You smiled to yourself, half exhilarated, half annoyed at just how much your anger at him had crumbled. “Okay-” He set the last plate on the drying rack before drying his hands, “-I desperately need a bath. I’ll get out of your way. See you tomorrow morning?” 

“If you want.” You followed behind him, trying your hardest to keep the hope out of your voice. 

“Of course, I want to see you tomorrow.” He moved in quickly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you had time to protest. “Goodnight Blue.” With a smile and a wink, he’s gone. 

-

Weeks passed, and it could not be said that Francisco Morales wasn’t a persistent man. No matter how hard you tried to hang onto that anger, he excelled in chipping away at it. He was true to his word about working on building back the trust that had been lost, spending any time away from his work with Carson split between you, and working on his house. 

He’d become quite the handyman in his time away, and he showcased that in the work he did in both his house and yours. He’d noticed your laundry line had broken and fixed it aggravatingly quickly. He spotted a few leaky spots in your roof and had them fixed at no cost to you, making you wonder just how much money he’d made while away. Aside from the windows and the cleaning you’d both done at his place, he’d replaced the more rundown furniture, and while it was missing some of the personal touches of his mother–it was definitely comfortable and livable once again. 

The intense loneliness and craving for intimacy had also hit you full force with his return. You found yourself thinking back to how things had been when you’d been young and wildly in love with each other. How his mouth had always found yours, how he seemed to need to be close to you, his arm often around your shoulder, his hand always finding a way to clasp yours. 

It was worse at night when other memories floated out of the isthmus of your mind, filling it with the visions of him above you, his tongue in your mouth, and his cock deep inside. You’d been young but eager to explore one another, and he had been nothing if not resourceful in finding any and all opportunities to get you out of your clothing. Now, the days were filled with new tortures, and you found yourself feeling jealous of the beads of sweat that rolled down his back, envious of the way his shirts seemed to hold him so tightly. 

The way his eyes tracked you didn’t help the situation; they were just as wild, just as beautiful, and just as open and honest as they’d always been. His desire for you shining out at you through their honeyed gaze. 

He’d been busy that morning, well and truly the sheriff now, and with that came more time away, giving you, in turn, more time alone. Or so you’d thought. The knock was loud, solid, and instantly, you knew it was him. You groaned, staring at the perfectly steaming water of the tub surrounding you. 

“Not now, Frankie!” You called out to him from the back of the house–hoping for a moment he’d let you enjoy the sweet steam surrounding you. His knock came again, and you huffed, stepping out of the oasis and wrapping yourself up in your dressing gown. “Frankie, I’m kind of in the middle of something–” You opened the door to him, and instantly, his gaze raked over you, no doubt seeing the way the damp fabric clung to your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The dumbstruck look on his face filled you with such satisfaction that you let him look his fill before moving your eyes to bring his attention back up. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Uh–” He stumbled for a moment, his eyes moving back down to where the gown split, to where your leg and most of your thigh peeked through. “Um–I uh…”

“...You…?”

“Um…Sorry. I brought you a gift.” He shook his head for a minute before decidedly looking you in the eye. “I remember I took your copy; brought you a new one.” He held the book out to you, and for a moment, you forgot to be alluring. 

“Jane Eyre?” You grabbed the book, opening it up quickly. 

“I remember you reading it to me; thought maybe I could read it to you sometime.” His dimple shined, and you couldn’t help but leap into his arms. 

“Oh, Frankie, I love it! I have been looking for a copy forever!” You pressed your face into his neck and relished how tightly he held onto you in return, relished the feeling of his nose buried in the crook of your neck.

“God, Blue, you smell good enough to eat.” His words, his voice, they ran down your spine like a drop of ice on a hot day, hardening your nipples and making you ache for him. You pulled away, biting your lip as you stared at his mouth.

“You could come in… and read to me?” He smiled and closed the door. “I was just in the bath. I could get in and cover myself with a cloth. You could read to me while I bathe.” He nodded slowly, gulping before following you, making sure to grab a chair on his way. 

“Give me one minute to get in.” You closed the door, heart thumping at how the colour had gone out of his eyes, leaving them blown black. Within a few tense moments, you were back in the tub with the hangover of the lining cloth covering you under the milky, soapy water. “Okay–come in.” 

He looked almost pained as he pulled up the chair beside you, his eyes once again greedy in their quest to map whatever part of you he could see, which admittedly is more than you planned to show him with how transparent the lining is. 

“Shall I start at the beginning?” He flipped open the book, but his eyes were still locked on you. 

“Yes, please.”

“Very well.” He took a deep breath, and began, his deep, soothing voice the perfect accompaniment to the steaming water.

“Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day–Oh, sorry, I already read that.” You smiled to yourself, enjoying the way he couldn’t seem to focus, the way he kept losing his place, and admittedly, it took everything in you not to pull him into the tub with you. 

“That’s okay. Can you help me with this?” You offered him the soapy washcloth, “My back? It’s so hard to get it on my own.” You batted your eyes at him, smiling the smile he’d never been able to resist, hoping it still worked its magic on him. 

“Let me rinse my hands first. I don’t want to muddy up this paradise.” He knocked the chair over in his haste to reach the washbasin you had on the counter. By the time he was finished and righting his seat, he had shed his topmost layers and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his biceps. 

You leaned forward, giving him access to the skin of your back and sighing at the closeness of him when he pressed the soapy cloth to it. 

“God, I missed you, Blue.” He rubbed at your shoulders slowly, his other hand slipping around to hold the top of your chest, just beneath the dip at the bottom of your throat. “Missed touching you, feeling you, kissing you.”

Your eyes closed, and you thought surely he must feel the way your heart raced just under your skin when his fingers curled softly around your neck. 

“Been dying to kiss you for years.” You felt then how the cloth had been discarded, and his bare hand spanned the smooth skin of your back, massaging at your shoulders and the top of your spine. “You ever miss me like that?” His voice was a soft rasp now, lulling you up and back into his hand, letting the linen go and looking up into his eyes. 

“Yes–I do, Frankie–all the time.” You bit your lip, staring at his mouth as he spoke. 

“Can I kiss you?” He moved forward an inch, leaning in as his hands worked their spell against your skin. 

“Yes-” You barely whispered the word before he pressed his mouth to yours softly. It was tender and oh so familiar, the way his lips moved against yours, his tongue seeking entrance and gaining it just like he’d done so many times before. Your kiss was a dance, the steps of which neither of you had ever forgotten. It ached, the way his mouth claimed yours, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, to reach up and hold onto him as he groaned into the kiss. 

“I have been dreaming about this since I left–” He spoke between kisses, pressing them to your face, before licking into your mouth once more, “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, chasing his mouth again. His hand slipped down, slick with soap, and then he held onto your breast, kneading one and then the other, his thumb strumming against the sensitive buds while your cunt leaked for him. His eyes moved, watching himself touch you, his lip caught between his teeth,and all of a sudden, it was too much, and you move, pulling away and standing, naked as the day you were born. 

“Take me to bed, Frankie.” He stared up at you from his place on the chair, and from the look on his face, you’d think he was looking at an angel. It didn’t last, though; within seconds, he was up and pulling you out of the tub, practically dragging you towards your bedroom. 

Your breath came out in a huff when you landed on your back, smiling breathlessly at the look of pure hunger on his face. He chewed his lip as he pulled off his layers, going through them quick enough that you genuinely worried he’d rip them. The water that had clung to your skin from the bath, now seeped into the sheets underneath you as you watched him undress. 

“I’m so fucking hard for you, Blue.” He kicked his denim off, tossing everything every which way, “So hard it hurts.” His cock bobbed as he finally crawled his way over to you, and it was then that you saw it, a significant scar on his side, like a starburst. Your hand reached out, and you pressed your fingers to it, looking into his eyes for an explanation. 

He pulled your hand up and kissed the tips of your fingers, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He continued his pilgrimage across your body, stopping only to kiss your sternum, your hip, and the soft skin of your belly. “I missed seeing you like this so much-“ he opened your legs, groaning at the way your cunt glistened for him. “-I missed how fucking wet you get, how good you taste-“ he barely finished speaking before he dove in, his tongue parting you further, gliding over your clit with desperation. 

“I missed you-oh-“ his hands clutched at your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth, pulling the strings of your arousal to pool for his tongue. “That feels so fucking good, Frankie—“ Your hands found the short crop of his hair, unsure of whether you wanted to pull him up or grind against him. He huffed a cocky laugh into your skin, doubling his efforts and tightening his grip on your thighs, his fingers indented into the skin. The steady glide of his tongue against your clit, up and down, up and down, has you falling over the edge of the cliff and your thighs clamping around his head.

It didn't stop him; his tongue kept moving, slower as you rode out your high. He bit at the plump of your inner thigh as you relaxed, smiling and shiny with your arousal.

“I missed that too.” He moved, pressing his lips to your belly again, moving up and licking a hot stripe between your breasts before slotting his hips between your legs. His skin was so warm, so welcome, that you couldn’t help but sigh and pull him close, your fingers curling into his hair. 

“I wanted you to come back so badly-“ You covered every inch of his face in kisses, “Wanted you to stay with me, love me like this.” You licked into his mouth, tasting yourself in the kiss.

“I’m here, Honey, I’ll never leave you again-“ You can feel just how hard his cock is as it pressed into your belly, the two of you clinging to one another in the dying light of the day. 

“Promise me, promise me you won’t leave me.” You reached down and wrapped your hand around the sizable heft of him, stroking slowly while positioning him at your entrance.

“Fuck-I promise baby, I promise you-“ His sentence ended in a filthy moan as you pulled him in with your heels, pressing into the meat of his ass, finally having him inside you again after everything. 

You moaned at the way he filled you.

The last fifteen years melted away, the long stretch of loneliness feeling more and more like a dream with every deep stroke of his cock. 

There were no more words, only whimpers from you and deep groans from him. There was the rhythmic rocking of your bed and the slick sounds of him moving between your legs. His hips snapped faster and faster as he chased his release, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feed all the delicious sounds he made directly into your ear.

“I’m so close, touch yourself—“ his voice sounded wrecked, moving his hips like a piston, his cock kissing that one spot only he ever found. You obey and reach down to swirl your fingers around your clit, rocketing yourself closer to another, more intense orgasm. 

He moved his face down, holding onto your breast to suck on your nipple, and then the dam broke, and you clenched around him, moaning his name as you reached your peak. 

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s so good, oh god—I’m gonna come-“ his hips sped up, the wet sounds of his thrusts louder after your second climax. You opened your legs wide, giving him space to move, but he stayed put.

“Frankie-“ You started to speak, trying to guide him to spill on your belly; still, he didn’t move. Instead, he pushed in deep, groaning loudly, and it was with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you felt him twitch inside. 

You were frozen in place, momentarily shocked into silence.

“God—I’ve been dreaming of that for years.” He sounded drunk, pulling out of you with a hiss to take a good look at his handiwork. 

“Francisco, did you just do what I think you did?” Your tone was devoid of any sweetness. “Did you just spill inside me?” 

“Yes—“ he frowned, confusion colouring his face along with the flush of his exertion, “—I thought you’d forgiven me? We’re together again-“

“And me forgiving you means risking a baby?” You pulled away, wiggling out from under him to grab a linen shift from your drawer. 

“Wait, Blue, come back.” He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry I didn’t think. It just felt right.” 

“Of course it felt right to you. You have no regard for how I might feel.” Your anger burned through you, where once there had been passion, it was now replaced with fear. A deep fear that the next time he decided to up and leave, it might not just be you waiting for him. 

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, that’s not true-“

“I’d like you to leave.” Hot tears flowed down your face at the thought of being pregnant with his child, and alone, waiting to see how long it took him to return the second time.

“Baby, please—don’t make me leave, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that—“

“Leave! I want to be alone. Please just–just go home.” You wiped at your eyes before crossing your arms, doing your absolute best to avoid his gaze. He sighed loudly, moving slowly to gather his things, stopping only to put on his pants and his shirt before tucking tail and heading home.

-

He’d fucking blown it. 

By some miracle, he’d managed to get into her good books, his persistence and determination to show her just how madly in love with her he was–how in love with her he’d always been–weeks worth of it, and he’d messed up in a few minutes. A few glorious, amazing minutes. 

He couldn’t help but groan in annoyance with himself every time he remembered it, the euphoria of being with her again, being inside her, of having her wet and needy and so eager for him only to get lost in it and risk a baby they hadn’t yet discussed. Hadn’t even really discussed getting married, not since he’d come back. 

He didn’t even know why he’d thought it’d be okay. It had been purely instinctual but also irresponsible and disrespectful. It shamed him that he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop craving it. He ignored it, though, continued on with showing her his reliability and hoped she understood that she was all he wanted. 

-

Sleep eluded you for days, refusing to find you until the blood came. It wasn’t much better when it finally did, though. There was the initial relief, of course, there would be no child born out of wedlock, and you would not be treated like a pariah, but where did that leave you? He apologized for it, constantly. He groveled, he begged for your time and for your love and forgiveness, and it was his. It was there–ready for him, but the fear hid it away. 

No matter how consistent he’d been in his time back, no matter how much he’d assured and explained that he wasn’t going to leave, it still felt like there was a clock ticking somewhere you couldn’t see, counting down the seconds until you’d be alone again. 

You tried to focus on other things, filling your days with organizing your home, with clearing out things that no longer served you, things that you had brought over from when your mother died and had actively ignored or hidden away until genuinely forgotten. There were old, moth-eaten rags that had once been her clothes, a few books, and an old hairbrush. Amongst her things, though, was a bundle of paper, a fat wad of it. 

Confused, you pulled it apart and very quickly realized that they were letters and they were addressed to you. It was jarring to see your name in Frankie’s script and harrowing to realize that you’d had them the whole time without knowing. 

With shaking hands, you opened them one by one, and by the third, the tears obscured your vision. 

My Dearest Bluebell, 

I know you must be angry with me, things aren’t moving as quickly as they should, but this changes nothing–I’m still coming home to you–

He talked about his time in the war, about how differently they did things where he was, and about how much money he was saving, but between all that was the same promise of return. It was everywhere, that–and his pleas for a response from you. 

Please sweetheart, I need to hear from you, please let me know you’re okay, and that you don’t hate me–

You sobbed into them. The words were like wounds, the pain of being alone for so long is even sharper now than it had been before. He had been true to his word, writing letter after letter without a single word from you, and despite the pain of knowing that fact, you read every single one. The dates were consistent, every week, almost like clockwork, except for once–when there were a few months between two letters. 

Bluebell, my love, 

I am okay–but I was hurt. I barely remember what happened, but one minute I’m in the middle of it, fighting, and the next minute I was screaming and then blackness, until I woke up in a hospital. Nurse says I’m lucky to be alive and that I’m going to be okay–

It was too much, all of it, and despite the fact that it was late and he was most certainly asleep, you had to see him. 

The moon followed you on your walk towards his house, lighting the path and keeping you company. There was a soft glow shining out from one of his windows, and it inspired hope, making it easier to knock on the door despite the hour. 

There was movement on the other side of the door, his heavy footsteps padding across the old floorboards.

“Who’s there?” Suspicion threaded thickly through his words, and you couldn’t blame him; this was no hour for anyone to come calling.

“I need to talk to you. Can I come in?” Your voice was shaky, the tears had abated while you made your way over, but the worried look on his face when he opened the door threatened to let them flow once more.

“What’s the matter? What happened?” He was shirtless, holding his pistol at his side while he looked beyond you to inspect the horizon. “Come in, come in—“ He closed the door behind you, setting the pistol down with a frown. “What’s the matter, Blue? Why are you out at this hour?” 

“I—“ you choked on the word, clutching at his letters, “Frankie, I found them, my mother—“ you sobbed out words, choking on them before he sighed. 

“Oh Honey, please don’t cry.” He gathered you up, pulling you into the strong cage of his arms, and it was like the floodgates cracked open wide. One palm held the back of your head, and the other was wrapped around your waist. “You didn’t know, it’s okay.”

“I, I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry,” your voice cracked with the agony of all of the lost years, “you wrote so many letters, and I never answered any of them, and you got hurt—oh god, you could have died!” It was hard to tell if you were screaming or sobbing anymore.

“Hey! Hey! Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he rubbed your back, a soothing gesture, “Hey, stop, stop, take a deep breath, I’m fine. I survived. There was nothing you could have done. I know you would have written to me if you’d gotten my letters, if you knew.” He pressed his lips to your temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I shouldn’t have left without you.” 

“I should have known she’d do something like this. I–” You pulled away to look up into his eyes, “I am so angry at her. She let you carry on, just hid them without a care–even though she knew I was heartbroken.” You brushed his hair back before hugging him again. 

“She never did like me. It was pretty cruel of her to do that to both of us.” He was being much more gracious about it than he should have, a testament to his love for you that he didn’t want to bash your mother despite the damage she’d done. 

“Miserable old bitch.” You had no qualms about calling her what she was. 

“Forget about her. It’s okay now. Thankfully, we’re together again.” He grabbed his pistol and led you further into the house. 

-

Your fingers drew the shapeless pattern onto the warm skin of his chest for what must have been the hundredth time since the both of you tumbled into his bed an hour ago. It was still pitch black outside, the only light being a candle on his bedside. The sun would creep in soon enough, though, and when it did, it would find the two of you clinging to one another. 

“I hate that you went through this alone.” Your fingers migrated down to the starburst on the side of his lower stomach, tracing the edges of it softly. 

“I’m lucky, I made a full recovery.” His voice was soft, “I saw others get much worse.”

“That doesn’t minimize this, Francisco, you could have died out there, and I never would have known.” You squeezed your eyes together for a moment, ignoring the implications, “Can you ever forgive me? For not writing?” 

“Only if you can find it in you to forgive me for being away so long and for what happened.” He pulled your hand up, pressing your knuckles to his lips.

“You’re forgiven for everything.” You frowned, “We hadn’t discussed our future, everything was still so up in the air, and I was terrified to get pregnant. Not because I don’t want to have your children, I was just terrified you'd leave me again and then I'd be here, alone and with a baby.” His face fell, guilt swirling around his features. “That was before. I believe you when you say you won’t and that you’re here for good.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then to his lips.

“I understand why that would have scared you. I shouldn’t have done it without permission, though. It was careless of me.” He pulled you closer, relishing in the contact just like he had in the early days. There was a beat, a comfortable silence, and it stretched on for a while, the two of you content to lay there until the stiffness of your dress pulled you away. He helped you take it off until you were in your simple shift, and then you took your place beside him once more.

“Francisco?” You murmured, wondering if he’d fallen asleep.

“Yes?”

“I never said, but I’m sorry about your parents.” He’d been gone for years when they passed. 

“Me too.” He didn’t say more, and you didn’t press. “You should get some rest. Will you stay with me?”

“Yes, I don’t want to go.” He got up for a moment, pulling the rest of his layers off before blowing out the candle.

“Good, I didn’t want you to leave.” He slipped into the bed, pulling his sheet over the both of you before pulling you in close. “Goodnight, Honey.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.” 

-

The sun shone bright enough to shoo the last vestiges of sleep away. It found you warm and comfortable under the comforting weight of his arm over your belly and his leg tangled with yours. He looked younger, asleep and you could almost see him just as he was when he’d left, fresh-faced and eager to see and do as much as he could. That fire for life and all it entailed, burning brightly in every expression. 

Your thumb traced the line of his jaw first, sweeping up his chin to glide across his pursed lower lip. He twitched but didn’t wake, only tightened his grip on you. Your thumb slid up, following the curve of his nose, up to smooth across his brow. 

He stirred again, humming softly before pressing closer still, burying his face into the crook of your neck and tickling you with his moustache. 

“Is it morning already?” His voice was sleepy but laced with pure joy. 

“Yes, it is. How did you sleep?” Your tone matched his, his joy was contagious, hope and happiness swirling in the air much like the dustmotes that danced in each shaft of light. Your hands had migrated down, fingers flitting across his broad back, relishing every inch, every errant freckle. 

“Better than I have in years. How about you?” His lips made their own pilgrimage, from just below your ear, down the column of your neck, and down to your shoulder; each press of his lips widening the smile on yours. 

“I slept really well. I forgot how warm you get when you sleep.” He laughed at this, good-hearted. 

“Good, means you don’t need to wear this–” His hands slid under your shift, grabbing greedily at your thighs, then your backside. 

“Very clever. Don’t you need to get up and go to work, Sheriff? Or am I under arrest?” There was no real bite behind your words. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, are you? Are you here to confess to a crime? Aside from stealing my heart, that is.” You let out a bark of laughter, rising slightly to let him take the shift off of you despite the game. 

“Is that what I’ve done? Stolen your heart?”

“Oh yes, years ago. First day you smiled at me, come to think of it.” He nodded sagely for a moment before pressing his lips to yours softly, making you both melt and drip for him. 

“Well then, I guess I deserve my punishment.” You reached down, shimmying out of your underthings to bare yourself to him. He bit his lip before dipping low to lick at the stiff peak of your breast, soft as his kiss, before taking your nipple into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. You moaned, watching him enraptured. 

“I’ll be just and fair.” He smiled, after letting go with a pop, moving to the next one to give it the same treatment. Your fingers curled into his short crop while your thighs pressed together to alleviate the aching at your core. He sucked harder, frantically, and then there was the edge of pain when he bit softly, making you gasp for a second before he once again soothed with his tongue. 

“God, woman, you make me crazy.” His eyes were wild for a moment before he claimed your mouth again, his tongue plundering without mercy. 

“I want you, Frankie–give it to me.” You reached down to grasp him in hand, but he moved away, denying you. 

“I want to make you feel good. Let me taste you again.” He moved down, his lips mapping a course down to where you wanted him most. 

“I want you, though, Frankie, want you to make me sore. You can use your mouth later.” You held your arms out to him, and although he stared at your mound with hunger, he obeyed. 

You spread your legs for him, and he slots his hips, pulling your legs high onto his thighs for a moment before sheathing himself in you with one brutal, delicious stroke. 

“God, Frankie, you’re splitting me open.” You moaned the words into his ear, and his head dropped into your neck, groaning at your words. 

You reach down to hold onto his ass, grabbing onto it as he thrusts. 

“You want me like this? Or you want me on my knees like you used to like?” You whispered, and he moaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before pulling out. It was the only answer you needed before you moved to get into position, presenting yourself to him. 

His thighs pressed against the backs of yours, his hand landing heavy on one ass cheek before he entered you from behind. He felt deeper this way, hitting something otherworldly with each press. 

“That’s my girl, you gonna take my big dick Honey?” You moaned into your forearm, arousal burning bright as a coal in the pit of your belly from his words, from the slick sounds of your joining, from the way your nipples grazed against his bedding. 

He bent forward, pulling at your arms to hold them behind your back, and once he did, his efforts doubled. He was a piston, ramming into you hard enough to make your breasts bounce, hard enough to make you scream for him. 

He moved you again, pulling you up to meet the solid wall of his chest, his chin hooking over your shoulder, one hand holding onto your breast, the other sliding down to swirl around your clit, shoving you headlong into a blinding climax. 

“That’s it, baby, God, I can feel you squeezing my cock. Where do you want me to come? Can I come on your ass?” His words sounded frantic, and you nodded, barely whispering the words. 

“Yes, Frankie–” He let you go, and you pressed your face into the mattress once more, spreading your legs a little wider before you felt him pull out, feeling the way his hand grabbed and spread you open while the other one pumped between your legs. You felt the hot spurt of him on the cheeks of your ass and the small of your back just as you heard the filthy groan he let out. 

You both caught your breath for a moment, riding the wave of release before he moved and within a few minutes, he passed a cool, wet cloth across your skin, cleaning his mess off before discarding it and falling into bed beside you. 

There was sweat on his brow, there was sweat on yours, too, but it didn’t matter, the euphoria was rich and sweet as fresh cider. 

“I missed you so much, Frankie.” You turned to face him fully, the two of you naked and comfortable. 

“I missed you too, Honey.” He pulled you close, wrapping you up in his arms, where you belonged. 

–

tag list: @foli-vora @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @rosymythologies @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @txtattoostark

[capuccinodoll]

Welcome, I'm Augustine—your typical literature student ˙⋆✮ 

You can find me reading, watching movies, daydreaming staring at the wall or lately writing smut. It doesn't matter, any of those activities, I'll do them for hours.

This is a +18 space. Minors DO NOT interact!

MASTERLIST:

Honey love, dark eyes (on going) Joel Miller has been your best friend for four years, and your trust in him has always been unshakable. But one night, after a heated argument, everything changes in an instant. In the blink of an eye, you're in a place you never thought you'd be—naked, beneath him, with his eyes burning into you as if there's no tomorrow. And when you wake up the next morning, it hits you all at once—reality sinking in, sharp and unforgiving. Nothing will ever be the same. WC: 123K

MASTERLIST 𖥔 AO3

Before the sun hits (paused) Running from a secret personal failure, you can feel nothing but joy when your parents invite you to spend the holidays away from Austin; in the white, cold town of Canmore, Canada. It won't be hard to distract yourself from all the city drama surrounded by beautiful snowy landscapes and fresh air, hot sweet drinks and warm beds, classic movies, romantic comedies and… Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, who has also been invited against his will. WC: 27.1K

AO3 𖥔 1. The Invitation 2. The Holiday 3. The Dream 4. The Storm 5. The Confession

The boyfriend act All you wanted was to get to Austin, but instead of your brother, it’s Frankie —Santi’s best friend, the one you can barely stand— who shows up in Dallas. He’s just doing your brother a favor, but the trip takes an unexpected turn when a stop puts you face to face with your ex — the guy who broke your heart three months ago and is now about to get married. Out of pride, you blurt out a lie: Frankie is your boyfriend. Surprised but willing to play along, he agrees, with one condition — you must accompany him to his mother’s birthday. His plan? Dodge his family’s meddling and their endless matchmaking schemes. WC: 14.3K

MASTERLIST 𖥔 AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

[theanothersherlockian]

[syd-djarin]

nut vid with the sound on

frankie "catfish" morales x f!reader

You accidently send Frankie a text that he wasn't supposed to see.

~1.5k words

tags: EXPLICIT, accidently sending a screenshot meant for someone else, reader is feral (she just like me), sexting, mention of light choking, virtual mutual masturbation (m & f!), flirting, Frankie is a consent king!, dirtyyyy talk, voice notes, nudes, nut vid with the sound on, they're so horny for each other

this is my first Frankie fic and I've been thoroughly enjoying myself in the Catfish Pond ;) I hope y'all like the text format, I had fun writing it like this. special shoutout to my babe @almostempty !!! she matches my freak, feeds my delusions & sparks my horny thots. thank you for cheering me on and helping with the dialogue I love you LOTS <3333

consulted this page for spanish used :)

translations:

princesa - princess

tócame - touch me

que cosa/cosita mas linda - what a pretty/pretty little thing

mierda - shit

ay dios - oh god

hazme el amor - make love to me

banners by: @cafekitsune <3

smut below the cut, y'all know the drill!

Frankie: You coming tomorrow? 

You: Yes, of course :) 

Frankie: Good. 

Bestie: bitch if you don’t make a move on fish

Bestie: It’s been months!!! Find out why they call him Catfish ;) 

You: STOPPPP 

You: you’re right tho I am dying to know

You: Wanna suck his dick til the skin falls OFF 

You caption the screenshot of Frankie’s latest Instagram post and text it to your bestie who will appreciate your level of freakiness. 

You continue your scrolling. 

*ding* 

Frankie: I don't think this message was meant for me, princesa.  

Opening his text, you realize to your horror that you sent your thirsty thoughts TO Frankie. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuck!

You: shit, I’m SO so so incredibly sorry! Totally inappropriate and not cool. I definitely meant to send that to someone else. Totally exiling myself from the group. 

Frankie: You meant to tell someone else that you wanna suck my dick til the skin falls off? 

You: It wasn’t for you. Please forget you saw it. Please Frankie :( 

Frankie: hell of a thing to send to someone. how am I supposed to forget the idea now?

You: Pretend. It was a mistake. 

Frankie: a mistake? as in, you didn’t mean it? 

You: Can we drop it? 

Frankie: seemed pretty specific for a mistake. you got freaky with it

You: It doesn’t matter. It was stupid. Please let it go 

Frankie: I don’t think I can, princesa

Frankie: not after imagining it 

Frankie: You sent a whole screenshot, with a colorful caption attached. That's intentional.

If you weren’t so humiliated, you’d be giggling and kicking your feet in the air that he is calling you princess, but you can only assume he is being patronizing. 

You: This is so fucking embarrassing. 

Frankie: Not too embarrassed to keep texting though…

You: Frankie don’t 

Frankie: You really think about me like that? 

You: I think you already know the answer to that

Frankie: I do, but I wanted to hear it from you. This time directly to me

Frankie: I think about you 

Frankie: All the time

You: Frankie, please. 

You: I already feel terrible 

Frankie: Never thought you’d see me like that. Now you’re telling me you’ve been thinking about my cock? and you want me to drop it? 

You: Please don’t fuck with me. I’m already mortified beyond belief like I can’t show my face around here anymore!! I’m sorry I sent it okay? 

You: I’ll skip the kickback if it's going to be too weird now. 

Frankie: Wouldn’t be the same without you there. I’d never tell you not to come. 

Frankie: If you really want me to drop it, I will. just say the word 

Frankie: but you should know

Frankie: I think you’re gorgeous, hilarious, too fucking smart to be hanging out with us  

Frankie: I lose my mind goddamn mind when I’m near you 

Frankie: and knowing you’ve been thinking about me too has me hard as a fucking rock 

You: Do you really mean that? 

Frankie: Yes I do, baby. You have no idea what you do to me 

You: Yeah? I might need some enlightenment. 

There’s a pause. You brace for impact; that he is really pulling your leg and he and the guys are doubled over laughing at your expense. 

Frankie: Might be better if you hear it straight from the Fish’s mouth

Frankie: Get it? Like horse’s mouth but it’s a fish instead 

You: I hate to admit I did one of those huff exhales that you do when something is amusing but not quite funny enough to warrant a full laugh

Frankie: At least you smiled. That’s good enough for me

Frankie: Sending a voice note, is that okay? 

You: Of course

Then the notification for a voice memo appears. Your fingers hover over the screen before you press play and Frankie’s low, gravelly voice spills into your ears. 

“Bebita, you have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this. I’ve been yours since I first laid eyes on you…You’ve got me sitting here in my truck, trying to keep my shit together, but all I can think about is you on your knees for me. Told the guys I had to take a call… they’d give me shit right now if they knew… they’ve been ribbing me for months to ask you out but I was too chicken shit… way too pretty for me… definitely funnier and smarter than me, but you should know I’m not intimidated by that it's fucking hot… Fuck you’d look so good for me. I’d slide my cock into your mouth so slow, watch your lips stretch around me. You have the prettiest eyes and lips, you’d be heaven down on your knees for me…Shit, I’d lose my mind watching you take it. You’d look so pretty with your mouth full of me, baby. So fucking pretty.” 

Frankie: Are you touching yourself? Tell me, pretty girl 

You: And if I was?

Frankie: Good girl 

Frankie: What are you thinking? How do you feel?

You: So so good, Frankie

You: Thinking about your big strong hands all over me has me drooling baby

Another voice memo appears. When you press play, there’s a groan—a low, throaty sound that makes your entire body shiver. 

“You been thinking about my hands, princesa? Want me to hold those pretty tits with my hands, hmmm? Play with your nipples, massage them…maybe you’d like one of my hands gently pressing into the sides of your throat… if you’re into it of course!” 

Frankie’s urgency to make sure you’re into that sort of thing makes you smile. The caring, thoughtful Frankie that you know. 

“I am so hard for you– ay dios!…Thinking about you sitting on my face, trapped underneath your gorgeous thighs… make you come all over my face. Need you to make a mess on me… rub your pretty little clit on my nose, that’s why I have this big nose… so you can use it fuuuuuuuck…”

His voice grows rougher, more ragged. You can hear the slick, clapping sounds and his breathing. Heavy and uneven. 

“Mierda, I’m so fucking close, wish you were here baby–unghhhhh… wanna feel you around me, your pussy squeezin’ my cock… make you come ‘til you’re begging me to stop… do whatever you ask me to…”

You: Show me. I want to see Frankie, please 

Frankie: Wanna hear you say it in your pretty voice 

Frankie: Let me hear you beg all sweet like for me and I’ll show you what you do to me 

You: “Frankie ohhhhh baby I need you so bad… tócame, Frankie, por favor…Always think about climbing in your lap, running my hands through those— ahhhhhh!— curls, wanna feel how deep you get when I ride you… wanna feel you in my goddamn throat — fuck, can you hear how wet I am? I’m making such a mess oh my godddddd… never been this fucking wet baby…”

Frankie: babygirl you’re gonna be the death of me

Frankie: love your voice and the pretty sounds your pussy is making for me 

You: can I send a video? 

Frankie: no pressure. only if you’re comfortable with it 😘

You: that’s not what I asked, Francisco

Frankie: I know you mean business when you use my government name 

Frankie: yeah baby i wanna see whatever you wanna show me 

You: Attachment: 1 Video 

“Hazme el amor, Frankie…” 

Your legs are spread open, your core on display for the camera. He smiles thinking you probably had to find something to prop your phone on. You’ve got two fingers teasing in and out of your glistening pussy.

Frankie: que cosa cosita más linda 

Frankie: You have the prettiest, messiest little pussy baby. Thank you for showing me. I can’t wait to taste her

Frankie: As promised, you want something in return for being such a good girl for me? 

You: yes please 😇

Frankie: sound up 😘

Attachment: 1 Video 

“Fuuuuuuck babygirl… see what you do to me… need to be close to you, need to feel you… make you feel good like you deserve… this is all for you, I am all for you baby…”

Frankie has his cock pulled out of his unzipped jeans, still in his truck, pumping himself. You admire the size and girth of him, so thick and gorgeous. You know the sting and stretch of him entering you for the first time will be delicious. It’s so hot knowing he had to slip away from the guy's night to relieve himself—couldn’t even wait til he got home. 

“Been dreaming of you for months, always imagine you when I’m touching myself, you’re in all my thoughts baby… mierda I’m gonna come, fuck baby—unghhhhhh— gonna come so hard for you — ohhhhhhhh fuck…” 

Thick ropes of cum drip down his hand, where he’s slowly riding out his high, breath heaving in exhaustion. 

You: I think I just blacked out 

You: I came so hard watching you fuck

Frankie: Such a good girl, baby. You did so good making yourself come 

Frankie: Drink some water 😘

You: Thank you Frankie :) 🩷

You: chugging some water as we speak🫡 

Frankie: that’s my girl 

Frankie: get some sleep, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow 😘😘

BONUS: frankie's insta

tagging babes who might enjoy: @katiexpunk @evolnoomym @studioghibelli @joelmillerisapunk @joelslegalwhre @sanarsi @tightjeansjavi @milly-louise <3333

@pedrostories

[princezzleia]

x reader she's like Barbie. she can be anything. she can be everything. she can do whatever I'm not dare to do in rl and she gotta choose her man. *sigh* Life've never been better.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Cramps

Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.

Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes

A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u

Bitchy. 

You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate. 

You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also  warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for. 

What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period. 

 Your cycle had  been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag. 

Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military. 

Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it. 

So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response. 

“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood. 

“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration. 

“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.” 

For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man. 

Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work. 

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband. 

“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending. 

“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee 

Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.  

You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie. 

“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!” 

At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath. 

“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-” 

“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.” 

“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door. 

“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway. 

But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it. 

You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood. 

Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.

Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear. 

Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants. 

Your period had come.  

In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie. 

“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ” 

It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply. 

“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.” 

Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first. 

“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.” 

You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply. 

“Thank you. You’re the best.” 

“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘” 

“Oh shut up, meanie.” 

“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙

“Love you too. 🤍” 

Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way. 

Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch. 

As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband. 

“Frankie? Babe, are you home?” 

Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest. 

You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace. 

“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you. 

“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-” 

“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse. 

“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem. 

“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.” 

“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.” 

“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”   

“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.

“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him. 

As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you. 

As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you. 

“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza. 

“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-” 

Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?” 

“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?” 

“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.” 

“I think I can make that happen.” 

About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest. 

“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy. 

Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth. 

“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you. 

“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core. 

“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you. 

“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices. 

Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period. 

But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man. 

“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths. 

“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.” 

Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds. 

With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt. 

“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot. 

Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool. 

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over. 

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue. 

Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name. 

“Frankie, holy fuck.” 

“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could. 

“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.” 

Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt. 

“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace. 

“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over. 

Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him. 

Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity. 

Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him. 

“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate. 

“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word. 

“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.” 

Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there. 

“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did. 

“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.” 

You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in. 

“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.” 

That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high. 

With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.  

“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss. 

“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss. 

“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight. 

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.” 

“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”

“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Taglist:

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @munson-hargrove-barnes86 @angel98624 @anoverwhelmingdin @pimosworld @nandan11 @iloveenya @survivingandenduring

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Give me more.

Pairing: neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 2527 Rating: +18, MDNI

Summary: You're ovulating and can't calm down, just the night before Frankie leaves for a two-day camping trip with the boys for Santi's birthday... luckily Frankie is willing to help you... too much, even.

Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, established relationship, enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, a lot of kissing, female masturbation (on Frankie's leg hehehe), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), overstimulation, aftercare, reader has breasts and vagina, wears a baby doll and a thong, she's able body, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described and she has no other description, brief reader’s thought insert, marked in italics. Pussy pronouns. Pet names (baby, honey, good girl). Frankie is our PEK on a mission 🫡

A/N: This Frankie is the same as You look like a fun place to sit, but it can be read as a stand alone, there are only some mild references to the previous ff. (If you haven't read it yet though, I hope you do 👀♥️) I have a couple more ideas in mind for these two, I hope to have something out for the Christmas holidays at least. Thank you so much for loving these two in the previous story, especially to @harriedandharassed who read it and shared it like 3 times if I'm not mistaken, I'm so flattered and grateful. I hope this one works just as well as the first one. English is not my first language, I have no beta, I hope there aren't too many mistakes, please forgive me if there are. I'm open to any advice you want to give me to improve but please be kind. (you always are, tbh). Comments and reblogs are always welcome, you would make me so happy 🥹 I started a tag list, if you want to be added leave a comment. If you'd prefer to be tagged only on something specific I can definitely do that, just let me know.

Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you enjoy.

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

“Frankie...” you whisper in the dark.

“Yes?” he answers you in a thick sleepy voice

“Are you asleep?”

“Actually yes.”

“You're answering me, though.”

“Sweetheart...” he picks up his phone from the nightstand ”It's 3:00 a.m. What's wrong?”

“I can't sleep” you groan

“Come here, come on” you shift on his part of the bed and he holds you tightly against his body, you rest your head on his chest and surrender to his comforting embrace and the scent of his skin.

You hum “thank you”

He places a kiss on your forehead “sleep now”

You close your eyes, focusing on the sense of peace you feel wrapped in his strong arms, clasped to his body as warm as a furnace, one leg crossed over his, one arm wrapped around his waist.

It's amazing, really, so amazing that soon you begin to feel something else. a little shiver that runs under your skin, a little electric shock that goes through you all, and then a crescendo of wetness between your thighs.

You’re ovulating and you’re feral, simple as that.

You try not to mind it, to let it pass, not to be too demanding after he has already made you come twice tonight, once on the couch while you were watching a movie - well at least you tried, but you actually have no idea what the movie was about because you were too busy bouncing on his cock, which when you think back on it, it makes you laugh because it seems like a constant in your dating that you can't finish watching a movie without jumping on each other - and once as soon as you got into bed when he saw you coming out of the bathroom in a new babydoll and thong you bought especially for him.

Only two months ago neither of you could stand the other but now, as much as it still bothers you to admit it since he was the last person you thought you would end up with, you are completely and hopelessly smitten with him.

“Frankie,” you whisper, hoping he won't tell you off “can we kiss for a while? Just a little bit?”

It’s so early in the morning that he doesn't have the energy to be sarcastic as usual, he just replies “of course, baby”

He lowers himself on your face and kisses you on the lips, in a very tender but rather chaste way, he still looks half asleep. After a couple of minutes he stops and you sigh, resting your head back on his chest. 

I must let him sleep, you tell yourself. This man is tired, he has already fucked me twice, that should be enough for now. Yet no, it's not enough, you still crave more.

“Frankie.." you mumble on his chest.

“Mmm what is it again?” his voice is even deeper and rougher than usual, which literally sends you into raptures.

"I..." a glimpse of him between your legs as he eats your pussy flashes past your eyes, you squeeze them hard and admit "I want you"

“Still?” he doesn't have an angry tone, nor an irritated one, he's calm, quiet, definitely awake at this point because you feel his hands roam over your back, all the way down to your ass “you insatiable little minx. You know I have to get up in three hours.” 

“I know...but it's not fair, it's Saturday” 

‘You were there when I promised to go camping and fishing with the guys, right?’ You leverage your arms to reach his neck, resting your lips on his soft, amber skin ”mmmm yes” you groan.

He chuckles, as he squeezes your butt cheeks “you know I have to, it's Santi's birthday” 

You continue your run up his neck, slipping your hands under his shirt, caressing his back.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whisper in his ear, burying a hand in his dark curls, your leg tightening around him brushing your barely covered pussy on his leg. Frankie gasps at the sensation, as you begin to grind against his thigh. “It’s only for two days. Jesus, you really are a menace, you know that?” 

“Yeah, you like that about me” You coo.

He puts a hand on your neck, his thumb brushing your ear while his other fingers wrap around the base of your skull. “I sure do. Go ahead, honey, make a mess on me”

You’re grinding hard, the texture of your brand new thong is adding a delicious scratch between your clit and his skin. 

Ridiculous desperate moans escape your lips and he kisses you, letting them vibrate into his mouth. 

He’s wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, which allows you to feel his warm skin, your clit throbbing against him, your dripping pussy heating from the contact.

You feel the tingle of your orgasm mount inside you, your mouth is wide open for him, your tongue feverishly entwined with his in a sweet struggle that leaves you breathless.

And you come, wave after wave, quivering against him, one of his strong arms keeps you in place while his other hand is still wrapped around your neck squeezing lightly on your pulse point.

Your breath is short and ragged, your body hot and tested and yet you feel like it’s not enough.

As soon as your breathing returns to normal you mutter “gosh...I want more” into his slightly sweaty t-shirt.

His voice comes out more high pitched than he would like, he opens his eyes wide and exclaims, "Baby, do you want to wreck even the last bit of me tonight?”

You giggle softly and coo “She’s aching, you know…”

You feel one of his hands kneading one of your ass cheeks and then sliding down to your pussy, massaging your folds from behind, wetting his fingers with your juices.

“Mmm that’s good” you whisper “but I still want more”

Frankie grunts, flipping you onto your back on the bed and getting on top of you. 

His eyes scan you in the dim light of your room, reading the lust on your face. “How much is she aching?” 

You whine, tighten your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer but Frankie doesn't budge an inch, he's too strong for you.

“Use your words, baby, I know you can.” His gaze is no longer clouded by sleep, it’s alert and authoritative and he pins you down. 

“A lot.” 

“Yeah? Does this wet pussy need me?” he goes down your chest kissing your skin left uncovered by the thin straps of your baby-doll. You moan again, you don't know how to do anything else, your head feels light and confused. 

"Answer me" he says leaving a bite on your shoulder. 

You squirm and a breathy "Yes" comes out of your throat.

You feel his cock swell against your thigh, A trickle of desire runs down between your legs, wetting the thong you're wearing underneath. It’s basically drenched at this point.

“What do you want me to do? Tell me what your naughty pussy needs" 

“Your tongue, your fingers…” you whine “Please, Frankie” 

One thing you learned right away about Frankie is that he really enjoys eating his girl out. 

He's not one of those men who do it just to get a blowjob in return. He's dedicated. He uses his tongue, his lips, his nose even, he compliments how you taste, how pretty your cunt is, how wet and warm she is under his tongue, he doesn't stop until you're left shaking and breathless beneath him, until he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you. 

He really is a force of nature and blows your mind every single time. And not only at doing that, he is experienced and passionate in every field.

“Greedy”

He pulls back the duvet and the cool air hardens your nipples as he reaches between your legs, his lustful, tantalizing eyes peering down at you. 

His mouth brushes your inner thigh, slowly moving up from your knee to your groin, his beard tickling you deliciously, “is that what you want huh?” 

“Yes” you murmur ”yes, please.” 

His plump lips settle on your opening, he sticks out his tongue and licks from above the fabric. You moan, sinking a hand into his raven curls, pressing him against your cunt. 

He chuckles against your folds, sending an exquisite vibration through your body, slips his fingers into the elastic of your thong and slowly pulls it down. 

Your cunt throbs in anticipation as his tongue travels up your slit and you emit a deep “Fuck, yes” as soon as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking away the last bit of reasoning you had left. 

“Oh God, Frankie” 

He goes down again and comes back up, tongue flat out sliding over your wetness, once, twice, three, four times as an irrepressible heat spreads inside you again and then the tip of his tongue stops under your clit and he begins to jerk it quickly with close flicks.

His hand is open on your thigh, he slows down a bit when he feels your body tenses, goes back to teasing your opening and then starts tickling your bundle of nerves again.

You tug his hair, spreading your legs even wider to take in all that he wants to give you, melting under his ministration.

“Fuck, you’re so good, don’t stop” you whine and you see him grinning as he replies “I won’t, baby, I’m going to have a damn fucking meal out of this pussy”

His touch is careful, long laps and sucks on your clit, he knows how to alternate them, he seems to know your body and the way it reacts inside out.

Another thing you discovered about him is that he is great at listening and observing and very often guesses your needs and reactions before you express them. He immediately learned how you take your coffee, how you frown when something is bothering you, he knows that you need a particularly tight hug on Monday nights, and that on Friday nights you like to treat yourself to a drink to celebrate getting to the end of another work week.

Frankie is good, really good, you even start to really like quarreling with him, you like the way he stands up to you, the thrill of it and the amazing sex that usually comes right after. 

He brings you almost to the edge with his tongue without taking his eyes off your face, and then you feel two of his fingers nudging at your entrance “you want them huh?” 

“Yes” you breathe, almost on the verge of delirium and he teases “ask nicely baby, I haven’t heard that little magic word yet” 

You would roll your eyes if you were able to do that but right now all you feel is desire, desire to be full again with his fingers, desire to be fucked just like the way you like, desire to be his and only his. 

“Pl-please” you mutter and he whispers “here she is, my good girl” 

His index and middle finger start to stretch you, it seems like he’s taking all the time in the world while you’re trembling and begging to be satiated.

“Almost there pleasepleaseplease”you plead and he sinks a little bit more, up to half fingers, his other hand gripping on the soft skin on your tummy, keeping you in place while your back feels like a guitar’s string ready to snap.  

Your walls are clenching desperately around his fingers, impatient to have all but instead of giving you your long awaited release he comes out completely. 

"Fuck" you hiss. 

His lips are curved into a mocking smirk.

Your clit is swollen, your hole empty and the almost release is tingling all over your body like a latent fire that cannot be extinguished.

“Did you think I would make this easy for you?” He asks ironically.

You scoff “Goddamn,Frankie!” 

You don't know how he finds strength but he's making you pay for be so demanding, your pussy won't stop throbbing as he barely caresses you, feather light touches on your folds, deliberately ignoring your clit. 

You try to breathe deeply to calm down, but as soon as Frankie feels your body relax he returns to licking you, two fingers on your clit moving in circles. 

You're almost on the verge of tears when he brings you back to within an inch of your brink.

“Frankie, please” you cry “I can’t- fuck- I just can’t”

“Oh yes, you can. You wanted more? I’m going to give you exactly this so now shut up and let me do my job” he’s commanding now.

He’s slow and steady over your bundles of nerves and when you impossibly tense again his mouth is back on it, sucking and teasing with his tongue.

When he gives you your second orgasm he doesn't stop stimulating you as it washes over you, your back arches sharply, you’re gushing in his mouth and all over his face, your hand in his hair tugs to try to pull him away from you but he doesn't move, his lips stubbornly latched onto your clit, his hand firmly on your tummy while the other grips your thigh. 

He doesn't stop as you anchor yourself to the edge of the mattress trying to lift yourself up, your body twitching unbearably, he pulls you by your legs and brings you right back to where he wants you without taking his face off you, in fact sinking even more. “Frankie please, please, I can't” you feel tears stinging your eyes. 

You feel so sensitive it’s almost impossible to handle. 

“Ssssh you’re good” he says, detaching from you just long enough to say it, his beard and mustache glistening and soaked in your essence.

You squeeze your eyes, cover your mouth with your hand as you wail so gravelly it almost doesn’t sound your voice anymore. 

You're overstimulated, your body is sore, you murmur a tearful “please” again, and Frankie finally decides you've had enough. He pulls away from you and takes you in his arms as he whispers, “You're okay, honey,” caressing your back. Your labored breathing slowly returns to normal, giving way to a deep, dense feeling of gratification. 

Frankie definitely reached another level of dedication tonight. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks as he lifts your chin, inviting you to look at him. "Yes," you murmur, and he kisses you tenderly, "do you think I've given you enough to deal with my absence for two days?”

You giggle “I think it's enough to endure a week” and ruffle his hair kissing him again, lingering on his lower lip “But let me tell you something, though, someone they call Catfish who goes fishing… it's really odd”

The sound of his thunderous laugh vibrates against you “I hadn't thought about it but I must admit that you are right. Now let me sleep for...I don't even know what time it is anymore” He reaches out an arm to retrieve the phone on the nightstand and realizes that it is already five o'clock.

“Oh, fuck”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter 🌹

[flightlessangelwings]

To Feel Your Body Against Mine

Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Word count-4.5k

Prompt- secret relationship

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), secret relationship, feelings, praise, sex in a public bathroom, softness, oral (f receiving), creampie, alcohol mention, a shitty ex, attempted assault (not detailed), mild violence (not against reader), happy ending, reader is a bartender/waitress, reader is Santi's sister but not physically described at all other than body parts, no use of y/n

Notes- For @burntheedges Roll a Trope writing challenge! I'm so excited to be able to participate and I got such a fun trope too! And I definitely made myself hot and bothered writing that second spicy scene lol! I hope everyone enjoys this!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

~

“Mmm… Frankie…” you moaned as you leaned your head back against the bathroom mirror.

He hummed your name in your ear as he smirked against your face.

“We’re gonna get caught if we take too much longer,” you huffed as you felt the warm embrace of his body against yours. 

“Yeah,” he groaned as he thrust into you, “But you feel so fucking good, baby,” his tone dropped as he thrusted again, “Can’t fucking stop.”

“Oh fuck,” you cried out as your eyes rolled back into your head.

Frankie had you on the bathroom counter in the employee bathroom at the bar you worked at. The moment the two of you had the chance to slip away, you took it, and quickly you clawed each other’s clothes off, desperate for one another. To have his cock fill you up again filled that need that left you feeling empty. To be connected to him once more was something that your body, and your heart, craved more than anything. To feel his strong arms around you as you wrapped your legs around his waist made everything feel perfect, even if you were currently in a dirty bathroom. 

And Frankie’s feelings reflected yours. From the moment he first met you all those years ago, he instantly fell for you. And to finally have you in his arms, to feel himself inside your pussy, to be able to call you his… it was better than heaven for him. Even from the second he walked into the bar and saw you with the drink mixer in your hand, the way your breasts swung then you shook it, he knew he was going to fuck you in the bathroom the moment he got the chance.

Your relationship was perfect. Even from the first night you spent together, it felt as if the two of you had been together for years. Everything just fell into place perfectly, like you were two puzzle pieces that finally clicked together to form the picture that was your life. Everything felt right. Everything felt perfect, like things were the way they should be.

It was almost perfect that is. There was only one problem: no one knew. No one could know. Because you were Santigo’s sister. 

“He’ll freak out if he finds out about us,” you had once told Frankie, “Let’s just keep it between us for now. We’ll figure out the right time to tell him later.”

But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered to Frankie now was you. You were the entire world to him as he fucked you in the bar bathroom. The way your mouth dropped open to let the beautiful cries flow freely was more intoxicating to him than the drinks you served. The way your breasts swung with his every thrust was captivating. The way your inner muscles clenched around his cock sent jolts of pleasure up his spine.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good,” he groaned. 

Sweat lined your brow as you clung to Frankie. One hand buried itself in his hair, tugging hard, while the other dug into his broad shoulder. All you could do was scream in pleasure as he rocked faster into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Fuck! Frankie, right there!” you moaned as you arched your back.

With one harsh grunt, Frankie thrust forward and both of you fell apart at the same time. You and Frankie both cried out as your bodies trembled against each other. Clinging to each other for dear life, you moaned loudly. Thankfully, the loud music from the bar drowned out your screams, yet at the time neither of you cared about that. All you cared about was the other as you rode out your climaxes together. 

Frankie huffed as he stilled himself inside you for a moment, hot and sweaty from the passionate lovemaking in the tiny bathroom. He let out a deep breath as he opened his eyes for a moment before closing them again to kiss you deeply. He savored the taste of you on his tongue as he slowly and carefully pulled out of you, swallowing the whimper you let out. His hand cupped the side of your face as his thumb stroked your cheek tenderly.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he mumbled as he rested his forehead against yours.

“So are you, Frankie,” you smirked back at him before you kissed him again. But, as much as you wanted the moment to last forever, you knew time was against you. “We really do need to get back now,” you sounded disappointed, “Don’t want anyone to get suspicious.” 

Frankie’s face dropped; he didn’t want the moment to end yet either, “Yeah,” he nodded as he helped you dress before slipping his own clothes back on.

Placing his trusty hat back on his head, you gave him one last kiss, “You go first. I’ll be behind you in a second.”

His dark, pleading eyes looked into yours as three words rushed to the tip of his tongue. But, just like every time before, they remained unspoken as he unlocked and left the bathroom.

You let out a deep sigh as you turned to the mirror and adjusted yourself for a moment before you also left your little hideaway and went back to the real world. The real world where as far as anyone was concerned, you and Frankie were just friends. 

*

You grinned from behind the bar as you watched the guys at their table. Santiago, your brother, and the guys who got each other through tough times that you couldn’t even imagine all laughed together. The four of them best of friends, brothers in arms. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but you could tell they enjoyed their time together, as they always did when the four of them convened. 

“There you are, nena!” Santiago exclaimed as you walked up to the table with a tray of drinks, “Where’ve you been?”

Frankie swallowed nervously, but hid it under the brim of his hat.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s busy in here,” you gestured over your shoulder to the crowd at the bar, “Some of us work for a living,” you added with a smirk. Glancing over for a brief moment, you caught Frankie’s eye and saw him relax his shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah,” Santiago shrugged, “As long as these assholes keep their hands to themselves and off my sister.” He shit a pointed glare towards another table of guys who made no effort to hide the way they checked you out when you walked by.

Will and Benny burst into laughter before Will spoke up, “Man you really have the overprotective brother thing down pat, don’t you, Pope?”

“Yeah,” Benny added as he sipped his drink.

Santiago rolled his eyes, “Shut up, assholes.”

You mirrored your brother’s eye roll before you turned and walked away, aware of a pair of eyes stealthily on your ass as you did so. A grin lit up your face while your back was to the guys.

Chatter echoed around him as he lost himself in your figure as the guys went back to their conversation. Vaguely, he was aware they were reminiscing about good times in the past before they turned their attention to Benny’s upcoming fight. The Miller brothers seemed to focus more on each other as Will gave his usual encouraging words to his little brother.

“Que pasas, hermano?” Santiago asked, noticing Frankie’s distant expression.

Frankie shook himself out of his thoughts and back to his best friend, “Nada,” he replied a little too quickly, “Nothing,” he repeated in a more leveled tone, “Just thinking is all,” he said as he took a sip of his drink and savored the taste that mixed with your that lingered on his tongue.

“That’s dangerous,” Santiago quipped playfully.

He rolled his eyes as he adjusted his hat. After a breath, Frankie chose his words carefully so as to not arouse suspicion, “Would it really be so bad if your sister found someone? Like found the right someone who treats her well?”

He pointed a stare at him for a moment before he took a swig of his drink and answered, “If it were the right person, yeah. She has a habit of picking real shitty ones though,” Santiago made a face as he pictured a particular ex of yours. But, he decided Frankie’s question was harmless, “But for now, I got my best friends watching over her when I can’t,” he placed a hand on his shoulder, “Thanks man, I know I can count on you.”

Frankie gave him a smile that hid the way he truly felt, “Anytime, man.”

*

“Oh Frankie… Ay mierda,” you moaned as you writhed on his bed.

The moon was high in the sky, illuminating Frankie’s bedroom. It was just the right amount of light to make for a romantic night in, and Frankie took full advantage of it. In between your legs he found a bliss unlike anything else. There was only one place he loved kissing you more than your lips…

Frankie groaned into you as he dug his hands into your thighs. As much as he wanted to tell you how beautiful you were or how delicious you tasted, he just couldn’t break himself away from your pussy. He slurped loudly, not caring how obscene the sounds he made were, especially when they made you moan and make such lovely sounds.

“Ay dios mio,” you cried out as one hand landed in his hair while the other clutched onto the sheets for dear life. The way his tongue so expertly found all your sensitive spots never ceased to amaze you… and always left you breathless.

Another growl emitted from deep within Frankie’s throat as he devoured you with even more fervor. His tongue swirled around your clit, making you whimper with every pass, and he could tell you were close.

Let me taste your cum, baby, he thought as he ran his tongue up and down your folds. The tip of his nose hit your clit as he dipped his tongue into your entrance, darting it in and out a few times before running back up. The moment his lips wrapped around your clit, you screamed and tugged at his hair.

“Frankie! Fuck!” you cried out as your legs trembled on either side of his head.

He tightened his grip on you as he sucked hard on your clit. And that was all it took to send you over the edge. With a loud scream, you came hard against his face, rocking your hips against his prominent nose as you rode out your climax.

Like a man dying of thirst, Frankie greedily lapped up your release as he kept his rhythm with his tongue. He didn’t want to waste a drop of your sweet juices, and he didn’t want to stop until you were entirely spent. His cock strained with need, but he ignored it in favor of your pleasure.

With one last gasp, you flopped down limp on the bed, and Frankie broke away from your cunt with a loud pop. He wanted your body through glazed over eyes as his chin glistened with your cum. He watched with fiery eyes as your breasts rose and fell with your heavy breaths as you came down from your high.

“Fuck you are so fucking sexy, baby,” he growled as he lunged forward and captured your lips with his own.

You moaned into him as you wrapped your arms and legs around his body as he covered you. A rumble from Frankie’s chest reverberated between your bodies as he rutted against you.

“I need you, baby,” Frankie sounded so desperate, “Fuck I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then fuck me, Francisco,” you mewled as you bucked your hips against his, feeling his rock hard cock against your slick pussy.

All he could do was growl as he angled his hips against you. Frankie slipped a hand between your bodies to guide his cock to your entrance, and the moment the tip hit your wetness, you both gasped.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed as he easily slid into you, your pussy still soaking wet from how avidly he devoured you.

“Oh my god…” you dropped your head back onto the mattress as you felt his cock stretch you out. You groaned and dug your nails into his back as you surrendered yourself to him completely. 

“Shit I’m not gonna last long with how fucking good you feel,” Frankie muttered as he started to rock in and out of you, feeling your walls around him with every thrust.

Any words escaped your mind the moment he started thrusting in and out of you. All you could do was moan and hold onto him as his cock filled you over and over again. In the moonlight, Frankie fucked you with everything he had. You felt the passion behind every thrust of his hips, and the way he held you while he ravaged you was unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

This was not just fucking. Frankie was making love to you in both the sweetest and roughest way he could. And it was everything you needed and more. Just as he was addicted to you and your pussy, you were addicted to him. You clawed at his back, pulling him closer as if you couldn’t get enough of him. You wanted to feel every inch of his body against you while his thick cock filled you up over and over again. You wanted… need him more than air.

Frankie was mesmerized by you. Before you pulled him closer, he watched as your breasts swung wildly with every thrust of his hips. And as he covered you with his body, he could feel your heart pound in your chest. He couldn’t get enough of the way you wrapped your arms and legs around him, wordlessly telling him you needed more, needed him closer. 

And he was happy to oblige. 

“Fuck,” he groaned as he murmured your name over and over with every thrust, “Baby I’m close.” Sweat lined his brow, making the thick locks of hair stick to his forehead.

“Cum in me, Frankie,” you whispered as you pressed your forehead against his, “Let me feel you.”

Your words alone almost made him lose control. But Frankie wasn’t going over the edge without you, so he snaked his hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit.

“Oh fuck,” you cried out as his touches sent jolts of pleasure up your spine, “Frankie…”

“I know baby,” he moaned, “I’ve got you…”

His thrusts became erratic as the room spun around him. Moans and cries of pleasure echoed between your bodies, and neither of you were sure who made which sounds. It didn’t matter anyway, you were connected at one, fitted together perfectly as if you were meant for each other.

Frankie felt his orgasm quickly approaching; with every thrust he was closer and closer. And from the way your inner muscles squeezed his cock, he could tell you were just as close. Pounding into you with fervor, Frankie growled your name as he came hard enough to see stars.

You screamed against his lips as your second climax hit at the same time. Clutching onto Frankie tightly, you trembled underneath him as you came together. Passions exploded between your bodies as Frankie rode out both your climaxes. Tears fell down your cheeks as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through your body. And a shiver ran up your spine as you felt Frankie’s release fill you to the brim while he moaned against your face.

With one last huff, Frankie thrust as deep as he could into you before he collapsed down on top of you with a grunt. You wheezed as the added weight was sudden, but you both burst into laughter as you both went limp against each other. Frankie planted light kisses on the side of your head as he caught his breath and his cock softened inside you. A chill of his own ran up his spine as your laughter sent shocks to his overstimulated cock.

“That was amazing, baby,” Franie murmured in your ear.

“You’re amazing, Frankie,” you whispered back, kissing him wherever you could while you ran your hands up and down his broad back.

Frankie broke away to gaze into your eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. Again, three words were on the tip of his tongue. He could have said them. He should have said them. You looked so beautiful underneath him in the moonlight. There was no better time than now…

Yet, he didn’t. Instead he said, “I got you,” as he slowly pulled out of you, causing you both to hiss. Frankie gave you an apologetic look when he was fully out of you, and he couldn’t help but glance down and watch his release spill out of your pussy.

He licked his lips, and for a moment he contemplated devouring you once more. But, his muscles ached, and Frankie felt the overwhelming need just to hold you close, to feel your body against his.

Reaching for a tissue on his bedside, Frankie gently, tenderly cleaned you up as you whimpered from the touch. You were overstimulated as well, but in the best way possible. Not wanting to leave your side even for a moment, he just tossed the tissue aside and laid down next to you, gathering you in his arms. You sighed contently as you pressed a light kiss to his chest before you laid your head down comfortably. 

“Hey baby?” Frankie broke the silence after several moments. 

“You alright, Frankie?” You noticed the change in his tone, which made you worry. You rested your hand on his chest, feeling his heart under your palm. 

“Do you ever think maybe we should tell Santiago about… us?”

You let out a deep sigh as you savored the warmth of his embrace for a moment, “I do hate hiding from him,” you admitted, “But I’m just scared to, you know?” Truthfully, you were sure he wouldn’t be as mad as you feared, yet something nagged at you about it. Perhaps because he reacted so badly to the last person you dated, yet he had good reason to. This time, however, it was Frankie, and who would deny Frankie? And the longer this went on, the more frightened you became. You dug yourself in this hole and the longer you hid in it, the more difficult you knew climbing out of that hole would be.

“I know,” he comforted you with a squeeze, “But we can do it together. He can’t be mad for too long,” he let out a soft laugh.

You chuckled, “You’re right,” you hummed in agreement, “We’ll pick a time to sit down with him and tell him the truth, and Will and Benny too.”

“Sounds good, baby,” he kissed the top of your head, “I’ll be right there with you, I promise,” Frankie paused and took a deep breath, “But for now, let’s get some sleep.”

*

It was a quieter night at work, which you were thankful for. So many crowded nights were great for your paycheck, but left you completely exhausted. A few regulars and some newcomers sat scattered around the bar, but you still had some time to just lean against the wall and rest for a bit. It was a calm, peaceful night.

Until the one person you never wanted to see again walked through the doors.

Immediately you were on edge from the moment you saw his sly face, “Ernesto,” you spat through gritted teeth, “What are you doing here?”

His grin sent shivers down your spine, “I missed you, sweetheart.”

“I don’t miss you,” your tone was cold as you held yourself strong, “Get out of here.”

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” he leaned in close, invading your space and placing a hand on your shoulder, “Give me another chance. I’ve changed.”

“No!” you pushed his hand off your shoulder. But, before you could step away from him, he grabbed your wrist, “Let me go, Ernesto!”

Just as he tried to yank you close enough to him to kiss you, he was ripped away in a flash. Before he could even grunt in confusion, Ernesto found himself stumbling away from you and a man stood between you and him.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snapped.

“Frankie,” you breathed in relief.

“She told you no, so get the fuck out of here before I have to hurt you,” Frankie growled, sounding very unlike his usual self. 

“Fuck off, she’s mine,” Ernesto lunged for Frankie, fists winging.

Frankie clenched his jaw and waited for the opportunity to present itself. In between the flurry of hands from Ernesto, there was an opening. It only took one hit, one precise punch from Frankie right in his nose to send him careening back. Ernesto landed on the floor with a grunt, and all the air was forced out of his lungs as he saw stars from hitting his head.

In a rage, Frankie stepped forward and grabbed Ernesto’s collar, peeling him off the floor, “Have anything to say now, pendejo?” he growled.

It took him a moment to re-orientate himself before he stuttered, “N-no,” all the fight had left Ernesto’s body, “I’m going. I’m going,” he pleaded as he scrambled away and bolted for the door. Frankie watched to make sure he left before he quickly rushed over to you.

*

Santiago hopped out of his truck before he strolled toward the bar you worked at. He had some free time and decided to come see you, especially since he noticed you had been acting differently lately. He cared for you more than anything, and he only ever wanted the best for his sister and only family. He was in a good mood, but as he got closer to the bar, someone burst through the doors and slammed right into him.

“S-sorry,” Ernestro muttered as he looked up from where his gaze was pointed at the ground, “I didn’t mean to… You!” he gasped, recognizing Santiago.

“You!” he snarled as he grabbed Ernesto’s shirt, “What the fuck are you doing here?!” Santiago was ready to hit him, enraged when he thought about how he treated you in the past, but when he noticed the broken nose and blood from his face, he paused.

Ernesto took the opportunity in his hesitation to slip out of his grip and run away. Santiago thought about going after him, but his priority was more on his sister’s safety, so he ran inside to check on you. And when he rushed through the doors, the sight that met him froze him in his tracks.

Frankie was there, holding you tightly and whispering into your ear as you nuzzled into his shoulder. He couldn’t hear what exactly he said, but he could tell Frankie was whispering words of comfort into your ear in between feather light kisses. Santiago wasn’t sure how to feel and he stood in dumbfounded stillness for several moments.

“What the hell is going on here?” his voice was a low grumble as the emotions slipped out before he could stop them.

You gasped as you snapped your head up from where it rested on Frankie’s shoulder, “Santi…” you breathed, tears still fresh in your eyes, “I can explain,” you scrambled out of his arms and up to your feet.

Frankie followed right behind you, “Pope, I…” he started before he was interrupted.

“Wait,” you hissed to both of them, noticing the stares from the few patrons in the bar, “Can we take this outside?” You really did not want an audience.

Santiago remained tense, but looked around and nodded. In silence, the three of you slipped out and towards your brother’s truck for some privacy. The tension was palpable as you made your way out of the bar. Yet, Frankie still slid his hand in yours despite the glare from Santiago.

“Santi, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you blurted out, “We just…”

“How long?” Santiago cut you off with a simple question, “How long have you kept this from me?”

All the breath felt like it was punched out of your lungs and suddenly you realized why he was so angry. All your life, it had been just you and Santi; brother and sister alone in the world. You trusted each other with everything, and you were all each other had. This was the first time you kept something from him, and you noticed the hurt in his eyes that you felt like you had to hide this from him.

“A few months,” Frankie answered for you in a quiet voice.

Santiago let out a heavy sigh as his shoulders dropped and the tough person melted away. Putting his hands on his hips, he looked between the two of you, “And you couldn’t tell me this whole time?” his tone was softer than before, and the hurt was apparent. 

“Santi,” you started, taking a step forward, “I’m sorry.”

He glanced at you before he stepped past you and met Frankie face to face, “Will you take care of her?” he asked, “You’ll never hurt her?”

Frankie’s eyes softened, “Yeah,” he breathed, “I swear, man,” he continued, “I’d never do anything to hurt her,” he paused, “I’m in love with your sister, man.”

The confession made both you and Santiago’s mouths drop open in surprise. “Frankie…” you gasped in a whisper from behind your brother.

Santiago recovered first, “Fuck, bro,” he smiled through the emotions, “Guess I can’t be too pissed at you… You did kick her ex’s ass pretty damn good.” He turned over his shoulder and smiled genuinely at you before turning back to Frankie, “Just don’t make out or do any of that shit in front me, ok?” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. 

The relief showed on Frankie’s face as he too broke out into a smile. His hand landed on Santiago’s shoulder as you also sighed in relief behind them. “Deal,” he said before the two friends embraced.

Santiago turned to you and took you up in his arms, hugging you tightly.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you, Santi,” you whispered to him as you hugged him back.

Breaking away from the hug, he kept his hands on your forearms, “I get why you didn’t,” he said softly, “I can be a little much when it comes to my family.” He turned between you and Frankie, “How about we celebrate? Drinks are on me.”

“Do I have to make them?” you teased.

Santiago and Frankie both laughed as you all embraced each other. Your brother patted you both on the shoulder before he ushered you both to his truck. Frankie slipped his hand in yours, happy to finally be able to take your hand in public without the fear of getting caught. A new chapter in your lives was just starting, and finally everything was absolutely perfect. 

[almostempty]

too good to be true (frankie x f!reader)

Too good to be true (frankie morales x f!reader) | wc: 9k | other fics  | Ao3

summary: frankie, a regular at your coffee shop, is there for you when your boyfriend joel breaks up with you and disappears practically overnight. despite not knowing each other long, frankie just seems to be perfect for you and you fall hard and fast 

note: this was supposed to be for the accidental adultery trope for @auteurdelabre 's trope challenge from last month. i thought accidental adultery was more like the wrong bed trope so--you can find that here with Dieter's party, but it turns out accidental adultery is more like ..when you thought ur lover died in the war or something and you start a new life with someone else and then they show up again. that didn’t interest me- soooo (spoiler) in my version reader doesn’t know that joel only left her bc of frankie 

warnings/tags: mdni explicit, smut, dark!frankie, stalker!frankie, dubcon, lies, deceit, coffee shop au gone wrong, accidental adultery, ex bf Joel, abandonment issues, anxiety, breakup grief, using sex to avoid processing emotions, face fucking, masturbation, crying, love bombing aka emotional manipulation/abuse, frankie doesn’t have a job bc he nefariously acquired a large cash settlement from his return trip to the jungle– or maybe he has a military pension idk don’t ask questions, revenge porn, jealousy, delusional reader, jealous and possessive frankie, if i missed something important pls let me know, 

standard weds warnings: unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction so it’s free to imagine it raw; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise, no specific descriptions; no y/n, likely many mistakes and i accept that 🫡

You don’t remember the first time you met, but you remember when you started looking forward to seeing Frankie. He was a quiet regular, didn’t ask for much, but was always polite. Kind. He’d come by at the same time, get the same coffee, and sit at a table in the lobby reading the news on his phone. Most mornings, you were busy enough that you didn’t even think about starting a conversation, but you’d sneak a glance here and there as he sat. Sometimes, he caught you, and you’d both flash a quick smile. 

He was a fun little fantasy to look forward to. You weren’t single or looking anyway, but it didn’t hurt to have something to help you crawl out of bed at 3:30 AM. It was always quiet until just after 6 AM, when the commuters started coming through. Frankie usually came through the lobby just as the morning rush was picking up, curls still damp from his post-workout shower and a soft smile just for you. 

Until it changed. He started showing up even earlier. That’s when you began to get to know him bit by bit. In the quiet dark of the early mornings, while the espresso machines warmed up and the 

You learned that he moved into town this year–not in this neighborhood, but he likes the coffee here, so it’s worth the morning drive. He’s single. Ex-military. Sticks to a routine. Likes your name. Remembers details. Asks follow-up questions about your weekend plans on Monday mornings. 

Did you and your boyfriend see that movie you were thinking about? Did you get to sleep in like you’d hoped? Did he take you to the farmer’s market? Did he like the recipe you wanted to try out? 

It was sweet. And infuriating. Someone you barely knew always remembered your plans or the little throwaway comments you’d make. You knew it wasn’t intentional, but it always stung when he’d ask about your plans, and you were left coming up with excuses for why they never seemed to happen. You carried the discomfort home with you until it spilled over into your relationship. 

And, thanks to Frankie really, it forced you to talk about it. Your boyfriend, Joel, had been drifting away. Complacent and avoidant. He’d been staying late at work, canceling on your weekend plans, always too tired to fuck, generally just a bad-tempered brick wall rather than a boyfriend. But after a serious conversation and some threats you hoped you wouldn’t have to follow through on, he’d agreed to make changes. 

It was working, too. You made date nights a priority. You sent flirty texts during the day–even if neither of you had time to respond right away. 

When he had long days during the week, you’d give him a back massage. You’d sit straddling his ass, rubbing down his shoulder blades, kneading circles with your thumbs, and savoring the view of his broad back and the warmth of his body under yours. You would pull the stress and tension away from his neck and spine, eliciting low groans of pleasure from Joel that would stir up the heat pooling in your core. You’d keep it up until you lulled him to sleep–or on your favorite nights–he’d flip over underneath you and watch you ride him until you were both slick with sweat, panting, and needing another quick shower before succumbing to sleep. 

It’s those tender moments that make it hurt that much more now. 

To think he could just throw you away like this. That he didn’t think you were worth the face-to-face conversation. Worth the closure. Just leaving you a fucking note, like you were a business transaction. Here’s your memo letting you know he no longer requires your services. 

Fucking coward. 

You re-read the letter for the thousandth time. It’s real, and you aren’t insane. You shove it back into your apron pocket. It’s your token. A reminder that this hell is your reality. 

You slip back to the front counter, plastering on your best customer service smile. 

But of course, it’s fucking Frankie. The concern is written across his face before he even gets to the counter. Are you that easy to read? You’re never going to make it through your shift. 

“You doing okay?” he asks softly as if he might spook you. Stupid big brown eyes. Just like Joel’s. They make you weak. You can’t be weak. You try to shift into a more defensive mode–chest forward, shoulders back. 

“Why? Do I look like shit today?” 

“No, never,” he tries to reassure you. Always so sweet to you. 

“Sorry, I just mean, I wouldn’t be surprised. I feel like shit.” You grumble as you grab his drip coffee and set it on the counter between the two of you. 

“I take it he’s still gone then?” 

You can only nod back in agreement. Can’t even look Frankie in the eyes; you just linger on his mouth and scruffy jaw where it seems safer to stare. Until his mouth shifts into a sympathetic frown. 

“You deserve better, you know,” he says like it’s a confession. Only meant for you and his coffee to hear. 

“Sure,” you sigh. Maybe he’s right. You deserve someone that can look you in the eye when they break up with you. Explain in more than a few sentences why they’d block you and disappear like a fucking ghost. Maybe you never really knew Joel at all if he could do this to you. 

You can feel your eyes welling up again, your face is still swollen from crying all night, and you’re sick of the emotional whiplash. Did you miss the signs the whole time? Was it something you did? Will you ever know? The cafe starts to blur as your heart rate increases. 

“Hey,” Frankie murmurs, “breathe.” It’s soft, but the timbre of his voice draws your attention. You focus on inhaling and exhaling, willing away the sobs. Just as you steady, they almost start all over again when you think about how pathetic you must seem to him. Standing at the register, sucking in shaky breath, and trying not to have a complete breakdown. 

But Frankie assures you he doesn’t think you’re pathetic. And somehow, you get through the morning. And the next. Day by day, you crawl through the week against everything inside of you that wants to scream and hide in bed for a month. By the end of the week, the only thought that gets you through the opening routine is that it’s your last shift before the weekend. 

There’s no way you could survive another shift just going through the motions like an undead barista. You know you’re on the edge, fragile and raw. You can just get through today and then spend the weekend locked in your bed wallowing, ugly crying, binge eating, anything. 

Your flimsy resistance almost crumbles when Frankie shows up with flowers for you. It’s too sweet. He seems so concerned. He claims he wanted you to have something to help cheer you up over the weekend. 

His thoughtful gesture is overwhelming. Having someone care about you, think of you, worry about you? And worse, to know that it could be so easy for someone to show you they care. 

To know that you aren’t hard to love. 

He notices the way your eyes shine, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. He apologizes, “If it’s too much, you don’t have to take them. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I definitely didn’t want to make you cry.” 

You assure him they’re lovely and that you appreciate the gesture. You give him your warmest smile through your misty eyes. And you take the flowers home. 

You stare at them all weekend. 

Your favorite flowers. How did he know? They make you think of Frankie all weekend. His smile, how reliable he is with his routine, his thoughtfulness, how kind he is to you. 

The qualities you thought you had found in Joel. 

You let yourself embrace your agony for the weekend. Determined to make it through at least the first stage of grief. As if you can allot a number of hours to it and just check it off your list. 

A part of you admits that there’s something comforting about knowing you’ll see Frankie again Monday morning. That someone will check in on you. 

And he does. 

Reliable as ever, he shows up in the dark cover of the early morning. You greet each other with your deep morning voices, and there’s something about the fact that you’re the first person you both speak to every morning that draws a genuine smile from you. 

You keep going to work. Frankie keeps showing up. The world keeps turning.

Days pass and you can start to fall asleep without having to exhaust yourself completely. Some of the weight on your chest sloughs off when your ribs shake with laughter at Frankie’s jokes. His charm brightens your dark days. 

One afternoon, as you’re dropping an armful of grocery bags onto the counter, you notice the flowers he gave you. They’re starting to wilt. You hesitate to toss them for some reason. Convinced they’ve got another day in them, at least. 

You sweep up the fallen petals and pollen, spinning the vase to find the best angle left. The flowers may be fading, but Frankie is beginning to occupy a permanent residence in your mind. You find yourself keeping mental notes of things you want to share with him the next morning. A joke about a show you both keep up with, something you saw on your walk home, a question you forgot to ask the day before because you were distracted. 

Distracted by things that don’t sound like they could possibly be distracting. Like the curve of his bottom lip or the space where his neck meets his shoulder. Or worse, the way he smiles so wide you can see his dimples when you double down on an argument about a movie, TV show, or the best takeout on this side of town. 

The next morning he has fresh flowers for you. It’s as if he knew you were hesitating to get rid of them, to lose the physical evidence. You squint at him with a playful accusation of how did you know they were on their last legs? He reasons it’s been a week already. A week. It feels like it’s only been a day, and at the same time, it feels like a whole month has passed. 

It helps. 

The following week is much of the same. Morning chats with Frankie. Busy shifts with rushes and endless cleaning tasks. Running errands, trying to keep in touch with friends, trying to keep yourself too busy and distracted to fall back into the sharp pain of loss. Of coming home to an empty apartment. Of waking up alone. Of the way Joel erased himself so completely from your life, you have to find tangible reminders that he was ever real. 

You loosen your grip on the hope that Joel might show up with an apology or even respond to the text you had sent. He can’t even hear you out or answer a single question? You give up altogether on the idea that the whole thing might have been some confusing mistake.

There’s still a hole rotting in your heart, but if you stay busy enough, you can ignore it. Mostly. 

You stick to your plan, steadfast that time will heal your wounds. Days pass, and you find yourself once again asking Frankie what he has planned for the day. But this time, he hesitates. 

Frankie tells you he’ll be out of town for a few days. You aren’t sure why, but it feels like he jammed his fingers into that hole in your heart when he tells you. Don’t abandon me. Please. 

He must see right through you. 

“Here,” he says, holding out his hand. “I know it’s only a few days, but I was thinking I don’t want to miss out on your remarkably accurate reality TV predictions. You take the napkin with his number written on it. How old-fashioned. It makes your heart flutter. “Keep me updated.” 

You swallow the butterflies and turn the energy into a smirk. “You’re so going to regret this,” you tease. 

You feel lit from within, glowing and floaty for the rest of your shift. Getting the hot regular’s number gives you a rush. It’s not like he asked you on a date or anything, but still, it feels good to have someone want to keep talking to you. 

Until you clock out and immediately start spiraling. Should you text him now just to give him your number? Wish him a safe trip? Play it cool and wait until tomorrow morning? Or maybe he’s busy in the morning? Shit. You never even asked what his trip was for. 

……

It’s early afternoon when Frankie’s phone buzzes. Your shift must have just ended. 

You: it’s me!

You: figured it’s only fair you get my number now, too 

Frankie: Hey you :) 

You: hey :) 

You: i hope the trip goes well 

Frankie: Thanks, it’ll be better now. 

You: how come? 

He underestimated you. He thought he wouldn’t hear from you until tomorrow. Thought it would take longer. 

Frankie: Well, I just got this pretty girl’s number. Now I’ve got her updates to look forward to. 

He shakes his head to himself, pocketing his phone and stretching out on his sofa. 

Maybe he didn’t need the ruse of being out of town at all. You don’t need the absence to suck you in any deeper; you’re moving on faster than he thought. Good. 

He sprawls out across the couch like a lazy dog in the sun, TV on mute, still fully dressed. He drags his eyes over the bare walls of his apartment. He’s going to need the next few days to make the place seem a little more welcoming. More like a place you’d be happy to wake up in. 

He checks the notes hidden in his phone of places you shop, your favorite color, the way your apartment is decorated. He already knows what you want. What you need. With that thought, he drifts off, satisfied, into a long nap. 

He doesn’t wake until his evening alarm goes off, checking his phone to see what reality show you’re going to be glued to tonight. MILF manor. Who comes up with these? He rolls his eyes, stretching, yawning, and traipsing across his apartment to find some cold pizza in the fridge. 

Holding one slice between his teeth and the other in one hand, he debates whether he should take a drive through your neighborhood or stay in for the night. His phone buzzes again, and he figures it’s a sign. He drops his pants near the hallway and scarfs his cold dinner as he settles back in the living room, unmuting the show and opening your messages. 

You’re funny. 

Sending quick-witted observations and callbacks. 

You force him to pay attention. You’re sharp. If he doesn’t watch, you’ll know. You always call him out for missing the nuance. You challenge that he could predict the next winner if he paid closer attention. 

When you get frustrated with him and huff about how he missed something completely obvious, he memorizes your expressions. The fire in your eyes when you’re passionate. You feel so deeply and express your emotions so freely. 

He likes that about you. Funny. Smart. Bold. Passionate. Sexy.

Perfect. 

He lets his mind wander as he leans back. The room glows from the light of the TV, flashing brighter and dimmer. The look on your face when he said he’d be gone for a few days pops into his mind, how your eyes flashed wide and the soft pout that tugged at your bottom lip. 

You need him. It’s so clear. And you’re so perfect. 

The show is just noise. Static. 

He closes out of your messages. Opening up his photos. Scrolling through pictures of you. Some from social media, and some taken while you were working and unaware. 

Perfect. 

His eyes fall shut as he tips his head back, relaxed and comfortable as he sinks deeper into the cushion. 

“Perfect lips, perfect mouth,” he mutters to himself as he sets the phone aside altogether. 

It’s a simple but effective scene that plays out in his mind. A go-to fantasy since the day he first laid eyes on you. 

He wedges his boxers down just far enough to free his half-hard cock. He tries to start slow, with languid strokes as he imagines the heat of your mouth sucking him deeper. The sight of you looking up at him with your lips stretched around him. 

“Just perfect,” he groans to himself. He can’t hold back his urgency at the thought of you, quickly amping up the speed of his wrist and the strength of his grip. It’s minutes, or maybe seconds before his muscles are tensing and jerking as he comes to the thought of you. 

It eases the tension, but he still needs you. Soon. 

……

The rest of your week passes quickly. 

Your head is in the clouds over your new texting buddy. You check your phone on all your breaks but send yourself into another spiral, trying to work out the balance between enthusiastic but not needy. Responding quickly, but not being too much. You don’t want to come off as crazy.

It fully absorbs your attention. The excitement and the anxiety. The rush when you get a new message and the anguish over every word you type. Rereading your messages until you get a response. Worrying yourself over your silly jokes and banter. But when he responds, it’s addictive. You’re smitten when he matches your energy or sends a flirty quip. 

It makes you smile so hard your cheeks burn. You get distracted taking orders. It’s all-consuming. 

………

Frankie keeps tabs on you the rest of the week. When you walk home from work, when you run errands, when you’re out with your friends. He picks up things for his apartment while you’re at work. At night, he drives down your block. He watches you watching TV. Until dark, then you diligently shut your curtains just as the last dregs of the sunset disappear. 

Tonight, he lingers, still parked across the street from your apartment building. He sends another text, and his eyes flick to your curtains like you might open them back up just for him. You’re such a good girl for that, though–not letting anyone else watch. 

Frankie: I’m back tomorrow. You have weekend plans? 

You: that’s great! no plans for me

Frankie: You want to watch tomorrow’s episode together? 

You: that would be fun! 

Frankie: Perfect :) 

………

You don’t know why you offered to host. You feel like your place has been a mess. Since Joel left, you’ve been letting your depression piles calcify. You shove your laundry into the washer, toss your unopened mail into a drawer, and do your best to make it look like you’re a fully functioning adult. 

Something about having Frankie over has you feeling pent up. 

You’re nervous. Excited. And you’re still unregulated and exhausted from the emotional devastation of Joel disappearing on you. You’ve been letting yourself sink into the distraction of making a new friend. A hot, new friend. But as helpful as the distraction is, you still haven’t really processed the pain. 

Maybe it’s too soon to let yourself think about Frankie all the time. Maybe you need to really feel your misery and figure out what you missed. What you did wrong. No, even your body rejects that idea, sending a shiver of anxiety through you. 

Fuck it. 

You’re both single adults. There’s no rulebook that says you can’t entertain a new crush. So what’s the harm? You’re hoping that seeing Frankie in person will help you get clarity on the flirty vibe of his texts. Are they truly flirty, or are you just delusional? 

You do your best to find a casual “just watching trash TV” type of outfit after your everything shower. You bought enough snacks to feed a high school football team, you know, just in case. You flutter around your space, hastily cleaning anything else you can think of, worried about details that only an evil in-law would scrutinize you for. 

Despite your frenzy and feeling on edge all afternoon, the concern all seems to vanish when Frankie shows up at your door. You welcome him in and swoon a little over the fresh flowers he brought you. You still have some nerves that don’t relent, but they’re the smiley, giggly, butterfly type of nerves now. 

As you get settled, it all feels surprisingly easy. 

You make each other laugh. You offer your insane spread of snacks, and he settles next to you on your sofa before the episode starts. He appreciates all of your commentary and banters with you over your strongest opinions. It feels surprisingly natural to be spending time together like this. Without an espresso machine between you. 

You’re taken with his presence. He balances you. Even when he debates your controversial takes and unpopular opinions, he doesn’t get worked up like you. 

His calm demeanor is grounding. His nearness and steadiness relaxes you.  

The stress let down makes your head feel heavy, and without thinking, you rest your temple against Frankie’s shoulder with a deep sigh. It feels comforting until you realize how forward you’re being and snap your head back up. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you blurt out, scooting away. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, voice soft and low. 

He’s staring at you so intently. You feel the heat in your face, embarrassed at acting so comfortable with him and self-conscious under his gaze. You still don’t really know what he wants. And you don’t want to fuck anything up. But he doesn’t seem bothered. In fact, you swear his eyes drop to your mouth before they flick back up. 

“More than okay,” he adds, and your stomach flips at his honesty. “Here,” he shifts and invites you to scoot under his arm. You get comfortable, resting your head on his chest. 

You try to watch the TV, but you can feel Frankie watching you. It makes you restless and unable to think clearly. You peer up at him. It’s a charged look; maybe it was already obvious, but you hadn’t felt confident enough to put the pieces together until now. 

“What?” You whisper, unable to fight the smile pulling at your mouth. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs. 

Uh oh. Your breath hitches, and something in you cracks. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you try to hide it, whispering thanks into his chest and looking down. 

“Hey,” he tilts your chin to look up at him. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to will away the emotions that bubble up inside of you. “That’s really sweet of you.” You steady your breathing, slower and deeper. What is wrong with you? You expected something flirty. You didn’t expect something so.. heartfelt?

The more you slow your breathing, the more it feels like you’re inhaling the essence of Frankie. Whatever combination of laundry detergent, deodorant, body wash, whatever it is is all combined it’s soothing. Nice. It calms you. 

But why? How does just breathing against him make you feel safe? 

You can’t even think about safety. You can’t count on anyone else. What if he leaves out of nowhere, too? Your thoughts pick up, racing. Falling deeper into your anxieties. You aren’t even on a date; you shouldn’t be worried about this guy abandoning you. 

Your fears eat at you, worsening your fragile state. Your body shakes gently as you try to breathe through the anxiety. 

Frankie runs his hand along your back. He’s so warm, solid, and strong. 

You feel like you must seem insane, which makes your emotional flooding worse. He just keeps murmuring at you about how you’re okay, and he pulls you into his arms to give you a firm hug, regulating you. Fixing you. 

When you lean back to apologize for crying on him, he shakes his head in disagreement. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says it like he means it, like he won’t be taking questions or arguments. You sniffle as you do your best to accept that. “You still look beautiful,” he says, pulling you back towards him. 

It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear. Your face nestles against his neck. Delirious with your state of mind and his flattery and reassurance. You can’t stop yourself from kissing his neck. The exact spot you’ve been so distracted by on so many mornings. His skin is soft and warm; you can taste your tears, wet and salty on your lips. You do it again before you freeze. What are you doing? 

Frankie’s hand slips up the back of your neck, cradling your head in his warm palm. It feels like encouragement. You test your theory, pressing another gentle kiss to his jaw where his scruffy beard tickles your nose. 

The TV might still be on, but all you can hear is your breathing and his. The sound of your lips against his skin. And the low-pitched noise in Frankie’s throat that urges you on. Provoking a needful fire within you. Intense and frantic. You nip at his ear before stamping open-mouthed kisses back down his neck, pulling back only to breathe hot and humid against his skin. 

You hesitate, a frenzied desire has you wanting to straddle his lap and take more and more, but something makes you pause. Frankie knows. He feels your weight shifting and makes the move for you, pulling you onto his lap. 

“I know,” he says as his large hands wrap around both sides of your jaw. “Keep going.” The encouragement pours over you like warm honey. Face to face, you wrap your arms around his neck. The last thread of your doubt snaps and you close the gap. Pressing your lips together. Softly for a second, before your mouths are parting and your tongues and teeth work fervently to express your desire. 

Then it becomes a desperate blur, your fingers curling into his hair, tugging until he’s groaning into your mouth. His hands slipping under your shirt, hot against your skin, snaking back down to knead the curve of your ass while you roll your hips, grinding into his lap in search of friction. 

You feel him hardening beneath you and a molten hot thrill radiates between your legs. There’s a raw quality to your movements as you bite at his lip, scratch at his shoulders, and whine with a frustrated edge. 

You’re taking out all your emotional distress on him. Or, rather, you’re begging him to erase it all, to bite back harder, to use force, to dominate. You keep trying to use your body instead of words. Just teeth, nails, and needy writhing. Anything sharp, forceful, rough. An offering. 

Tears still roll down your cheeks, hot with anger, anguish, and everything you can’t name. You aren’t interested in exploring your emotions. You need something more visceral. 

You sit back, hands shooting towards Frankie’s belt, chasing more, when he stops you in your tracks. His hand possessively grips below your jaw, forcing you to look at him. 

Your cunt throbs at the look on his face. The soft, gentle Frankie is gone. His face is hard and dangerous as he studies you. For some reason that makes you want him even more. 

His fingers dig into your cheek eliciting a sharp inhale from you, parting your lips into a small “o” shape, before he releases you. You know you’re a mess. Teary, panting, wild-eyed–but his lips curl into sinful grin. Reflexively you tilt your pelvis, drawing the heat of your core along the ridge of his erection. Your eyes flutter shut, as you aim to forget yourself and focus on the sensation. 

But his chest shakes, jostling you in his lap, with his rumbly, dark chuckle. It’s condescending, startling you and stilling your hips. You blink at Frankie. The charged air is thick. The rest of the room has faded. Your brows furrow as you wonder, but your thighs tense. 

“Keep going.” 

It’s a demand this time, not an affirmation or encourager. His sinister smirk is gone, replaced by a frighteningly blank stare. His carnivorous eyes drop, watching your fingers as you work open his belt and jeans. 

Shit. You can tell he’s big as you trace your fingers along his cock, over his boxers, savoring the heat in your palm. The damp fabric at the tip pleases you, and you peel the waistband down to reveal the glorious vision that has you wetting your lips. 

“Shit,” you repeat out loud this time. A primal, hungry need possesses you as you admire his cock. The glistening head, thick shaft, and dark patch of curls at the base. Just the sight of him is intoxicatingly masculine and dominant. 

You need him in your mouth. 

You slink off his lap, sinking to your knees between his legs. Excitement flutters in your pussy and you feel like you’ve fallen into a into a trance. Your body moves faster than your mind, tugging at his jeans as he repositions at the edge of the couch. 

“I know,” he mutters under his breath as you wrap your hand around the smooth skin. “I know what you need,” he continues. You can only hum in response. Preoccupied by the slip of your thumb dragging a trail of precome down along the underside of his cock. 

He cups the back of your head, urging you towards his tip with a commanding open growled down at you. You want to pout for not getting the chance to tease and savor the moment, but you don’t have the time when he slides past your lips and hits the back of your throat. 

You choke, sputtering around him and pulling back. His hand encourages you to try again and you’re eager to take it like he gives it. Refocusing on controlling your breath, you look up to see the fierceness in his eyes on his otherwise blank face. A confusing mix of warning and excitement stirs in your core, making you squirm on your knees. 

The discomfort makes something flicker across his face. 

You try again, determined, like you’ve got something to prove. You pull his other hand to your cheek. Please lead. You catch the start of a smirk on his face before he’s guiding you once again. It makes your mind blank; all you can do is breathe and focus on relaxing your muscles. It’s a welcome release from the stress. Grounding you in the present. You can only think as fast as he can glide along your tongue. 

As you build a rhythm, he verges on brutal, but when you’re rewarded with the delicious sound of Frankie groaning because of you the intensity means nothing. Your eyes water as you refuse to gag out of sheer willpower. His thumb smears your tears across your cheekbone, and he pulls you off of his cock.

He takes in your swollen lips, ragged breathing, and wet lashes like he’s committing the details to memory as you catch your breath, before he’s tapping at your cheek. You open wide for him and he rests the head of his cock on your tongue, shallowly tipping you back and forth. 

Your jaw could be aching or your knees may be digging into the rug, but it doesn’t matter to you. It’s much easier to meditate on the weight of his length slipping along your wet tongue. Centering yourself on that thought, your eyes flutter shut. 

You wonder if this side of Frankie has always been lurking beneath the surface. Chillingly collected, but with something viscous bleeding into the edges. You wonder if maybe you’ve called to this part of him with the mayhem of your state of mind. 

“Yeah,” Frankie rasps in his gravelly tone causing you to blink back up at him. You wonder if he can read your mind; if he was answering you. The hint of a smile remains on the corner of his lips when you look up, “Making you feel better already.” He’s presumptive but accurate. 

You give a muffled affirmation that vibrates in your throat as he slides past your lips and you take him deep as he can be. All your senses are filled with Frankie when you inhale, when you swallow, when you blink. You give, pliant for him, trusting him with the control. You don’t worry about how obscene you might look with tears rolling down your cheeks. You just want to hear what other sounds he might make for you. His thumb drags over your cheek again, wiping away the wet streaks. 

“This is the only reason you ever cry for me.” Frankie’s voice is dripping with affection. And possession. 

It makes everything foggy. The sentiment, the delivery, the authority. He doesn’t let you dwell on the unspoken commitment in his statement. Doesn’t give you the time to question him or spiral inward. 

Your head swims until he pulls you up, strips you, and settles you back onto his lap. Some action movie autoplayed after your episode ended. The crashing and explosions of the chase scene in the background don’t ruin the moment, in a twisted way it’s almost a fitting soundtrack for the two of you. 

Frankie allows you to pull his shirt up, over his head, and time slows. The warmth radiating between your bodies is nothing compared to the searing heat of Frankie’s gaze. It’s dizzying, between his torrid expression and his grip on your hips as he guides you closer. 

You go entirely mindless when the head of his cock nudges your clit, gasping as he slips along your wet seam. It brings everything into focus for you, and you reach between your bodies to guide him directly to your deplorably empty cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” your word turns to a groan as he breaches your entrance, and you tense at the stretch, holding still. 

“Keep going,” he orders lowly, and you inch down until he impatiently takes control, slamming you down until you meet his hips. Your mouth hangs open at his move and the immediate fullness. His hardened look softens as your walls ripple and flex, adjusting to his size. 

At least until you start moving, grinding against him, slowly at first. Then the sharp sternness returns. You’re unaware, chasing the friction as your clit rubs against the dark hair surrounding the base of his cock. 

“Knew you’d be perfect,” he says it more like an I told you so to himself than praise for you, but the words affect you just the same. Your chest rises, swelling with pride, and you chase his approval instead of your pleasure. 

You ride him until your thighs burn. His hands are everywhere. Rolling your nipples between his fingers, squeezing all of your soft curves, spreading your legs wider to watch where he disappears inside of you. You bounce eagerly for him, spine arching to draw his eyes to the way your tits ripple from the force of your body colliding into his. 

You whine in disapproval when he interrupts you, pulling you flush against his chest, grazing his teeth along your neck. “Give it to me,” Frankie demands, his voice rough and raw, breath hot along your sweat-damp skin. 

He runs his hand down your body, thumb circling your clit, adding the pressure you need. You edge closer and closer, body taut with anticipation. “Come for me,” he commands. It’s the authority and his gravelly voice rolling through you that launches you into a shuddering release. 

Frankie continues talking while you’re disoriented by the overwhelming pleasure. “For me,” he grunts through clenched teeth as your pussy contracts around him. “I know that’s what you need.” You can only moan as you cling to his broad shoulders. “Only me.” 

You figure he’s just rambling until he grabs you by the jaw again, demanding you respond. Demanding you repeat it for him. And you do. With glassy eyes and you mutter his words back to him. Declaring you only come for him. That you need him. 

Your words unlock something within Frankie. “Good,” he approves. “Good girl.” He praises you gruffly as he holds you steady, pounding into you with an untamed strength. You’re floating, starry-eyed and softheaded at his praise. Murmuring sentence fragments and his name, conjuring throaty grunts from Frankie until he stills, coming deep inside of you. “Only me,” he echoes and you confirm. 

“Only you.” 

In your unguarded state, it’s a welcome commitment. Maybe you haven’t had any real dates yet, but he knows you. He wants you. He tells you he wants to take care of you, and that feels fucking good. 

You collapse against his chest, matching his breathing. The movie playing behind you reaches a tragic twist, setting the third act in motion and solidifying the protagonists dark path. You run your tongue along the column of Frankie’s throat as the score of the film hangs unresolved on a dissonant chord. He pulls you to his lips, kissing you possessively and captivating you. 

Your bodies flow, connected and attuned. In his lap, in his arms, with his tongue slipping between your lips, you feel wanted. Assured. Content to accept that he knows what you need. 

And he’s unrelenting. Determined to prove it to you. Again and again. 

All night. On the couch, in the shower, in your bed. 

Until the night bleeds into the morning and he doesn’t disappear. 

You take turns waking and watching one another sleep. Verifying he’s real. Watching your chest rise and fall before drifting off again. Until the sun heats your room and you wake again to find yourself curled into his broad frame. His chest to your back as he draws his fingers down your along the dip and swell of your waist and hip. 

“Did you mean it?” you ask, in a strikingly solemn tone for the soft setting. Breath shallow as you stare off toward the window. Not ready to turn and face him in the daylight. 

“Every word.” He punctuates his affirmation with a tender kiss behind your ear. His reassurance satisfies you; warmth blooms from your chest spreading to your fingers and toes. 

You spend a lazy Sunday together. Eating, laughing, fucking, and gazing at each other like lovesick teenagers. It’s too sweet to end. Instead, you become inseparable, taking turns staying at each other’s places until you have to go back. 

The world feels bright again. Lighter. 

He had paid such close attention as you got to know each other. He’s almost suspiciously perfect. Picking up your favorite takeout meals, putting on your favorite movies, and keeping your flowers fresh as the weeks pass. 

You feel like you can never get enough of him somehow. You think about him all day at work, even though he still visits you every morning like clockwork. Your heart swells when he meets you at the end of your shift to walk you home. 

You find yourself canceling your happy hour dates with friends to stay in with Frankie instead. Postponing and rescheduling, you’ll see them soon. It’s like there aren’t enough minutes in the day to get your fill of Frankie. 

You’re insatiable, always needing him in your mouth, between your legs, fucking you through the mattress, on the counter, any surface you can find. You’re never too much. He’s equally infatuated with you, a mutual obsession. Fulfilling your darker desires and unleashing fantasies you’ve never felt safe enough to explore. He’s greedy and hungry for you. Making you feel wanted and desired. 

With your head in the clouds, all you can see is how much he cares about you. He texts you whenever you’re apart, picks you up after your shifts, shows you off to his friends. 

You barely have to do anything for yourself. He’s always thinking of you, predicting your needs before know them yourself. He picks up your mail for you, runs errands before you get home, and stocks his apartment with all of the products you use and love so you don’t have to go home for days at a time. 

Things are so good that it’s rare when something goes wrong. 

But when it does, it really fucking hurts. 

When you get into an argument, a real one, he doesn’t fight with you. He leaves, swiftly and without another word. He doesn’t respond to your texts or calls. It feels like you’ve been torn in half; you sob and shake alone in your bed until your alarm blares and your headache throbs. 

He doesn’t respond the following day, doesn’t come in for coffee, and doesn’t show any signs of existing. You move through your shift like a hollow corpse haunting the cafe. Time drags agonizingly slowly. 

Every time the door opens your eyes snap towards the entrance, hoping to see the familiar curls and broad shoulders, but it’s not him. You restart your phone just on the odd chance there’s something wrong with it. He wouldn’t abandon you. He knows that would destroy you. 

The void in your chest is cold and dark. Anger simmers somewhere inside of it, but it’s not strong enough to set you off. When Frankie shows up at the end of your shift, the anger is snuffed out completely. His presence immediately reverses your heartbreak, and suddenly you’re apologizing to him before he gets a word out. 

You have to. He has to know you wouldn’t do anything to make him leave. He can’t. He’s calm, accepting your apology and taking you home where he erases your pain. With his hands, and mouth, and cock. Until you forget what the argument was ever about, and what it felt like to watch him walk away. Until it’s back to normal. 

Every day you rely on him more and more; you can’t breathe without him. But when he’s with you, everything feels easy. Right. 

Not many things can throw the two of you off. Your friends seem happy enough for you, despite their questions and insistence that you come out with them more often. You get along well with Frankie’s friends. They’re quick witted and welcome you genuinely. 

They treat you like family, but it doesn’t stop Frankie’s jealousy from flaring up. If Benny smiles at you for too long or if you rest a hand on Will’s bicep when you laugh it only takes minutes before Frankie’s fingers dig into your arm and he whisks you away. 

It gives you a perverse thrill every time. 

When he folds you over the bathroom counter at his friend’s house. Demanding you watch in the mirror as he reminds you with a fierce snarl and devastating thrusts that you’re his. When you can still hear his friends horseing around outside, but he pounds into you with such force, you can’t quiet yourself. He slaps a hand around your mouth to silence you, growling into your ear that you’ll take it quietly, like a good girl. 

Sometimes you aren’t even sure what triggers him. 

Like when he fucks you against the side of his SUV in the parking lot of the trendy bar Benny had invited you both to. All you can piece together is Frankie muttering something about your dress as he yanks the top of it down letting your tits spill into the cool night air. He’s reckless and animalistic, claiming you roughly under the stars and streetlights before you can even get into the car let alone through your front door.

…..

Tonight, you both know exactly what got under his skin. Maybe not the why of it all, but he’s sure you know how he feels, and he wants to hear you say it. 

It started this afternoon. He picked you up from work, like usual, and you chatted in the car as he drove to the grocery store. You sighed, tiredly as you recounted an exchange with a rude customer, but when Frankie pulled your hand towards his mouth to press a gentle kiss to the delicate skin on your inner wrist. 

Predictably, it brightened your features. Knowing your buttons doesn’t dull the intoxicating effect you have on him, though. He loves the way you light up so easily for him and it serves to deepen his conviction time and time again. Like a constant affirmation that he is where he is supposed to be. That everything he does for is exactly what he should be doing. Exactly what you need. 

He was still ruminating on this as you led him through the aisles of the grocery store. Unbothered that you had to double back to the produce section after forgetting some fresh herb you determined was crucial to the dish you planned out. You dashed around the corner in front of him, with a giggle when Frankie’s heart stilled. 

He didn’t have time to distract you. Your laughter cut off immediately. 

“What the fuck?” you muttered and Frankie grabbed your hand. 

Joel’s pace quickened as he brushed past you. Your head turned, calling his name once, but Joel carried on as if you didn’t exist. Frankie studied your face, emotions flooded your expression as you watched Joel walking away. Something darker flickered across them. 

Frankie followed your line of sight. Flowers. Joel was carrying a bouquet of flowers.

You apologized to Frankie. Clearly thrown off, but determined not to let it get to you or to Frankie. 

“I didn’t know he even lived here still,” you remarked. 

He doesn’t. The possessive fire burned through Frankie’s veins. “We’re going,” he commanded in a low tone that made your eyes flare wide. 

“What?”

“Now.”

“We can’t leave everything.” 

“They won’t arrest us.” He argued, as he all but carried you out the door, ushering you in a blur to his car and all the way home. Frankie moved swiftly and silently. Wholly consumed by the need to feel you writhing underneath him and crying out his name. He needed it so viscerally, he didn’t even have time to process how he was going to deal with Joel. 

Until you’re breathless and shuddering beneath him. Repeating everything he wants to hear. 

“Only for you,” you repeat as you rake your nails down his shoulder blades and the plane of his back. 

“Again,” he demands. You don’t know if he wants you to keep talking or to come again, but both are inevitable at this point. 

“I’m yours,” you pant, wrapping your legs around him as if you could pull him any deeper inside of you. He shifts slightly, angling your hips and your cunt clenches around him pulling him devastatingly close to the edge as you moan his name. 

He stills and you whine in protest as Frankie stretches past you to pick his phone up off the bedside table. “Keep going,” he orders as he points the lens at you. He needs you to say it again. He adjusts to resume his pace, snapping his hips into causing your lips to part with another moan. 

“I’m yours,” you repeat, “all yours.” He gives you a dark smile as he records you. Capturing all the lewd, wet sounds as he drives his cock into you, the euphoric smile that spreads on your face, and the words you know he always wants to hear. 

“Mine,” he agrees. 

……

You don’t see Joel again. And you don’t have time to dwell on the encounter anyway. Frankie keeps you busy and satisfied, and even surprises you by asking you to move in with him officially. Maybe it feels soon, but you spend nearly every day together anyway and the idea delights you. 

It’s an easy transition. You downsize some of your duplicate appliances, joking with him about how he must have great taste for having so many of the same products. He admits that you inspired a few of his purchases. 

You settle into a routine quickly, not much changes. 

Sometimes in the early morning, when you slip out of bed in the dark to get ready for your shift, you wonder if it’s all real. If someone can care about you as deeply as you care about them. But by the time you’re showered and dressed, he greets you with a sleepy kiss before pulling on his usual workout attire and driving you to work. 

You let your gaze linger this morning. Trailing along his profile as he drives, admiring all the details that you used to wonder about from the other side of the counter. His neck, those arms, his hands, those lips. They’re illuminated in flashes as you pass under the streetlights. 

You catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He always knows when you’re looking. He rests a hand just above your knee. He always knows what you need. And idea takes root in your mind, and you do everything to stop yourself from smiling and giving yourself away. It’ll take a few days to organize. He’s almost impossible to surprise. 

……

Later in the week, Frankie is on autopilot. Kicking off his shoes and pulling his sweaty shirt over his head before he lopes towards the ensuite for a shower. He only makes it a few strides before he’s on edge, noticing the lights he didn’t remember leaving on. He hears your voice. Relief and confusion twist together in his chest. How did you get back here before him? 

Walking into the bedroom you are a sexy surprise wrapped in red lingerie he’s never seen you wear before, but something is wrong. Your shoulders are curled inward, your cheeks are wet, and you’re hastily tying up your matching red satin robe. 

He scans the room, swallowing thickly when he notices the open coset door and the missing box on the shelf. 

He calls your name softly. 

“What is this, Frankie?” your voice shakes. Unsteady and wavering between fear and anger. 

You hold up his phone. Well, his other phone. Shit. 

…..

“Answer me,” you beg. Desperate for an explanation. For something to make sense. To understand how you went looking for the box with fuzzy handcuffs and instead found a phone with a new message from a number you still recognized. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest and when he takes you into his arms you flinch. You want to shove him off of you. Despite your hostility, your body is still drawn to his. He always knows what you need. In his arms your heart feels tethered to his, like they could merge through the proximity of your rib cages. Like they beat for each other. 

“You trust me, right?” he asks. 

“Explain, please,” is all you can whisper. 

“It was to keep you safe,” he starts. 

“From what?” 

“To protect you. Joel wasn’t good for you. He couldn’t take care of you. Not the way you deserve.” 

“How would you know?” it’s still not making sense to you. 

“You told me.” He’s so self-assured. Like, he’s always right. Like, he can’t even imagine why you’d be upset right now. “I did it for you,” he adds. 

“Did what?” you need him to say it out loud. You need him to fix this. 

“I know you thought Joel was trying, but he was only going to drag it out. Disappoint you over and over. Can you imagine what it would’ve been like for me to watch you go through that?” 

You don’t answer. 

“I couldn’t watch. I made him an offer, but he’s a stubborn man.” 

You snort quietly at that understatement. Nobody tells Joel what to do. 

“I just had to find the right leverage.” 

Frankie holds you so tight, you can’t wriggle around to look him in the eyes. 

“He couldn’t give you what you need, not like I can. I know what you need. And, think of how fast you got over him anyway. You were mine all along.” 

You’re lightheaded. From the shock of finding the evidence. From his words. From the way you believe him. You want to sit down. You tap at his arms insistently, begging against his chest, but he keeps talking. His deep voice rumbling in your ears. 

“You wouldn’t have understood it then. I had to keep it from you to protect you. So we could have what we have now.” He’s not listening to you. Not letting you go. It makes you snap. 

“Let go of me!” 

“You have to understand first.” 

“I’ll listen,” you plead. “Just let me breathe.” He lets you step back, but doesn’t release you from his grip. His hands are glued to your arms. He waits, steady and chillingly calm.

Slowly, the pieces start to fall into place. The unanswered questions from your breakup. The way Joel completely vanished. 

“I thought he just left,” you whisper to yourself. 

“He did,” Frankie argues. 

“I thought he didn’t want me,” you continue. 

“He didn’t. Not the way that I want you.” 

Something cold trickles down your spine and you look at Frankie. For a moment he’s a complete stranger. Your stomach sinks and your vision spins. Slamming your eyes shut you filter through your racing thoughts. 

It wasn’t fate that led you into Frankie’s arms. 

You wound up crying on his cock by design, trying to fuck away the pain of a heartbreak that wasn’t even real. You’ve fallen into a whole new life, while the man you had loved may have never stopped loving you back? 

“You blackmailed Joel Miller?” 

“Technically, it’s extortion.” 

It’s all there on the surface. Exposed between the two of you. Who Frankie really is. Cunning and competent. Devoted and dangerous. Possessive and powerful. 

“It worked, until he came to town for someone’s engagement party.” 

“When we saw him at the store?” Frankie nods. “And then you sent him the video we made.” 

“Hearing it from you seemed to do the trick. He knows you’re mine and you only want me.” 

Frankie gives you time to study him. Absorbing the information. The gleam in his dark eyes. The same eyes from when he would visit you at work. Just as fierce and just as earnest. 

You’ve always known him for his true self. He’s been yours since he first laid eyes on you. And he knew you needed him. 

“And you did it… for us.” 

“For you.” 

You can see it plainly on his face. He’d do it again and again to have you. Because you’re his. It’s all you ever wanted. It has to be wrong, but it’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done for you. 

You push him back towards the bed, climbing onto his lap in a recreation of the first night you spent together. It’s reflexive. The magnetic pull between you has your hips rolling in his lap as he’s already hardening beneath you. 

“You’re sick,” you tell him before you lick a hot stripe up his neck. 

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls back before you’re crashing into him with a ravenous kiss.  

dividers by @cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40 tags for folks who seemed interested when i shared a lil wip about it (aka no worries tags)

@hoelaris @punkseyes @ace-turned-confused @magneticecstasy @lotusbxtch

@bitchesuntitled

@baronessvonglitter

@thundermartini @milla-frenchy

[aurorawritestoescape]

GOING DOWN || 3,4 k

Joel Miller x f!reader | Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: you have a hot boyfriend and a hot ex who’s still obsessed with you. Why not get the best of both worlds?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, darkish!reader, toxic!reader, boyfriend!Joel, ex who desperately wants you back!Frankie, soft!Frankie, infidelity (reader’s), praise kink, size kink, unprotected piv, creampie, handjob, m!oral, pussy eating, cum eating, f!masturbation, stalking (reader loves it), voyeurism, exhibitionism, swearing, dirty talk, pet names princesa-princess, mi amor- my love. Reader wears a dress. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: I have no excuse for this one. I don’t know why I look at our baby Frankie and want to do all this. I’m not sorry though, it’s hot to me and also fictional😉 the title’s inspired by the song “I’m goin’ down” by Mary J. Blige and Frankie’s special talent😏 Happy Frankie Friday, my loves!💖

Written for @burntheedges ‘s roll-a-trope challenge - my trope was Exes. Thank you for the fun event, Kate❤️ Kisses to wonderful @milla-frenchy for beta-ing this filth😘 dividers by @saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST || more Frankie - The Hoodie

You are looking out of the window at the night street, illuminated by a few golden lights, when you feel Joel’s heavy hands on your hips and then his lips plant a kiss on your neck from behind.

“Let’s go to bed,” he mumbles, his gruff voice coated with lust.

“No, fuck me right here.”

He smiles against your neck.

“Really? Want the neighbors to see us, dirty girl?”

“Yeah. Neighbors,” you smirk, not tearing your eyes from the car parked outside your apartment building. Your ex’s Pickup.

Joel pierces you with his big stiff cock and before you start moaning like a whore, you open the window a little so you two can not only be visible, but also perfectly heard from the street. Cool autumn air hits your heated face and your nipples get hard under your thin dress.

"Oh yeah, Joel! Harder!" you cry out, reveling in the way he's dragging his huge manhood in and out your channel. You're taking it like a good girl-always wet and tight for your boyfriend's cock.

Your fingers swiftly pull down your neckline, exposing your bouncing tits to whoever might look through your window. And you're sure that someone is looking.

Not knowing about your sick game, Joel is grunting loudly, thrusting deep and hard into you, your back flush with his broad chest. He’s rubbing his stubble against your neck, then your cheek until you turn your face to him and your lips lock in a sloppy and passionate kiss, while he’s holding you close, drawing pleasure from your tight pussy.

Joel’s hand snakes under your dress and having found your naked cunt, begins swirling your clit between two thick fingers. You part from his mouth, whimpering loudly.

“Yeah, baby! Let ‘em hear what a slut you are for me. Getting fucked in front of the whole neighborhood.”

His words push you over the edge and you come on his cock, crying out from pleasure. You don’t fake it. There is no need. He is that good.

Joel follows you soon and shoots his thick warm cum into your pulsating core. When he stills and pulls out, you hastily fix your dress and grab your dog’s leash.

“I’ll walk Tom.” You kiss Joel with tongue and leave the apartment, leaking your boyfriend’s load with every move.

When you step out into the night, you walk along the street a few meters and tie your dog to a street pole. On your legs, trembling from the hard orgasm, you saunter to your ex’s truck.

The passenger door is already open for you when you reach it and you get in, feeling cold air lap at your pussy, coated in Joel’s cum.

A pair of beautiful kicked puppy eyes greet you there and you turn slightly in your seat to see your ex better in the dark car.

Frankie’s wearing a denim shirt, dark blue jeans and his favorite baseball cap that you always hated for hiding his gorgeous curls. He looks the same as the day you left him. Maybe the bags under his eyes are darker but it could be the poor lighting at fault.

“What are you doing here, Frankie?” Your voice is soft and calm, with a pinch of sadness thrown in for his sake.

The man nervously fixes his cap and glances at you from the side, like a guilty dog. He clears his throat and lies,

“ ‘m checking on you.”

His velvety voice caresses your ear, it’s soft like everything about his character. He starts chewing on his lip while his eyes are staring into the darkness ahead of him.

“No, you’re stalking me, baby. I see your Pickup everywhere I go. Near my work last week. I spotted you at the bar today. And now you’re here… spying on me through the window.”

He proves that he watched your little show when he spreads his thighs wider and bucks his hips, unwillingly attracting your attention to his big bulge. You both are quiet for a few moments.

“I miss you,” he finally admits, turning to you. His eyes are sad and sappy and you should feel sorry, bad or at least sympathetic but the overwhelming feeling in your heart is a triumph. He’s not over you. You’re the best he’s ever had and he desperately wants you back.

You’ve been feeling elated lately when you noticed Frankie stalking you. It’s been fun playing with him and you don’t plan on stopping. You pull your brows together and coo,

“I understand, baby, but you can’t keep coming here. Joel’s a jealous type. I don’t want any problems.”

While you’re talking, Frankie’s nodding along, eyes downcast. You place your hand on his shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. His own big paw flies to yours and after bringing it to his mouth, he presses his lips to your palm. Your heart flutters at his need for you and your pussy tingles when you remember the way his plush lips were leaving kisses all over your body weeks ago.

“Baby,” you breathe out and he looks at you, not letting go of your hand. You see tears in his eyes, not enough to spill but enough to fuel up your ego. His eyes are so pretty like that, wet lashes and glossy chocolatey irises.

“Aww, Frankie,” you coo and open your arms to him. He rushes to you as if you’re his lifeline, wrapping his big strong arms around your torso and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You’re hugging him back, trying not to suffocate in his steel embrace and rubbing his muscular broad back. Frankie’s as big as Joel, both are much bigger than you, and warmth spreads deep in your core when his scent envelops you just like his body.

You smile when you notice him still wearing your favorite cologne.

Soon your body craves something more than just a hug so your lips part and a soft whimper escapes your mouth. You know well that your pretty noises always make him wild.

Your ex reacts immediately and you feel an open mouth kiss on your neck.

“Frankie.” Your tone is scolding yet fake and you sigh deeply, brushing his chest with your barely covered breasts. Your ex grumbles at the sensation and then whispers, his voice already strained with lust.

“I miss you so much.”

You hug him tighter and feel his hot breath on your cleavage when he leans lower to plant another kiss on your collarbone. His cap slides off his head and falls on the floor but he doesn’t care. Looking down at his beautiful dark curls you run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with your nails and Frankie almost roars against your chest. His arms pull you closer to him, even though your torso is already flush with his. He slightly lifts you off the seat and you tug at his hair in warning, steel in your tone.

“Put me down, Frankie.”

He listens to you like he always does but your roughness earns another loud groan from him. You smile, imagining how hard his cock must be now.

Frankie leaves soft kisses on your clothed chest, your belly and soon his head is resting on your lap, while his arms are wrapped around your hips as if he’s scared you’ll float away.

You’re stroking his head, marveling at the silky waves of his hair, shining even in the dim light, and slightly tilt your hips up when his prominent nose pokes your mound through the thin fabric of your dress. As if thinking about the same thing, Frankie breathes in full lungs of your arousal and a guttural moan vibrates against your covered pussy.

“I miss her, mi amor,” you barely hear him mumble and you sigh. Recently satiated by Joels’s pounding, your core gets reignited with sticky desire and you bite your lip, your dark gaze sliding over his sexy shoulders and his head, with his face hidden. You part your legs just slightly, letting him closer to your needy pussy.

Like a dog sniffing out his favorite treat, Frankie’s nuzzling your lap, and his lips and nose are brushing against your thighs, your lower belly, your cunt through the fabric.

You gasp when his fingers dig into your soft hips a bit too hard and he hastily relaxes his grip and looks up at you.

“Sorry, princesa.” His blown out eyes are filled with guilt and want and you give him a smile, cupping his scruffy cheek.

“It’s ok, baby, just be careful with me, ‘k? No marks.”

“Yes, yes, of course, mi amor,” he murmurs, returning his head back onto your lap.

After a couple of minutes in his arms, the fire in your core morphs into an ache and you squirm under him with impatience.

“I should go, Frankie. Joel’s gonna worry.”

“No, please,” he almost whines, hugging you tighter. “I—,” he stumbles.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I —? Can I see her?”

He’s staring up at you and you tilt your head to the side, faking confusion.

“Who?”

He knows that you understand but you need him to say it. So he plays by your rules. Like he always does.

“Can I see your beautiful pussy?” He sits up, facing you, his huge body squeezed in between the wheel and his seat. His bulge looks even more prominent now and you gush at the thought that he must be leaking into his boxers.

“Oh, Frankie, baby, you know I have a boyfriend. I can’t.”

His pleading eyes are fixed on you as he begs,

“Please, mi amor, just a look. I miss her so much. I miss you. Please.”

With another fake sigh you glance out of the window to check the surroundings, and after finding the street empty, you turn back to him.

“Ok, just for a second. Get in the back.”

“Thank you, mi amor,” he mumbles, hurrying out of the truck.

You squeeze between the front seats and sit down, turning to Frankie as he joins you at the back of the car. Your ex impatiently grabs the hem of your dress but you stop him.

“No one should know about this, understand?”

Frankie nods eagerly, mumbling yes’s like a junkie before getting a hit of his drug and you let him lift your dress and expose your naked pussy.

Your hands clutch the dress against your waist, and your legs are pressed together but it’s evident how wet you’re - your folds shine with Joel’s cum and your slick arousal.

Frankie’s breath hitches and his broad chest expands, straining his shirt.

“Beautiful,” he praises as his hand flies to the apex of your thighs.

“Nah-ah”, you grab his big paw midair and place it on top of your thigh.

“No touching. You wanted to look, right?”

“Yeah,” Frankie halfheartedly agrees, furrowed brows showing his discontent. “Then at least open your legs, princesa. Need to see her better.”

You try to contain your excitement as you tut at your ex,

“You’re so naughty, baby.”

You slowly part your thighs wide enough for your pussy to bloom in front of his hungry eyes.

Frankie’s mouth goes slack and his gaze clouds up when he sees your glistening pussy lips, puffy clit and your inviting hole. You shift a little on the seat, leaving wetness on the leather, and when you clench your walls in anticipation, you both see a little bit of pearly white liquid slide out of your entrance.

“Is this…?” Frankie mumbles, not tearing his eyes off your recently used cunt.

“Yeah. I know you’ve been watching Joel fuck me so don’t pretend that you’re surprised. My pussy’s full of his cum,” you say with defiance and wait for his reaction.

Frankie’s softly growls and his hand on your thigh contracts into a fist.

“Shhh, big boy,” you purr, bringing your fingers to your pussy. You gather some of Joel’s seed, leaking from your hole, and spread the creamy juices over your hardened clit. You rub yourself a few times and when a soft moan escapes your lips, Frankie echoes you.

“Feels so good,” you admit and begin pleasuring yourself in front of your ex.

“Jesus— fuck,” Frankie mumbles. His eyes are obsidian, forehead glistening with sweat with a few wet curls stuck to it. With his gaze tormented and pained, he reaches down to his belt.

“What are you doing, baby?” you ask, pausing your ministrations.

Frankie freezes and replies, stumbling over his words,

“I need — need to take my dick out. It hurts.”

“Ok, Frankie.” He hastily unzips his jeans when you add, “But don’t touch it.”

Frankie groans but then sighs with relief when he pulls the waistband of his boxers down, tucks it under his balls and his cock springs free. It hits his shirt and leaves a dark wet spot.

His member is throbbing, the dark pink tip, glossy and fat, is oozing his clear need for you and you lick your lips, enticing the man even more.

Frankie follows your orders and lets his cock bob and drip pre-fuck juice all over his balls and jeans while you moan again, tracing your sopping hole.

Your ex rubs his cheek, focused on the place he desperately wants to claim with his tongue and cock and croaks after wetting his plush lips,

“Let me kiss her, mi amor.”

Bingo.

That’s what you wanted as soon as you saw him at the bar today. If you cared to admit maybe you already dreamed about it when you noticed him stalking you last week. But what’s a prize without a game? Now it feels extra special.

With a little smile, you throw off your shoe and plant your bare foot on the seat, opening your thighs wider for him.

“You gonna taste another man’s cum on my pussy? just to kiss her?”

Frankie’s eyes snap up to yours and you see his defeat, his despair, his love in their depths.

He nods silently.

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” you coo. “Ok, baby, go ahead.”

With a grunt Frankie bends down, slowly adjusting his position between your legs so it’s comfortable for you, and when his soft warm lips kiss your cold cunt, you flutter your eyes shut with a pleased mewl.

Frankie’s always been the best at pussy eating. Joel often goes down on you but it’s different. He demands your ecstasy, claims your pussy with his mouth, makes you scream when his rough tongue impatiently rubs at your clit. His movements say ‘Give me’ while he’s eating you out.

But Frankie. He’s whispering “Take it”. Take your time, take your bliss, take my lips and tongue and use them, let yourself drown in pleasure. He laps at you softly and languidly, licking your pussy like it’s the most delicate flower, the most delicious fruit.

You grab your phone out of your pocket and text Joel that you met a friend by accident and need to catch up.

Frankie doesn’t see any of it, he’s gone, fully concentrated on pleasuring your soft cunt. His hands are gently holding your thighs apart, his face buried in your pussy.

“How’s she?” you whisper, raking your fingers through his silky curls and tugging on them slightly to get his attention when he doesn’t respond right away.

“I taste him on you,” Frankie grumbles, parting from your sex, “‘m gonna get it off you.”

He returns to work, making out with your folds and sucking the other man’s cum off your clit and you already feel yourself close to unraveling.

“Yes, like that, baby. My pussy misses you.”

You feel Frankie smile against your cunt before he begins stroking your clit with his tongue again and again until you cry out his name into your hand, while your hole clamps around nothing, walls contract and release another portion of Joel’s thick load.

Trembling from the orgasm that’s rippling through your body, you watch Frankie lap at your entrance, drinking the runaway seed and your slick, prolonging your shattering climax with this depraved act.

He doesn’t stop kissing your pussy until you get overstimulated and try to close your legs.

“Did so good for me, Frankie,” you murmur through heavy breaths.

“Thank you, mi amor,” your ex gruffs, sitting up, his face blushed, the gaze hazy and drunk on you.

He’s shivering from the arousal, his engorged cock generously leaking precum, and you take mercy on the man.

You scoot closer to him, wrap your hand around his hot cock and start slowly pumping it. It’s soaked with his juices so your palm slides easily over his hard length but to make him absolutely wild you gather some slick off your cunt and rub the underside of his cock where his tip meets the shaft with your wet thumb.

Frankie moans like a needy slut and in a second the first rope of cum shoots out of his slit.

You hastily lower your head, take the head between your lips and start drinking his load as he’s feeding it to you, jerking and thrusting his hips up, while your hand is gliding over his shaft.

You swallow everything to the last drop and lick it all over, cleaning his cock and earning a jerk of overstimulation from your ex. Then you sit up, wiping your mouth curled into a satisfied smile.

“Fuck, princesa, I love you,” Frankie breathes out falling onto the backrest, his cock softening but still standing at attention. You smile at his confession and your hunger finally seems satisfied.

You begin fixing your clothes and he watches you for a few seconds before tucking his cock into his jeans and then shifting closer to you. He gets into your space and you feel his warm hand pressed to your lower back. His huge frame is looming over you and you look up into his chocolaty eyes. They seem sad again.

“I want you back, mi amor—I... I need you.”

You sigh deeply and shake your head, taking his big hand in yours.

“You know it’s over, Frankie. I’m sorry, but I’m with Joel now.”

“Why? Why can’t you be with me? Why is he better?” He asks, furrowing his brows and leaning even closer to you.

“Baby,” you whine, averting your gaze from his puppy eyes and tracing hearts on his hand. “We talked about it. He’s …he’s like whiskey, he’s rough and heady and… you’re like hot chocolate, Frankie. You’re sweet but you’re too saccharine for me.”

“I can get rough with you, princesa.”

You giggle and shake your head.

“It’s not who you are, baby. And it’s ok. Someone will love you for it one day.”

You hear him sniff before he yanks his hand away from yours.

You know you should leave, break it off once and for all but the sick, mean, greedy side of your soul wants to pull him back as soon as you have pushed him away.

“Frankie,” you purr and grab his arm as he’s about to get out of the car. A slight touch from you is all it takes to stop him and he turns to you, his eyes glossy, his expression defeated.

You get closer to him and take his face between your hands. To kiss him goodbye. To poison him more.

He falls into the kiss head first, embracing you tightly, pressing his torso to yours so close it’s difficult to breathe.

You both moan against each other’s lips and you pull on his hair with passion and possessiveness. His tongue is licking into your mouth and you’re tasting yourself, sensing a faint trace of Joel’s cum. It’s so sick and twisted that another surge of arousal burns your core.

You make out for some time until you part from his lips.

“I should go, Frankie,” you whisper, snaking out of his embrace.

Frankie’s arms fall and he nods, looking lost and inebriated. You use this moment to hastily get out of his car.

“Bye, baby,” you chirp, smiling at him, but before you close the door he wakes up from the trance and calls for you.

“I won’t stop, mi amor,” he admits with determination in his shaky voice. “I’m gonna keep coming. I need you.”

“I know,” you say with a fake sigh and close the door.

You’re walking to get Tom, feeling Frankie’s eyes on your back, and trying to calm down, you bite your lip, but the excitement overwhelms you and soon a triumphant smile spreads across your face.

Thank you for reading!💖

MASTERLIST || more Frankie- The Hoodie

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Tagging lovelies who showed interest in my Wip post @sawymredfox @604to647 @thundermartini @bonezone44 @casa-boiardi

[eff4freddie]

Play With Her

Explicit - 18+ Minors DNI

A sequel to Play With It

Words: 4k

You and Joel have fond memories of the last time he called you from work. But a slight misunderstanding leads to some fun with your neighbour, and to you ( accidentally) fulfilling one of Joel’s secret fantasies.

Warnings: SMUT, people. So much. Smut. Oral (m and f receiving), phone sex, mmf (kinda), Joel talks his girl through it like a gentleman, surprise Frankie, Joel’s a little shocked but he is very into it, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dirty talk, Joel being kinda soft dom again.

You hadn’t forgotten Joel’s antics in his car in the middle of a workday, but despite a particularly explosive afternoon immediately following, you hadn’t had the time to properly get him back. It hadn’t been either of your faults, just that work continued to be relentless, something went wrong at the site, materials weren’t delivered, the vendors got mad. You developed a little twitch in your eyelid. Joel came home rubbing his neck and shoulders and turning the kitchen upside down trying to find the heat pack.

You knew there was love there, that there was passion. You weren’t worried about it, even though you missed him. You knew that it was situational. When the air cleared, you’d get back to taking each other apart.

--

Joel woke up early again, groaning as his muscles ached like they hadn’t had any rest at all. You were in bed beside him, and he knew that you’d had a late shift but you’d managed to rack up enough overtime that today you had the whole day to yourself. He was so proud of you, his little worker bee, and even though he was disappointed your schedules hadn’t aligned so that he could enjoy the day with you, or on top of you, he still knew it was good for you. He left a little note on your bedside, telling you he was gonna call around lunchtime. He marked it with two x’s and two o’s. For a second he imagined actually peppering your skin with kisses.

‘Soon, baby,’ he said, to your sleeping form. He was quiet in his socks on the carpet as he left.

On the way out the door, piece of toast between his teeth, he looked over the front lawn. It was getting out of control, and he’d been meaning to cut it, but he just couldn’t find the energy on a weekend, and as the days were gettin’ shorter as the weather changed, he was leaving in the dark, home in the dark. He didn’t like the look of the lawn, worried that the state of the grass was a direct reflection of the state of his aging body, of his bone-deep fatigue most days. That the neighbours would twig he was getting older, purely by the weeds spreading their tendrils over the path to the door.

‘Morning, Joel,’ he heard a voice call, and he glanced over to next door’s patio, where one such neighbour was standing with the newspaper in his hands.

‘Frankie,’ he said, nodding his head. He got on well with Frankie, even if he wasn’t 100% sure he trusted him all the time. He had a kid he had over every other weekend, who Sarah adored, and other than that he lived alone. Ex-military, he reminded Joel of Tommy, and he tried to be sensitive knowing some of the shit he must have seen. He didn’t seem lonely, he was handy and knew how to get Joel’s truck going when the engine was on the fritz, and more than anything he treated you respectful, tipped his cap when you walked by, and Joel liked that. Appreciated the manners.

‘Early start,’ Frankie said, and Joel sighed. He rested a hand on his hip.

‘Too early,’ he grunted, and the younger man smiled knowingly at him. As Joel moved to the truck he limped a little, his hip bothering him after he carried some lumber the wrong way on the site a few days ago.

‘You ok?’ Frankie asked. Frankie noticed everything, Joel knew. It would have kept him alive in his last job, he supposed.

‘Yeah, just gettin’ old, getting’ tired.’ Joel nodded to the lawn. ‘Can’t you tell?’

‘Could help you with that, got the day clear today and…well, don’t have other plans.’

Joel had seen Frankie out on his back porch drinking on his own, sometimes with a couple of other men who all looked a similar age, similar previous occupations. He didn’t mind so long as they kept it down and didn’t catch your eye too much.

‘Can’t ask ya for that,’ Joel started, but Frankie waved him away.

‘You’re not. I’m offering, hermano.’

Joel nodded. It might be a nice surprise for you, he thought, to have the house reclaim some of its street appeal. Lord knew it didn’t have much to start with.

Sitting in his truck he fired off a quick message to you so you wouldn’t be surprised by Frankie on your front lawn. ‘Organised a sruprise 4 you, baby xxoo,’ he wrote. He was going to be late. He sent it without too much thought.

--

You woke, lifting your arms up over your head and listening to the pops of your joints as the stretch moved up your spine. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a day off. You had no idea what you were going to do with your spare time.

After a second or two of blissful cotton-headedness, you noticed a droning sound from the front of the house. You stood on achy knees and padded over to the window. Surely Joel hadn’t taken the day off too, with the worksite being so crazy lately?

You sucked in a tight little breath when you saw him. Shirtless, with his curls poking out the side of his ballcap, pushing his lawnmower over your unruly grass in the late-morning sun. You scrabbled for your phone to check the time and also to try and orient yourself, to make sure you hadn’t accidentally fallen through a wormhole in your sleep, as though Siri would be able to tell you one way or the other.

You saw the message from Joel. A surprise? You glanced around the room, looking for any clues. Eventually your eyes fell on a scrap of paper on your bedside, and you read that, too. For a second you stood, confused, trying to put the pieces together. He had organised a surprise, there was a half-naked man on your lawn, and he was going to call you at lunchtime. And you remembered exactly what transpired the last time he did that.

Your felt your brows shoot up to your hairline as realisation dawned. Did he know you’d had a crush on Frankie since the moment he’d moved in next door? How could he know, you’d been so careful not to stare too long, not to smile too much. You’d felt the sparks, and you’d poured cold water of them well enough, you’d thought.

But nothing got past Joel. You couldn’t believe it, but also you definitely could.

A surprise for you? No. This time you were going to be one step ahead.

--

Joel didn’t like to eat his lunch in the truck, never fully able to get the tang of egg salad out of the upholstery after, but this time he made an exception. He’d pulled back around to where it was quiet, knowing some of the guys on site liked to pump the tunes during their breaks, set up a little jerry-rigged tailgate to try and while away the 40 minutes they had to themselves. He thought with a shiver about the last time he’d snuck off to park somewhere quiet. He let himself wonder for a moment if you’d be up for something like a repeat. He grinned a little as he dialled. He didn’t think he should push his luck.

The call connected almost straight away, like you’d been waiting for him, and he felt a little flutter in his heart. You were so sweet to him. He needed to take you out somewhere special soon, make you flutter for a little while.

‘Hey baby,’ you said, your voice high and breathy, and he guessed you were still in bed.

‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ he said, teasin’ you.

‘Mmm,’ you said, ‘no cameras this time?’

‘We can if you want, baby, but I was just calling to check in on ya.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, and to make sure Frankie’s doing his job,’ he said, chuckling a little.

‘Frankie’s doing just fine,’ you said, and you sounded weird somehow, maybe a little out of breath?

‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, and you hummed in response.

‘Wanna see you,’ you said, and he felt a shiver up the base of his spine. He knew that tone. He felt the smirk appear on his face.

‘Yeah, you sound like ya do,’ he said. He took the phone from his ear and connected Facetime. He heard you doing the same.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see. He’d assumed you were in bed, so he was surprised to see you were up, standing in front of the big picture window overlooking the front lawn. Your cheeks were a little flushed, and you looked a little sweaty. He wondered if you’d been for a run.

‘There’s my girl,’ he said, because the sight of you always lit something up in him, and you smiled at him, a coy little thing.

‘I got a surprise for you,’ you said, a dimple appearing on your cheek as you arched a single brow at him.

‘Oh yeah?’ he said, feeling his cock stir. Maybe you were up for a repeat after all.

‘Mmmhmm,’ you said, biting your lip. You were holding the phone up with one arm, but he could see your other arm held fast in front of you. Were you touching yourself in the living room?

‘Show me,’ he said, and you grinned at him. You panned the camera down, slowly, so that first thing he saw was the straps of your camisole, one hanging off your shoulder to hover just over the swell of your tit. You lowered it again, over the belly, where you had shucked up the hem and he could see some exposed skin, your little belly button he sometimes liked to tickle with his beard just to hear you squirm and squeal.

Then a little further down. Angling the camera so that he could see down your body, to your feet on the carpet, and to the man on his knees between them.

Joel blinked. He was sure his heart stopped.

‘What…’ he started, but he couldn’t finish his sentence because he was too distracted by the man hitching one of your thighs over his shoulder and opening you up, teasing the lips of your pussy apart to properly latch to your cunt. ‘Oh my god,’ he uttered.

‘Oh my god!’ you gasped, as Frankie sucked your clit between his teeth. ‘Oh baby, he’s so good,’ you groaned.

‘Baby, what are you doing?’ Joel asked, trying not to overthink that his cock was rock hard while he watched another man lick a stripe along your seam.

‘Surprise…’ you gasped. ‘Got a head start.’

Joel’s hands were shaking. A head start on what? He watched as your hand gripped Frankie’s head, his ballcap on the floor beside him as he grasped at your hips, pulling you down harder on his face. You were squirming there on top of him, as he huffed out little exhales into your skin.

Your breath was starting to get faster, coming in little pants, as your thigh clenched around Frankie’s shoulder. For a brief moment you worried you were going to suffocate him, and then he ran a finger up the inside of your thigh and teased at your opening and you simply didn’t care.

You angled the phone back to your face, your eyes fluttering shut so that you didn’t see Joel’s slightly shocked expression.

‘Such a good surprise, baby, thank you,’ you said, and Joel felt his belly flip in on itself. You were blissed out, he could see just by your face you were half gone already. Your little whimpers were sending electric shocks to his cock. He couldn’t deny it wasn’t one of the hottest things he’d ever seen, or that he had wanted to see it ever since Frankie appeared next door. He just assumed you’d never be into it, and now looking at you writhing he couldn’t remember why.

He swallowed on a dry throat. You cracked open an eye, noticing he’d stopped talking. You saw that he looked a little pale, and worried for a second he was regretting it.

‘He’s not better,’ you said, trying to form words to reassure him while Frankie was pushing any sensible thought out of your head with his tongue. ‘He’s good, just as good. It’s just different.’

You were shuddering a little, Joel could see that you were trembling from the pleasure the other man was wringing out of you. ‘Yeah?’ he grunted, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Because he didn’t want to take this from you when you’d accidentally given him something he thought he would only ever dream of, not when you were feeling so good, not when you had apparently read his (dirty, filthy) mind. Because he was enjoying it, if he could tame the beast that was howling mine mine mine every time you whimpered under Frankie’s tongue. Because, ok, this wasn’t what he had planned for the day, but it was so much better.

His cock was already so hard it was almost painful. His beautiful, dirty girl. ‘He eatin’ it right, baby?’ he asked, and you moaned a little in response. He heard Frankie grunt a little from beneath you. ‘Show me,’ he said.

You angled the phone down again, this time reaching to put it closer to your cunt, so that Joel could see the way Frankie was suckling at your cunt, the way his tongue was working his way in and out of you, how at some point he had slipped two fingers into your cunt and was pumping them slowly, angled in the way Joel knew you liked, the way that made you stutter.

‘Fuck…’ he groaned, as Frankie huffed out an exhale.

‘She’s good, man,’ Frankie said, pulling his mouth off you for just long enough to force out the words. ‘Tastes like a warm spring morning.’

Joel could feel his cock pulsing, could hardly hear for the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

‘You treat her right,’ he ground out, his jaw ticking. He could feel the furrow in his brows, knew he was almost glowering at Frankie. ‘That’s my girl you got there,’ he added, feeling the need to remind him. To remind himself.

‘She always get this wet for you?’ Frankie asked, and Joel practically growled. He was about to tell Frankie you could practically drown him every night when he noticed your thighs were trembling, your hand in his hair moving to his shoulder to try and get purchase.

‘Lay ‘er down,’ he instructed. ‘Don’t let her fall.’

The camera moved, blurred as Frankie got up off his knees and pulled you over to the couch. He heard you sigh as your muscles relaxed, Frankie lying you down and settling between your open thighs.

‘Thank you, baby,’ you whispered to Joel. He swallowed.

‘Look after you,’ he said, fumbling with his fly. He was rock hard and worried as soon as he held himself in his hand he’d nut like a teenager. He wanted to ride this out with you, wanted to be present for all of it, wanted to stave it off as much as he wanted to chase it down.

‘Oh, he’s got his fingers in me,’ you said, gasping. ‘They’re so thick, just like yours…’

‘He hittin’ the spot?’ Joel asked, as you angled the camera down your body and he saw Frankie hovering over your cunt, lips once again suctioning at your clit.

‘Mmmhmm’ you replied, breathless. ‘He’s good, baby, he’s so good.’

Joel couldn’t form words for a second, gripping the base of his cock to try and regain some sort of control over it.

‘Wish you were here,’ you said, as you pushed your hips down onto Frankie’s face.

‘Yeah?’ Joel asked, wincing as he drew his palm over the weeping, sensitive head. ‘What’d you do if I was there, baby?’ he asked.

‘Want you everywhere,’ you groaned. ‘Want you in my mouth, in my pussy while he sucks on my clit. Want you in my cunt while I suck him.’

Joel gasped, his eyes slamming shut as his head tilted back on his shoulders. You were going to be the fucking death of him, and he would happily go if this was how you’d go about it.

‘Want your tight little cunt, baby,’ he grunted, pumping now, not able to help himself, the want for you overwhelming as Frankie raised his head a little to eye him through the camera. Your hips were bucking now, involuntary and fast. ‘Play with her,’ Joel said to him. ‘Don’t let her come yet, not ‘til she’s earned it.’

He heard you whimper, a desperate little cry, and watched as Frankie pulled back. Joel watched as his face glistened with your slick.

‘Joel!’ you cried, and he sniggered a little.

‘Ain’t what I meant when I said you could cut my grass,’ he said to Frankie, who grinned at him.

‘Not my fault your girl’s got a delicious cunt,’ he said, shrugging.

‘Let me see her,’ Joel said. He held his breath as Frankie took the phone from you and angled it back towards you. He saw you, splayed out on the couch for him and for Frankie, one leg on the floor and the other held fast against the couch, your slick spread over your thighs as your pussy grasped at the air, desperate for something to lick it, to suck it, to fuck it. ‘Jesus,’ Joel said, staring at your folds.

‘Don’t know how you leave the house with this waiting for ya, hermano,’ Frankie said. Joel shook his head.

‘M’a damn fool,’ he agreed. He saw you giggle, and he smiled.

‘Get on your knees for him, baby,’ he said, and watched as your smile fell, shock and want painting your pretty face.

‘You sure?’ you asked, so quiet he almost didn’t hear.

‘You wanna be good to our guest, right?’ Joel teased, and he watched you smile.

‘I’m a good host,’ you said, and he smiled.

‘The best, baby. Go on now, make him feel welcome.’

‘Oh fuck, Joel,’ Frankie muttered, as you got up on your knees on the couch and crawled over to him, your eyes on the younger man’s cock.

‘Just wait ‘til you see what she can do with that slutty little mouth,’ Joel said. He was holding himself by the base again, almost holding his breath in anticipation. Frankie angled the camera down his body so that Joel could see your hand as you reached out to hold him.

‘It’s big,’ you said, looking up and straight at Joel through the camera. You could see how far gone he was, how much he was holding himself back. You felt more arousal pool between your legs just at the look on his face.

‘You can take it,’ Joel said. ‘Make it good for him, baby.’

You watched as he mirrored your smile. God, you loved him. Even now, with another man’s cock in your face, he was the love of your life and as soon as he was home again you’d tell him. Show him. Never let him doubt it for a second.

You extended your tongue to kitten lick at Frankie’s tip, tasting the pre-come that had gathered while you and Joel encouraged each other. You heard the twin groans of Frankie above you and Joel through the phone. You hitched your mouth over the head, gathering saliva and letting it run out over the sides. Frankie was big, but so was Joel, and you breathed through your nose as you slipped your mouth over him, opening your throat and trying to calm your racing heart.

‘Oh, fuck me,’ Frankie said, as Joel held his breath. You hollowed your cheeks, a bolt of want shooting through your cunt as Frankie stuttered, groaning low and heavy in his chest. He smelt faintly of Old Spice and grass clippings, and you tasted the salt on his skin of his exertion. Joel smelt of pine and lumber. Between the two of them they were a symphony of delicious masculinity.

‘Can you reach her tits?’ you heard Joel ask, shivering. Frankie grunted his ascent. ‘Reach down, if you play with her nipples she’ll soak the couch.’

You whimpered, breathing out hard through your nose as you worked Frankie further into your throat.

‘Look at me, baby.’ Joel instructed and you opened your eyes, letting them travel up Frankie’s glistening tanned body to catch Joel’s eyes. You could see he was working himself again, panting and squirming in the driver’s seat of his truck. His hands were trembling a little, causing your view of him to shake, and it matched the tremors that were coursing through your body as you sucked Frankie down.

You felt his hand grope at your tit and you rounded your spine to try and give him more room, sticking your butt out into the air in the process. You kept your eyes on Joel, fighting the urge to let them drift closed, wanting to watch him watching you with another man’s cock in your mouth.

‘Doin’ so good,’ Joel muttered and you preened under his praise. ‘Put your hand between your legs, rub that little clit.’

You whined, following his instruction, a little lightheaded from the heat and the desire and Frankie halfway down your throat. ‘Such a pretty girl, my beautiful girl,’ Joel prattled. ‘Love you like this, baby, throat all stretched out taking on another man.’

Your eyelids fluttered as his words hit you in your core, Frankie’s hips starting to roll as you eased your finger over your clit and started rubbing tight little circles on the bundle of nerves. Frankie pinched hard at your nipple and you gasped, sucking in air through your nose and trying not to gag in the process.

‘Oh fuck, she’s squeezing me with her throat, hermano,’ Frankie muttered.

Joel watched, almost completely out of his mind. He never wanted to look at anything else ever again, wanted this view of you tattooed on the inside of his eyelids so he could see it anytime he wanted. Your eyes were starting to water, your skin glistening with sweat, as your hips shuddered under your own touch and under Frankie’s.

Joel was so close he wasn’t going to be able to stop it. He knew he had only seconds left, and by the looks of it, so did you.

‘Oh fuck baby, look what you did to us,’ he said, and you let your eyes drift from Joel’s to Frankie’s face as he grit his teeth, his eyes staring down at you, just barely managing to hold onto the phone as you sucked him.

‘So good,’ Frankie said to you, ‘can’t…gonna…’

You groaned, taking him out of your throat and reaching up to jerk the shaft while you sucked hard on the head. Still circling your clit with one hand you reached the other up to gently roll his balls in your palm. He cried out, the shock of the pleasure making him finally drop the phone. It landed, face up, just by his knees and angled up under your chin as Frankie shot his load into your mouth, gripping your tit in one hand and the other coming to rest on the crown of your head as he pumped his hips, his come shooting into your mouth as you rolled it over your tongue. Joel had an obscene view of it, watched as Frankie’s come spilled out of your mouth and onto the couch below you, nearly splattering over the lens. It was too much, finally too much, Joel shooting come into his hand and over his shirt as he fucked his palm, imagined it was your mouth, your cunt as you sucked Frankie’s come down, imagined he was inside you and also beside you, holding your head up as the younger man painted your throat.

He came as you did, gasping and whimpering for the other, your voice calling for him as he grunted out for you, and he recovered just enough to watch as you shuddered, your body shaking and rolling with the pleasure of it as you rested your face on Frankie’s heaving belly, sweat plastering your hair to your head, come dripping from your lips, as you rode out your high.

‘Fuck, baby…’ you whimpered, while you fought to catch your breath. Joel could see you collapsing, the pleasure wringing you out, leaving you shaky and spent. He swallowed, collecting himself enough to instruct the younger man.

‘Washcloths are under the bathroom sink. Make sure the water’s warm.’ He took a second to breathe, trying to clear his vision enough to be able to drive. ‘Wrap her up in a blanket, there’s one on the back of the couch.’ He watched as Frankie nodded, listening hard. ‘Hold her ‘til I get there,’ Joel said, his heart thrumming again, an ache building in his chest to be with you as he fumbled the keys into the ignition.

‘Hold my girl for me ‘til I’m there,’ he said, again.

[pedge-page]

Cravings

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!reader

Summary: Pussy eating king frankie, who gets his aforementioned nickname when you tried to come up with ways to prevent him from relapsing back to coke.

Warnings: soooo much oral —pussy eating, cum eating, grinding, dry humping, cumming in pants, kissing, Frankie's mouth is everywhere, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, little dub con since Frankie doesn't ask if he can cum inside, overstimulation, free use esc situations

Notes: This is NOT the Frankie free-use series I mentioned before; I'm a bit delayed with writing it, so here's something else i had started as a drabble but then... did not stay a drabble. Please like and reblog if you enjoy this fic!

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Rather than drowning himself in coke, Santi slyly suggest he drowns himself in pussy instead. The guys around the table laughed, but you kind of agreed and told him you'd help set him up on hookups. Frankie didn't want to go through the trouble of having to find a potentially different girl each night. Plus, his cravings were sporadic. He would need his fix in that moment whenever it came.

He remembered back when you had drunkenly admitted guys could hardly satisfy you because you had a high drive, usually cumming on your fingers at least 6 times a day before bed, often times more on lonely weekends. He was left speechless at the time, but now he couldn't get Santi's proposition mixed with that knowledge of you out of his head.

You tried to cook him meals instead or buy him hoards of candy, but the idea was stuck in his mind. You knew you'd be a convenient alternative, given you only lived less than 10 minutes away and was always around when he needed help. But you were afraid of crossing that line with one of your all time best friends.

Eventually, being around him so much—"on call" as the boys put it—left you susceptible to his sweet touches, ghosting lips against your ears, sporadic twitches and jittery hands, antsy fingers dancing along your hips. You considered the option heavily before finally caving: you were doing this to HELP him, as his friend. Just a little relief every so often when he absolutely needed it.

You came 9 times on his tongue the first time. It wasn't even that he was trying to make you cum, but the eagerness in the way he moved so fast, growling and moaning at the taste, his lips attached and never left your heat. His big nose just perfectly bumping your clit each time he pointed his tongue dove deep into your craving hole, curling up and hitting that soft spot inside you left you shaking and crying out his name, back arched and fingers clawing at his shoulders.

He was sated for almost 6 days (and you needed the ample recovery time because not even your fingers could make you cum so hard) before the craving hit again. Incessant knuckles pounded your doorstep. You had barely unlocked the door before he was shoving himself in and devouring your mouth with his. "I need another hit, carniño."

He didn't wait for a response, knocking you on your ass on the sofa and stripping your sweats and panties off before throwing one leg over his shoulder. Flattening his tongue, he licks a long strip along from your hole to your clit, obscenely guttural moans from the back of his throat filled your ears. He looked wild-eyed and crazy, as if starved for weeks and was finally given the sugar rush of the century.

You inevitably move in with him, claiming his spare bedroom, worried about how bad he gets when he goes anything longer than a few hours without you.

He makes you ride his face until you're suffocating him, and he still can't get enough. Your juices flood his mouth and nose and his eyes roll back as he loses air. You try to get off and apologies, but he's caged your thighs with his muscular arms, holding your pussy flat against his face as he devoured you more, ignoring your squirming pleas. He hums against your nub, the vibrations sending you into your own addictive high. You cum again, and again, and again, and soon you're tugging his hair, crying his name with fat tears down your cheek, leaning back and scratching at his chest to let off, but its useless. He's so lost in your cunt that you become light headed, barely holding on to the headboard as your lower body continues to spasm.

He only pulls off for a minute, squeezing his nostrils to force out your juices. He's so dazed, pupils blown wide, beard and mustache drenched in your slick, so pussy-drunk and in love that he wants to do it again. "Sweetest fucking cunt, I swear. Just wanna curl up and live inside here, querida."

You offer to suck him off but he gestures embarrassingly down, where you turn to see a dark splotch on the belt-line of his pants where the tip of his spent cock peaks out, dribbling little white drops onto his lower belly, having cum untouched just from eating you out.

It gets to the point where you lock yourself in the bathroom when you take a shower just to have 10 minutes of peace. Your pussy is so puffy, clit so swollen from his constant assault day and night that you have to calm down and remind yourself what good its doing for him. He hasn't touched the white powder in weeks.

He's wondered where you've gone when he sees the bathroom light illuminate under the door. He knocks a few times, then raps harsher with his fists, calling out your name. You tell him you just need a minute. The makeshift locks on the bathroom door of Frankie's apartment isn't designed to keep an ex militant out, and he just pushes it forward with enough force that it gives way and he let's himself in. You go to cover yourself when he pulls the shower curtains away, but the same needy expression on his face as he narrows in to the slit between your legs has you aching once again. It's Pavlovian, the way he stares, practically drooling, hands twitching by his side, sending signals to your cunt to start dripping for his appetite. He spins you around so your cheek is smothered against tile, ass out towards him, not caring about the water drenching his baseball cap, grey shirt and pants as he kneels on the shower floor and puts his face between your legs. He moans when his lips start sucking on your nub, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole. He keeps you in your spread position with his arms holding your waist, making their way to spread your ass for him to dive further in, knees between your heels. You reach one arm back, knocking his cap off as you card your fingers through his damp hair, gripping it when you cum and grind yourself back on his scruffy face.

He's otherwise so gentle, so soft spoken, but when he gets between your legs, something primal takes over and you can hardly recognize him.

Sometime in the evening while you were watching a movie, you see his knee bouncing next to you. You has snapped at him earlier and refused his hunger when he peppered kisses all over your neck, down your back, then tried to yank your pants down while you were cooking dinner for the two of you, nearly burning your arm on the stove from such force.

You hated that you had outright refused him for the first time, but the truthfully the swollenness between your legs needed rest before he wrecked you again. He's biting his lip so hard, stealing glances at you before rubbing his hair and shifting his cap back on.

You instead take your top off, having gotten comfortable enough to go without a bra when it was just the two of you. Frankie is a bit shocked, only used to seeing you strip your pants first before anything else.

You crawl over to him before sitting in his lap, thighs spread over his. He swallows the lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off of your tits right in front of him. His legs are still bouncing in agitation, the movement making your breasts jiggle right in front of him. He groans, licking his lips, breathing heavily.

"She needs a break, Fish," you said quietly, your soft and small hands seeking his big and callous ones, pulling them up over your waist before letting them settle on your cups.

He doesn't hesitate or ask further, head leaning forward and lips immediately latching on to your nipple. He moans, eyes closed as he sucks around the areola, tongue swirling your pebble as he kneads them in his hands.

You're trying so hard not to grind down on his cock, instead sitting upright on your knees so you're not fully resting your damp panty-covered crotch against the tent in his pants. The position is more head level with your tits, but he doesn't like that. He grips your hips to bring you flush against him, gasping out when you instinctually start rocking your hips steadily against his clothed length.

He noticed how heavily your chest is flexing, glaring up at you to see your brows furrowed, face tilted towards the ceiling trying not to cum on him. He cups his hands against your cheeks and brings you in for a sweet kiss, his lips slotting perfectly against yours as his hands return to palming your breasts. He presses his forehead against yours so your eyes meet, goosebumps wracking your whole body at the lust behind his eyes, and something more you couldn't place. "So good to me, querida. Perfect lips"—he gently pecks your lips—"perfect tits"—then a generous kiss to each of your breasts—"my perfect girl." You could smell the scent of your pussy on his lips, as if they'd be stained there now. Kissing your lips, your throat, collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, and erect nipples, and all the way back up again, was enough to keep his mouth busy and his craving subsided. And it worked almost as well, the two of you cumming sticky and wet against one another in your underwear with heavy sighs and sated eyes; you had calmed him down enough to get him to remove his clothes and put on a fresh pair of boxers before tucking him to his own bed with your favorite blanket.

As you tip toed into the bathroom to prep for a bath, you stared at your naked reflection: how swollen, and red your breasts were, covered in raised bite marks the shape of Frankie's jaws. Among your new scars are the faded scratches and bruises of Frankie's fingertips on your waist, stomach and lower back from how incessantly he devours you while his face is buried in your sopping pussy, like he had to sink his claws into you so you wouldn't slip away as he feasted. You look like you were attacked by a passionate lion.

His sweet nothings every time he stared into your eyes was what really turned you on. You tell yourself that it was just the withdrawal symptoms talking. That he was basically just high on a new drug.

-

To you, it must have looked like Frankie's craving were only getting worse with how increasingly frequent his lips found themselves attached to your body. In truth, his desire for coke steadily grew less, and it wasn't the replacement of the powder that he was seeking from you but rather the insaitability of finally having you that grew stronger.

The rest of boys noticed the effects you're having on Frankie too. They see it when he meets them for a drink every other Saturday, the way he anxiously taps his foot under the table, glancing around like he's unsure what to do, where to go, because he can't sit still. It's the signs of his cravings kicking back in, and they're all worried at first. But it's not until you up show later and slide into the booth next to him that they notice: Frankie casually drapes his arm around your shoulders like he always did—that part was normal. But what was new is how they could visibly see Frankie's heart rate slow, the way he slumped against the bench and completely calmed down from just your presence.

They also couldn't help but notice the way his eyes raked you with a mix of lust, love, and obsession, his dark gaze never once leaving the sight of you the entire night. All the while you laughed and chatted with them about your week, oblivious to the change in demeanor of your friend from just a few months ago.

You assured the boys that you two weren't fucking—and it was true, you hadn't slept with him once. albeit a few blow jobs, it was exclusively just Frankie eating you out or kissing. You were very hopeful that his cravings were going to go away soon since its the longest he's been off coke. You were even talking to your old landlord to see if your old apartment a few blocks away still had openings since you'd be moving out of Frankie's place soon. Santi couldn't help but see Frankie's dejection, his arm sliding away from you as he excused himself to get more beer.

By the end of the night, Frankie was drunk out of his mind. Will suggested he slow down so he wouldn't pass out before he could walk home. It sounded like a good plan, until Francisco glanced over to the bar and saw you sitting there and smiling at a guy who was flirting with you. Fish took a giant gulp of his beer, downing the entire jug before slamming it on the table and striding out of the booth towards you. He overheard the guy asking if you had a ride home tonight.

"She comes home with me. Every. Night," he slurred, his sweaty palm skimming possessively over your jean-clad thigh and snaking between your legs, face coming so close to you that your noses slide against each other. Frankie's eyes bore into yours with so much desire, it bordered on range. You knew those were his craving eyes. The pungent smell of alcohol on his breath made you flinch as he tried to pull you in for a kiss. You quickly tell the confused guy that he's your roommate and you need to get him home immediately. You could barely finish excusing yourself from the stranger before Frankie was dragging you out of the bar. You managed to wave to the others, making a drinking gesture and pointing to Frankie before being yanked into the street.

He was stumbling all over the place, breath uneven as you hoisted him up to lean against you, eventually making it through his apartment entrance and turning the key to unlock his unit.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Frankie slammed the door close behind him and pinned you up against it, his hands roaming your body as his mouth desperately sought yours. "Craving," he mumbled against your open lips. "Need"—tongue forcing its way into your mouth, he nipped at your lower lip, sucking on it before releasing with a pop— "need you," he panted.

"I know, I know—Jesus Fish. I'm—gonna help—gonna take care of you—" you breathed, ashamed of how quickly you could feel your panties dampen. It never bothered him though, and only encouraged his sweet tooth more. You weren't nearly as drunk as him, but your few margaritas made you extremely susceptible, even welcoming, to his touch.

You hummed into his shoulder when his hard bulge rubbed purposefully against your covered core. He bit your earlobe as he fisted your low-neck shirt before pulling it down roughly, the fabric tearing away. You gasped, ready to scold him but he pressed his mouth on you again, teeth clashing, his hands slotting down your body to pinch, grope, scratch at any bit of skin he could get.

"So—so good t'me. Always taking—such good care of me, cariño."

His fingers dip into your ass and hoist you up so he's carrying you, your arms and legs wrapped securely around him as he boldered through his apartment, kicking his door open before tossing you on the bed, watching you bounce. You never break eye contact as you unbutton your jeans at the same time Frankie pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside to unfasten his belt and zipper.

Clambering over you to reseal your lips, you breath in his scent, hands exploring his tone arms, down his chest and muscle middle all the way to the little pooch of tummy hanging. His hands gripped your jeans and pulled them along with you down the length of the bed, bringing you to the edge, his grip pushing up on the back of your thighs so your knees are digging against your rib cage, pulsing pussy exposed at his mercy. "I fuckin' love this pussy, querida," he growled before burying his face between you folds for the thounsandth time. "So fuckin' wet for me," he mumbled against your thigh, nipping at the skin.

He ate you out with precision, eyes hungry watching you, determined to make you fall apart quickly. He wasn't doing it for his own taste, but the sheer satisfaction of watching you writhe for him, knowing your body inside out as the only one who could get you like this. He's languidly thrusting two fingers in and out. You didn't even need to be stretched: he'd practically been prepping you for months now. You're crying out into the air as you cum, hips bucking against his nose with your heels digging into his shoulder blades. Frankie pulls away, kissing your stomach and up your tits before making you taste yourself on his lips.

The feeling of his cock nudging your entrance make your once dazed eyes go wide and alert. He pauses, suddenly worried. He can't read your expression, time dragging out too long and it scares the fuck out of him that he's taking it too far, that you didn't agree to this.

He had wanted to tell you everything right then: how he dreams of you riding him, or when he fists his cock in the shower when you're at work to the thought of what your tight walls would feel like wrapped around him when first violates you, how he automatically gets aroused now when he just sees you or smells your laundry, or admitting how many times he's actually cum in his pants without you noticing when he is buried between your legs, dying to have you cum around his cock instead of his tongue.

It's not until you sense his hesitation that you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close, sharing the same breath of air, nodding as your calves hook over his ass and squeeze his hips, the tip of his flush cock slipping in to your wet heat.

You both sigh heavily into each other's mouth when he takes charge again and thrusts fully inside you. He scrunches his eyes closed, forehead dipping down to your breast bone to revel in the overwhelming feeling of the tight space inside you.

You warmly caress his hair to bring him back up to you, kissing him and whispering, lips trembling, "Don't—don't think about it. Just... just use me."

His heart sank: You probably just thought this was another hit for him.

He didn't want to think about the fact that you were everything he'd needed in that moment, the image of perfection beneath him beautifully laid out for his eyes, his touch, but not for his soul. He gritted his teeth, pulling out then slamming back in, jolting your whole body up the mattress. It was fast, rough, and not at all how he wanted your first time to be with him, but he couldn't control his urges. He was gasping loudly as he fucked you, your cunt gushing around his member, the obscene sound of slick and skin slapping skin echoing in his otherwise empty apartment.

He brought his thumb to rub messy circles on your clit, sending you into a spasm of praises and expletives, but the most satisfying sound was his name repeated over and over again.

He barely manages to pull out before jerking his cock only twice and creaming all over your folds and clit. Groaning in post orgasmic bliss, he watches you heaving and shaking, filthy pussy covered in his seed. Half of his mind is only working now as he slides back down to lap you clean with his mouth, his own saltiness filling his throat, fingers scissoring inside to get your juices flowing, obsessed with the sight in front of him: your back arched off the bed, heels digging into his lower back as his hands pinning your hips down flat so he can work his mouth over you. And then you're cumming again, so angelic on his tongue, your sweet moans going right to his dick, hardening once again as he ruts into the mattress. He nips your clit and sucks, reluctant to pull away as he lines up and splits you open. You scream out, and if it weren't for the way your barely-recovered battered walls kept sucking him back in, he'd be worried you're in pain. His hands hook under your lower back, lifting you off the bed as he plows into your squelching cunt over and over again.

Youre both covered in a thin layer of sweat, the pillows and comforter of his bed strewn haphazardly around the floor as he dominates you. The headboard slammed recklessly agains the wall, and neither of you cared about your neighbors trying to sleep at 1 in the morning. He ignores the oversensitivity of his cock and your clit, forcing you both into an unexpected climb of another orgasm like it was a primal need.

It was happening without warning; he should be asking for permission, but he knew you took the pill, and he's been dying to release inside you from the moment you first let him put his lips on you. You're cumming on his cock again, hips bucking and grinding against him without your clit being touched, and he was done for.

With a harsh cry, he climaxes again, his length flooding your womb with ribbons of white. His arm shoots in front of him, flat on the bed next to your ear to hold himself up so he didn't crash down on you as his hips jerked, pushing his seed deeper in to you.

He rested most of his weight on top of you, labored breaths combined into one. He kisses the top of your nose, whispering "thank you," unsticking your sweaty bodies as he rolls you two over to have you lying on top, your head next to his. He pats your hair over your ear, pebbling your forehead and eyelids in kisses. His cock twitched in your spent heat, cum leaking out and dripping down to his balls and on the bed.

"Glad I—could...help..." you mumbled, eyes already closed as you drifted into sleep.

His softening dick slipped from your pussy, warm hands wiping you with his shirt before settling you gently on a pillow. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your breaths, naked and fast alseep on his bed. He pulled his sheets higher to your shoulder, his heart beating faster at the way you snuggled further into his pillow.

Frankie stared at the ceiling for hours, hand on his forehead in anguish, wondering how the fuck he was supposed to tell you it wasn't cocaine he was craving last night.

- - - -

Part 2: Crash

Series masterlist

[scrambledslut]

makes me so eepy

[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 💗

[javierpena-inatacvest]

All The Things We Never Said- Masterlist

Summary: You and Frankie Morales have been best friends since the 6th grade. You swore to each other that there would never come a day where life would be better without the other one in it. But as you grow up, you've learned the hard way that sometimes, just friendship isn't enough.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n no, reader has a name/nickname she's called by)

Warnings: *Each chapter will have their own individual warnings* SMUT(18+), angst, yearning (so much yearning), sick parent (reader's dad has ongoing cancer), childhood best friends to lovers to enemies to distant friends and back again

The story is written from both reader and Frankie's POV. The story jumps between present day and flashbacks, but is labeled in the chapter who's POV and what timeframe it takes place!

Main Story:

Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Chapter 2- Awakening*

Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Chapter 4- The Chase

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Chapter 6- Undeniable

Chapter 7- For the First Time*

Chapter 8- Something to Believe In (Coming 12/20!)

Asks:

How old are Frankie and MacKenzie?

Extras:

Spotify Playlist

[raspberrybesitos]

just married | frankie morales x f!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2k

Summary: You and Frankie just tied the knot. Half way through the reception, your insatiable husband whisks you away for some much needed privacy.

Warnings: fluff, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism (sex in a private bathroom), unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), creampie, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: happy frankie friday! this is based off this post, i could not for the life of me shake this from my head. literally wrote this in an hour, i’m telling y’all i’m actually going insane. the brain rot is actually concerning. FRANKIE NATION RISE! 🫡 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! 🫶🏼 i loveeee me some frankie 🫠 not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika

“Come on, hermosa,” Frankie rasps in your ear, moving his hands from your hips and grabbing your hand, a small smirk playing on his lips. Music booms from the DJ’s speakers, the dance floor lively and vibrant.

“Where are we going, baby?” You ask, your gown flowing freely as your new husband swiftly maneuvers you through the crowd. “You’ll see,” he shouts over the thrumming music. Your body buzzing with excitement and a smile, so big it hurts, adorns your face.

Leading you out into the hall and racing up the stairs, giggling like a couple of school children. Frankie drags you to the bathroom at the end of the hall, flinging the door open and guiding you inside.

He grips your hips and crashes his lips onto yours, swallowing your dissipating giggles as he presses you up against the door and locks it. You whimper softly as his hands begin to roam your body.

His hands roam your backside, making his way down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Frankie!” You squeal, breathlessly, laughter bubbling over your lips as you pull back for a bit of air.

A toothy grin breaks out into his face. “I’ve missed you, hermosa,” he pants, the both of you breathless from running and desperately kissing each other.

“I’ve missed you too, baby.” Not having had a moment to yourselves this whole day, you two bask in this brief moment of privacy.

He brings you in for another insatiable kiss. Your hands tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan into you. Snaking his hands down your waist, he cups your mound in one hand. You moan into him as your brows scrunch in pleasure, grinding against his hand.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day, baby,” he groans, guiding you to the sink, pressing your backside up against it as he peppers kisses to the column of your throat. “You look so fucking gorgeous, baby, this goddamn dress is driving me crazy,” he whispers, nipping your neck. 

“You’re driving me crazy, Frankie,” you gasp. “Look so fucking sexy in that tux, baby.” He smiles into your skin, working his way back up to draw you in for another kiss. You moan into his mouth as he slips his tongue inside, arousal pooling in your panties and sticking to your sex. Swallowing every moan that pours into his mouth, he pulls back, your lipgloss staining his lips. 

Crouching to his knees, he bunches your gown up over his head and moans at the sight of your lacy panties paired with your garter. 

“Fuck, baby. So fucking wet for me all fucking the time,” he whispers huskily as his large, warm hands run along your thighs. He slides your garter down your leg, tucking it into his back pocket. 

Propping you up onto the sink, he spreads your legs and presses a kiss to your sex. You moan at the feeling, aching for more. One of his thick fingers prods at your entrance, parting your lips and allowing your husband a view of your glistening pussy.

“Please, Frankie,” you plead breathlessly, tossing your head back. 

“Yeah? My pretty little wife wants me to eat her pussy? Huh, mi esposa?” You moan, eagerly nodding as you clench around nothing. Frankie doesn’t miss the way your thighs squeeze together.

“What my wife wants, my wife gets.”

Without warning, Frankie dives in and licks broad stripes up your folds, gasping as you bite back a moan with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, attempting to be quiet. 

“No no, baby. I wanna hear you. They can’t even hear us with the music, it’s just us, baby - just me and you,” he says before diving back in and licking through your folds, his strong nose nudging your clit and your eyes flying open.

“Oh fuck, Frankie!” You moan loudly, eyes squeezed shut as you toss your head back, caution blown to the wind. You snake a hand into Frankie’s curls, tugging at them and eliciting a groan from your husband. The vibrations against your cunt send a new wave of arousal seeping from you, Frankie lapping up every drop as he drowns in your slick.

His tongue prods your entrance, fucking into you. He groans at the way you clench around him, chest rumbling in satisfaction. 

It’s sloppy, and hungry the way he laves at your weeping cunt. His tongue circles your clit relentlessly, your cries filling the air. His lips wrap around your swollen bud as his grip on your thighs tightens. Your hips involuntarily buck up into his face. He snakes his left hand up to your stomach, ring-adorned hand pushing you down and holding you in place. 

“So f-fucking good, F-Frankie, oh my god,” you keen above him, legs wrapping around his back as you try to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. His relentless pace creates a cloud of stars in your eyes. 

“I’m close, Frankie! So close, don’t stop! Please don’t stop, baby,” you yelp, tears of pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes as the coil in your belly tightens.

A sudden intrusion pulls a sharp gasp from you. Two of his thick, long fingers crook into that spongy spot with every stroke as he sucks on your clit. 

His fingers, his mouth, the ring on the hand which pins you down overwhelms you - he’s all-consuming. 

Your vision flashes hot white as the coil in your belly snaps, cumming all over your husband’s face and his fingers. Frankie laps at your juices as you grind your cunt into his face, thighs trembling while riding out your high. He groans as he slurps you up like the sweetest nectar, not wasting a single drop. Your whines fill the air along with a squelching sound as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. 

He pulls back and rises to his feet, his patchy beard glistening with your slick. Slamming his lips onto yours, the two of you moan into each other. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes your head spin.

Frankie ruts his hips into yours, his clothed cock brushing against your exposed cunt and a loud cry pouring from your lips at the sensitivity. Wrapping your arms around his neck to draw him closer, you buck your hips against his, seeking more stimulation.

“Lean back for me, baby.” he rasps as he pulls back, gently pushing you back against the mirror. He makes quick work unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants to his ankles. You suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, mouth watering at the sight of your husband’s angry, leaking cock. Unable to resist, you palm him in your hands, smearing the dribbles of precum along his throbbing length. Frankie stifles a moan, moving your hand away and lines up his cock at your dripping hole.

Swirling small circles around your entrance, gathering the new wave slick that pours from your cunt on his length.

“Frankieeee,” you keen. “No teasing, please, amor,” you huff, on the verge of tears as your desperation grows.

“I got you, amor, don’t worry,” he whispers in your ear. He slides in slowly, but smoothly in one go, your slippery folds allowing him easy access. Both of you moan in tandem, Frankie’s brows pinched together and your lips parted.

You’re so full, relishing in the dull sting as he stuffs your wet heat to the brim. “Move, baby. Please move, mi amor,” you plead, breathless and desperate, seeking some relief.

“Shh shh, it’s okay, baby. I’m gonna take care of you, I always will,”  He says, voice hushed and husky, placing a kiss to your forehead. 

You know his words run deeper than just the matter at hand, having promised to love you eternally just hours ago.

He slowly drags out of you ever so slightly before snapping his hips into yours, his tip punching your g-spot. His hands rest on your waist as he picks up his pace. The room sounds pornographic - filled with the sounds of your squelching pussy, skin-on-skin, moans, and pants.

“I’m the lu-luckiest man ever. Got the prettiest girl ever to m-marry me. Knew you’d make a beautiful bride, hermosa. Most beautiful f-fuckin’ bride in the world, my pretty little wife. Get to, shit, get to love you and fuck this tight little pussy every goddamn day for the rest of our lives. Fuck,” he rambles, hips canting into yours.

Clenching around him at his words, more slick drips from your weeping cunt and onto the counter. An endless string of moans tumble from you and into the air.

“S-so fucking good to m-me, baby. So l-lucky to be your wife,” you keen, pressing your forehead against his. He hungrily captures your lips in a ferocious kiss, teeth clashing together as neither of you care how messy you two will look after.

“My wife. You’re mine, baby, you’re mine forever,” he moans as his tip kisses your cervix. Your walls flutter around him, your second orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Come on, baby, come on, baby. Let go, hermosa. I know you’re close. Let me feel you, I got you, baby,” he babbles almost incoherently. You wail as your orgasm washes over you, convulsing under his grasp, twitching uncontrollably as slick endlessly streams from your cunt. “There we go, baby. Good girl. So fucking good, hermosa. Always feel so fucking good,” Frankie groans against your lips, his thrust growing sloppy as your slippery cunt sucks him in.

“Love you so much, Frankie,” you gasp. “Love you too, hermosa,” he grunts. You can feel him throb inside of you.

“Cum, Frankie. Fill me up, please, baby,” you beg, still riding out the high of your climax.

“Yeah baby? Want my cum? Want me to stuff you full and walk around our wedding with my cum dripping out of your tight little pussy?" 

A high-pitched moan escaping your lips, you squeeze tightly around him. “Yes, Frankie! Wanna feel it dripping down my legs under my dress,” you squeal, overstimulation starting to sink in.

"My dirty fucking girl,” he rasps, punctuating his words with every thrust as he shoots warm ropes of cum into your cunt, coating your walls with his seed. A guttural groan rumbles from deep within his chest. Slowing his pace, you whimper as he fucks his cum into your used hole.

He rests his clammy forehead against yours, breath fanning each other's faces. Post-coital bliss settling amongst you two, the faint humming of the music from the reception rings in the air.

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone?” You ask, panting. A deep chuckle rattles his chest, making you laugh. “I’m pretty sure they have, hermosa.” You pull him in by his tie, kissing him languidly. He pulls back and presses a playful tap to your thigh.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go before the guys start talking shit,” he says, helping you to your feet, and wiping his spend from your mound and in between your legs. He settles your gown into place as you fix your makeup in the mirror. He fixes his hair while you adjust his suit and tie back into place. You beam as you lock eyes with his, love shimmering in the corners of them. He entwines his fingers with yours as he leads you out the door and back downstairs to the reception.

It seems nobody has noticed you two were gone, or just don’t question your absence, as you two mingle your way back into the crowd.

“Hey! Where the hell were you two?! It’s time for the bouquet toss!" You best friend, and maid-of-honor, screeches.

"And the garter toss!” Santiago, the best man, chimes in. They drag you both to the dance floor. Women crowd the dance floor as you toss your bouquet over your shoulder, your best friend catching it and eyeing her partner. 

Music blares as Frankie leads you to a chair in the middle of the dance floor. He teasingly lifts your dress to remove your garter, to be met with nothing. Your eyes bug out of your head, heat coursing through your veins.

“Where’s my garter?” You ask him. Santiago appears behind Frankie, taking something out of his back pocket and holding it out to Frankie. “Here it is!”

Laughter erupts amongst your guests as you hide your face in your hands, an embarrassed smile plastered on Frankie’s lips, meekly waving to the crowd. He pries your hands from your face, playfully rolling his eyes as he brushes off the embarrassment while helping you to your feet. Cheering and whooping fills the hall as you smile apologetically to the crowd as they roar, Frankie cupping your face and pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

Frankie is rotting my brain today obvi. this one's for all my Frankie girlies out there, shout out to y’all 🩷

thank you for reading! 🫶🏼

tag list: @undrthelights @gracieheartspedro @jenispunk @amanitacowboy @bastardmandennis @nostalxgic @tinygarbage @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @harriedandharassed