#do i need to write frankie x santi fic now?

[mydreamysummerstudio]

Oh my sweet lord this broke my brain in the best way.

Driving by to order one smut from the smutdonald's. dealer's choice

<.< >.>

.....but Frankie facefucking Santi would be a-ok

okay ilu baaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

DOWN ON MY KNEES

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia

Summary: Santiago gets on his knees for Frankie.

Content: Explicit up the whazoo. MLM, and a very rough Frankie with a spoonful of brat taming to help the medicine go down (pssst, the medicine is his cock).

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The hard unforgiving wooden floor is digging into Santiago's knees. It's uncomfortable to say the least, the blunt pain eating into his kneecaps. He's going to bruise to shits, knees all black, blue and purple, he'll be paying the price for weeks, hobbling with every two steps. But like hell he's going to tell Frankie that.

Not when Frankie is looking at Santiago the way he is right now. Teeth bared, staring down at him. The obsidian pitch of his pupils eating into the warm brown. It's primal.

Rough fingers tangled in Santiago's curls as he grips him hard and stinging. Giving him no reprieve for air at all as Frankie holds Santiago in place, the tips of his nose pushing into the softness of his abdomen until he chokes, and still doesn't let go.

If you were here, Santiago wonders what you'd think, your sweet, little Francisco. There's nothing sweet or little about the man now.

No, that thick intimidating girth blocking Santiago's airways, filling his entire goddamned throat until he swears it must be halfway down his lungs by now, is hardly little.

Fuck, the man's thick.

"What's wrong Pope? Thought you said you could handle it."

That warm palm of Frankie's, calloused and worn, comes to cradle Santiago's jaw, fingers fanning over his stretched and bulging cheek, and Frankie taps him there. Not hard, and that's worse somehow. It's soft, and amused, condescending, the way you'd pat an errand boy for doing a good job.

Asshole.

Tears are prickling the corners of his eyes, and it's about all Santiago can manage, to stay still and keep his eyes open so they don't breach the barrier and streak down his cheeks.

And he's not even sure he can actually manage that, because every nerve in him is screaming for air. Begging him to pull away and run the other way. And he would, if it wasn't for his own stubbornness. He would if it wasn't for that infuriating expression plastered on Frankie's face right now.

Santiago swallows around the man, and fuck, that's a mistake. The insides of his throats constricts around Frankie's cock, hugging around every inch of this Behemoth lodged inside him. It's like his body panics at the realization of just how big Frankie is, eyes welling up and he gags. Everything burns, as he desperately tries to swallow down his chocked coughs until he finally has to pull off.

Fuck! fuck!

Irritation burns across cheeks, and prickles across Santiago's swollen lips. He's a mess. Drool and spit running wet and sticky down his chin and he brings the back of his hand to wipe it off.

"Is it too much for you?" Boa handles me just fine."

Santiago grits his teeth at the taunt. He knows Frankie is doing it just to get a rise out of him. Knows that Frankie is needling his competitive streak. It's transparent as day. It's just annoying that the man succeeds.

"Fu-fuck you Frank!" It doesn't come out nearly as defiant and irritated as he intended to. Instead it's breathless, and flustered, and that irritates him even more.

There's a slow smile curling on Frankie's lips at that and before Santiago is able to think of better smart retort, that familiar wide palm of Frankie's already back, pulling Santiago forward by the scruff of his neck.

"Thought that's what you'd say," Frankie says. Then he pushes Santiago forward, the rest of the way, guiding Santiago back down on him.

The fat, heavy tip of Frankie's cock rests and prods against Santiago's lips until he slides in with a deep groan that reverberates and embeds itself somewhere deep in Santiago's skull.

It sends a shiver through Santiago that has him curling the tip of his toes. Everything in him aches. He's so hard, cock straining against the seam of his jeans, he's surprised the stitches haven't torn by now. His own hand comes to the front of his jeans, palming the bulge clumsily. There's a pleasure that skitters up the back of his neck so pleasantly that if Frankie's thick cock wasn't in the way, Santiago is pretty sure he'd be moaning.

"Fuck, that's a good look on you, Santiago."

Frankie's tone is almost awed as he says it. The honed sharpness softening around the edges as he stares down at Santiago. There's love there. Adoration. And there's nothing wrong with that...

But Santiago would be lying to himself that the Frankie with dark eyes, rough palms against his neck and taunting grin mocking him wasn't a turn on. He slides his mouth off the man, chin tilted up to stare up in defiance.

"Real good at playing tough when Boa's not around, aren't you?"

That's all it takes.

Something sparks behind those warm eyes until they're incinerating. Frankie reaches over, large hand wrapped around Santiago's throat that has his cock twitching and jerking against the strained denim. Precome leaking down the tip of him soaking his boxers from excitement at the man's grip around his airpipe with just the right pressure that he likes.

Then Frankie leans down, close enough that his lips brush against Santiago's ear.

"Our wife's not here to spoil you now, and I'm not planning on taking it easy on you Pope, so I'd save that smart little mouth of yours right about now."

Santiago grins. Frankie's right. If you were here, you'd spoil Santiago. If you were here Frankie wouldn't be quite this rough. If you were here that is... but you're not.

And in this moment, Santiago can't bring himself to be sorry that you're not.

Dedication: To @jazzelsaur for this demented thot. And to my beloved moose @thirstworldproblemss who helped me finish it.

[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

[absurdthirst]

The Cupid Shuffle {Frankie Morales x F!Reader x Pope x F!OC}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Exhibitionism, voyeurism, bisexual women, mentions of past sexual relationships, little bit of putting on a show for the boys, women making out, mentions of fantasies, oral sex (male and female receiving), partner swapping, unprotected sex, cum eating

Comments: Inviting Pope and his girl over for a low-key Valentine's night movie turns in to something much more.

A/N: Valentine's Day foursome? More likely than you'd think!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Babe. I was talking to Santi and he’s cool with a movie night tonight. Him and his girl are going to go out tomorrow like us because tonight is always crazy busy. So it’s a quiet one in for Valentine’s Day.” Frankie says as he comes up to you to caress your waist, leaning in to kiss your neck. “You wanna go get some snacks? You know Santi will eat us out of everything if we don’t buy extra.” He jokes and you turn your head to kiss him, smiling against his lips. “What time are they coming over?” You ask and he murmurs, “seven.”

You grin, happy that this is happening. Santiago Garcia, or ‘Pope’ as Frankie calls him, is dating your friend from college. You had been the one to set them up, absolutely in love with your helicopter pilot boyfriend and Pope had always been a flirty, fun time when he was in town. After he’s moved back permanently, you had set them up and the rest is history. “Perfect. A low key night is just what we all need.” You promise, kissing him again 

and smirking. “And after, I’ll give you your present.”

Frankie smirks, loving how eager you are and he’s excited to get you in bed after the movie ends and Pope and his girl are gone. “Baby, you’re already my present.” He murmurs, nipping your ear as you lean back against him. “Let’s get everything set up and we need blankets for the movie.”

You decide to have groceries delivered instead of going out, allowing you and Frankie to clean up and get ready to have them over. It’s not necessary, but you set out some of the candles Frankie got you for Christmas and light them, enjoying the romantic glow with the soft blankets strewn around for couples to cuddle under. “This is better than battling the craziness of a restaurant and a movie theater.” You decide, smiling at Frankie. You know that he hates crowded places and is constantly on alert for threats, so it’s easy to accommodate him and do a romantic night in on the busiest day for most fine dining restaurants.

Frankie nods, “it looks great, babe. I prefer this than going out and battling the crowds. We got some movies saved on the tv so we have a few options. You gonna make that dip?” He asks, biting his lower lip with a pleading expression. You nod and he groans, his hands caressing your side, “fuck yes. I can’t wait for that.”

You laugh quietly, swearing that dip is what made Frankie fall for you. Eating your dip at a party to the point where he almost made himself sick. “I’ll go make it now, I’ve got everything I need.”

Frankie playfully smacks your ass and you gasp, making him chuckle. His life was so dark before he met you. You brighten his days, make him believe in a hopeful future. You saved him. He’d be lost without you. “I’ll go get the drinks ready.” He says, making his way to the garage to grab the ice bucket and drinks for the movie marathon you have planned. Pope and his girl will be arriving soon.

The other food arrives and you set the store bought wings out on a tray and pop the pizzas into the oven and dump a bag of cheddar popcorn into a bowl. Just as you are setting it and the dip out, the doorbell rings out. “Oh! They are here!” You squeal, excited to see them.

Frankie heads to the door before you, opening it to greet his best friend and your best friend. You’ve been on quite a few couple dates, enjoying each other’s company during game nights. It’s been a perfect combination so far. “Hermano. Todo día más feo.” Pope teases Frankie as he pats him on the back in a hug and Frankie affectionately rolls his eyes as your best friend steps around the men to greet you.

“Hey!!!!” You and Dara throw your arms around each other and squeeze tight. Always happy to see each other and it’s such a joy to see your friend so happy after having so many shit boyfriends before Pope. You had constantly moaned together that it seems like there weren’t any good men anymore, and now you are both with ones that are completely amazing. If Pope had been kind of a playboy before, he had focused all that flirtatious energy into making sure your friend was head over heels for him. “How are you? I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to call!” You apologize and look at her once you break apart. 

She grins at you, “I’ve been so busy with the new job and honestly, going to Pope’s nearly every night. I’m hoping he’s going to ask me to move in soon since I basically live with him by now anyway.” She says, squeezing your hands as she glances over at Pope who is telling Frankie about his latest client in his security business. “We need a brunch to catch up.” Dara giggles and you nod, “yes we do. You want a drink? I got that vodka that you like.” Dara nods and lets you drag her into the kitchen with a smile.

“It going okay with your girl?” Pope asks Frankie who nods, glancing back at the door you disappeared through.

“She’s everything.” He murmurs, a silly smile on his face that Pope understands.

“Sooooooo.” You grin as you pour the vodka and add juice to it for Dara before mixing up one of your own. “Tell me, how is basically living with Pope?” You ask. “You look happy, really happy. And I love that for you.”

Dara grins, her cheeks hurting from how much she’s been smiling, “honestly, he’s so good. In every way.” Her voice lowers slightly, “he flirts like crazy with me and only me. All that attention makes a girl crazy in love.” She confesses and you squeal quietly, the ice cubes in your drink shaking as you bounce a little.

“Love?” You ask and she nods in confirmation.

“Who would’ve thought? Both of us in love? Especially when we were lonely and horny and used to-” Dara is cut off as the boys come into the kitchen to grab their beers, “you ladies ready for an epic movie marathon?” Pope asks, leaning in to kiss Dara on the cheek.

“Let’s do it.” You wink at Frankie and he nods, walking back into the living room to get the movie up on the streaming service. Pope and Dara take a seat on the large sectional, snuggling into each other and Frankie holds his arm out for you to curl into his side.

You fold into his arms easily and pull the cover up over your laps. The snacks are out and you smile over at Dara and Pope as they curl together near you, Dara closest to you. “Let me know when you need another drink.” You murmur to Dara before the movie starts.

The movie is some superhero movie the boys wanted to watch. The next movie is your choice. The explosions are loud and Frankie glances over at Dara and Pope whose eyes are on the screen. His hand slides down from your shoulder until he’s squeezing your breast. Your eyes flick up to his face and he is smirking slightly, knowing you can’t make a noise otherwise the others will know. His hand slides a little lower, brushing past your stomach until he is sliding his hand under the hem of the dress you’re wearing. His fingers trail along your thigh, slow and teasing, and you spread your legs a little for him. Covered by the blanket, his fingers slide higher until they are pressing against your clit through your panties.

Your breath catches and you bite your lip so you don’t moan, not wanting Dara and Pope to know what Frankie is doing to you. You aren’t focusing on the movie, having no clue what is going on as your boyfriend starts to rub tight circles on your clit, teasing you as he touches you. Frankie loves to make you cum and you have no doubt that he will right now, regardless of the other people in the room.

Pope smirks as his hand sneaks under the blanket, teasing his girlfriend as he caresses her through her clothes. She offers him a warning look, knowing that they are in someone else’s home. All thoughts of propriety leave her mind when his finger finds her clit, rubbing through her panties under her shirt. She bites her lip and focuses on the screen, unaware that you are doing the same thing. Frankie can feel how tense you are, trying to control yourself and that urges him on, rubbing your clit a little faster and you put your leg up, acting like you’re getting comfortable when you’re really giving him more access to you.

Pope glances over at the two of you, noting the smug smirk on Frankie’s face and he grins. He knows that look, and with the way you are squirming, you’re doing exactly what he and Dara are doing. He leans in and presses his lips to his girlfriend’s neck. “Dirty girl. Just like your friend.” He whispers playfully, biting her ear.

Dara stiffens slightly until she looks over at you and Frankie, knowing that look on your face. "Looks like you had the same idea as us." She declares and you rip your eyes away from the screen to look at your friend just as she pulls the blanket away from her lap to expose Santi's fingers rubbing her clit under her underwear. 

"Jesus." Frankie hisses, his cock already hard against your side as you lean against him. You smirk and pull your blanket off too, watching as Santi continues to rub Dara's clit. 

"Damn, baby. What a sight." Santi coos and Frankie doesn't stop his movements. The four of you watch each other, the movie forgotten as you moan softly. 

"Wanna have some fun, like old times?" Dara asks, her eyes flicking between you and Frankie.

Frankie’s eyes widen, gaze darting between you and his mouth is hanging open. 

“Baby?” You turn to look at him and lean in to kiss the bare spot on his jaw where his whiskers never grow. “Do you want to see me fool around with Dara?” You ask him, turning to look at Pope with a questioning look. You think it would be sexy, but if your boyfriend or Santi isn’t okay with it, you wouldn’t touch her.

Frankie is a little dumbstruck and he nods, looking over at Santi who grins and says “fuck yeah.”

Frankie leans in to kiss you softly, “yes. I want - want whatever you are comfortable with.” He murmurs, pulling his hand from your underwear to give you the freedom to touch Dara how you want. 

Dara grins, “like those lonely nights back in college.” She teases, leaning in to cup your cheek after Santi pulls his hand away from her and she leans in to press her lips to yours.

You are familiar with her mouth, accepting the kiss eagerly and curling your hand around the back of her head and sliding your tongue into her mouth. There were plenty of nights that you had done this and more, because you were bored, lonely, curious and finally just enjoying yourself. You hear the way the boys groan beside you but you are enjoying the way you know they are staring at both of you.

Santi reaches down to squeeze his cock through his pants, not noticing Frankie do the same as the two men watch their girlfriends kiss. Every guy’s dream honestly. Frankie caresses your back, squeezing your ass as you slide your tongue against Dara’s until she pulls back with a grin. “I wanna - do you want to switch?” She asks breathlessly, glancing behind you to Frankie.

You know that Dara has always been interested in how Frankie is as a lover and despite him being your boyfriend, you aren’t jealous. This woman has been a lover on and off for years and you have no jealousy. “What do you think, baby?” You ask Frankie, reaching down and pulling her tits out of her shirt and sneezing them. “Do you want to touch Dara like this? Show her how good your tongue is, like I’ve bragged about since the first night we’ve fucked?”

Frankie is torn, wondering for a second if this is a test, but your eyes are dark with lust and he glances at Pope to make sure he’s on the same page. His best friend nods, “as long as I get to see what these blowjobs you rave about are like.” He teases and Frankie smirks, “just you wait, hermano.” 

Dara giggles, leaning in to kiss you again. “Any of us have an issue, we say it.” She says, setting the rules as she shuffles around you towards Frankie, reaching down to squeeze his cock through his pants. “You weren’t lying when you said how thick he is.” She says and Frankie blushes slightly.

“I would never lie about that.” You coo as you crawl towards Santiago. “My baby is packing, and he knows how to fuck a girl until her legs are jelly.” You bite your lip as you straddle your friend’s boyfriend. “Just like I’m curious to find out how Santiago fucks you so hard you pass out.” You caress his cheek and lean in, the movie forgotten in the background. “Can I kiss you, handsome?”

Santi nods, his hands immediately finding your waist and he groans when you grind down onto him, leaning in to meet your lips in a kiss. Frankie inhales sharply when Dara reaches down to undo his pants, reaching in to pull his hard cock out. 

“Fuck, she wasn’t lying. You are packing. And uncut like Santi. Love that.” She murmurs and grips him, leaning down to take him in her mouth as her eyes focus on his while he watches her.

You look over as Frankie’s head drops back to the couch cushion and he moans loudly. You love the sounds he makes when you are blowing him and now you get to see him from another view. “You want to have a little competition, Dara?” You coo. “See who can get the guy to the brink of cumming the fastest?”

She pulls off of Frankie’s cock, a smirk on her lips as she looks over at you. “You’re on, baby. Let’s blow their minds.” She grins and you peck Santi’s lips as you slide down his body until you are working his pants open. Dara pumps Frankie in her hand and his eyes watch you as you take Pope’s cock out. Jesus, he feels his cock twitch in Dara’s fingers as your eyes meet his.

“Fuck, you weren’t lying when you said he has a beautiful cock.” You hum, pulling the foreskin back and looking at the bead of precum that has built up at the tip. “I can’t wait to hear him moan.”

Santi watches you as you take the head of his cock into your mouth, “mierda.” He curses and looks over at Dara who has taken Frankie back into her mouth with a moan. The men’s eyes flick between their partner and the woman sucking their cock. Groaning as Santi caresses your head and Dara chokes as she tries to take Frankie deeper.

You know Dara knows how to give head so you put everything you’ve got into sucking Santiago’s cock. Wrapping your fingers around the base and pumping while you work him deeper, making sure that you make him wet and keep your palette soft.

“Fuckkkk.” Santi pants as you take him deeper and Jesus, your mouth feels so good. He hisses and Frankie nods, “damn good. So fucking good.” He pants as his hand comes up to grip the back of the sofa, trying to keep himself from thrusting up into Dara’s mouth.

You moan around Santiago’s cock, enjoying the way he throbs and pulses in your mouth when you swallow around him. Reaching down and gently cradling his balls when you let go of his shaft and completely engulf him in your mouth until your nose is pressed against the short hairs at the base of his cock.

“Holllly fuckin’ shitttt.” Pope hisses, his fingers curling in the edge of the sofa cushion and his toes curl as you take him deep. “Fuckkkk.” He exhales shakily, eyes rolling into the back of his head as you blow his mind.

Dara chuckles around Frankie’s cock, knowing how good you are, and she ups her game, bobbing her head a little faster so Frankie hisses at the pace. "Holy shit."

You have to let up, needing to watch Frankie’s eyes roll back in pleasure. You hum around Pope’s cock and reach for his hand, pulling it to the back of your head. Encouraging him to thrust up into your mouth or push your head down. Wanting him to completely lose control.

Pope groans, keeping you still as he thrusts up into you, his cock twitching as he pushes down your throat. Fuck, no wonder Frankie looks dazed whenever he comes back from his lunch break. “She’s good, hermano?” He asks and Pope nods, panting slightly.

You don’t know if Pope plans on cumming down your throat but you don’t let up. Bobbing your head and swallowing around him, keeping the suction tight around his cock as he throbs on your tongue.

He doesn’t want to cum down your throat. He lets out a strangled choke and grabs the back of your neck, dragging you off of his cock and he watches you stay connected to his length with a line of spit. “Holy fuck.” He gasps, trying to calm himself down and he looks over at Dara who is taking Frankie down her throat.

“One day, you need to cum down my throat.” You gasp as you try to catch your breath, grinning up at him before you look over where Dara is still sucking Frankie’s cock. “Fuck they look so sexy, don’t they?” You moan, sinking a hand between your thighs and inside your panties. “I don’t know which one is sexier right now. And I’ve fucked them both.”

Frankie pants, turned on by your statement. He knows your history with Dara, you’ve talked about your sex life and Frankie must admit that he’s jerked off thinking about you and Dara messing around. He hisses when Dara pulls off of his cock, knowing he won’t want to cum, and Pope moves fast to drag you up his body. “Whose cock do you want to sit on?” He asks you with a smirk.

“Weelllllll, I think I want to sit on your cock, baby.” You lean in and press your lips to Santi’s. “I want to hear Dara squeal Frankie’s name while I moan yours.” You are dripping at the idea and reach over to grab your friend’s face and pull her close for another kiss. “Do you want to lick your boyfriend’s cum out of my pussy, baby?” You ask her breathlessly.

She nods, a whimper escaping her lips and she grabs her shirt to pull it over her head. You follow suit with your dress, leaving you both in panties that are soon shoved onto the floor. You straddle Pope, caressing his chest through his t-shirt, feeling his heart thumping in his chest. “Goddamn. You’re gorgeous. Fish is a lucky fucker.” He compliments you, his hands finding your ass to squeeze your cheeks until he slaps them.

“You’re lucky too, hermano.” Frankie groans, stroking his hands up and down Dara’s back before cupping her tits. “Your girlfriend is fucking breathtaking. Too good for your ugly ass.” He jokes, leaning in and biting her shoulder.

Dara whimpers and reaches down to grip Frankie’s cock. You know she has an IUD and is clean. She knows you are the same. She trusts everyone here and she’s excited to have a good time. She’s dripping wet so notching Frankie at her entrance isn’t hard work. He slips into her as she sinks down onto him with a low moan.

Both you and Santi watch, eyes blown with lust as your boyfriend and his girlfriend start to fuck. “Fuck,” you pant as you look back at Pope. “I need you inside me.” You beg, reaching down and gripping his cock. “Will you fuck me, Pope?”

Santi nods, his hands sliding down your back until he’s squeezing your ass again. “Take what you want, bebita.” He orders and you shuffle closer, swiping his cock through your folds a couple of times before you start to sink down onto him.

Frankie groans as he watches you take his friend’s cock. The way your jaw drops and he twitches inside of Dara. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” She murmurs to him, her eyes watching her boyfriend and her best friend.

“Fucking amazing.” Frankie groans, unable to believe this is happening. “You are so tight, hermosa.” He praises, rocking his hips up and slapping her thigh gently. “Never thought I would get to do this.” He huffs, groaning again when she squeezes him hard enough to make him twitch.

You watch Frankie and Dara, clenching around Pope’s cock hard enough that he hisses. “You like watching them, baby? You like watching them fuck each other?” He coos into your ear, biting down on your earlobe. “You’re so fucking wet around me. Always wondered what you’d be like. Frankie said he’d give me a chance with you.”

You moan softly, wishing you had known about those conversations before now. “He has.” You hum, clenching down around him. “How do you like being inside your best friend’s girl?”

“Fucking love it.” Santi groans, smacking your ass with both hands. He hisses your name and rocks you a little faster on top of him. “You enjoying it?” He asks you, leaning in to nip your jaw.

“Yesssssss.” You whimper, closing your eyes and tangling your fingers into Santiago’s hair while you start to bounce on his cock. “Always wondered what it would be like to fuck you. Imagined you and Frankie both railing me. Now I want that and to see you both rail Dara.”

Santi groans at the same time as Frankie, imagining that dirty thought. They have shared women before during time stateside but he loves the idea of sharing you with his friend and his girlfriend more often, watching you all like his own private porno. “Goddamn.” Frankie hisses, cupping Dara’s tits and pinching her nipples to make her gasp.

You giggle quietly and look over at your boyfriend. “You like that idea, baby? Fucking me and Dara with Santi? Being complete sluts for the two of you? I know you would want to have Dara sit on your cock while I sit on your face.”

Frankie groans, cock twitching inside of Dara, “and Pope can fuck her ass.” He smirks, knowing his friend has a big thing for anal.

Dara chuckles, “double? Fuck yes.” She groans, “then I can play with that gorgeous pair of tits and kiss your girl. Keep her satisfied while you suck on her clit like I used to.” Dara smirks until her jaw drops when Frankie thrusts up into her.

“Fuuuuuuck.” Santiago hisses and his hands tighten on your hips. “You never told me that.” He huffs. “I’d have had you telling me all about it while I was making you scream.” He has had quite a few ideas of fucking you and Dara, but to know that you used to eat each other out? It’s sexy as fuck. “I’ll want to see that while I recover enough to fuck her.”

“We can show our boys how to eat pussy, can’t we baby?” Dara winks at you and moans when Frankie thrusts up into her again. “Oh do that again.” She begs, knowing he has found the right angle and Frankie obliges her, keeping her still while he fucks up into her like it’s the last thing he will do.

“He’s so good, isn’t he?” That’s not to say Santi isn’t a good lover and he steals your attention back to him with the next thrust. Making you moan and turn back to crush your lips to his while you start to ride him again in earnest.

Dara watches you kiss Santi and it sends her over the edge, she cries out against Frankie’s shoulder as he thrusts up into her with vigor, grunts escaping his lips as he jackhammers up into her until she is squealing. Shaking against your boyfriend as she cums, soaking him and her nails digging into his shoulders.

Santiago actually stops thrusting into you, although his cock is pulsing harshly, twitching inside you as he watches his girlfriend cum all over Frankie. “Jesus Christ.” He hisses, so turned on by the sight he almost cums himself. “Now it’s your turn.” He promises, kissing you passionately and starting to move when Dara collapses against Frankie’s chest.

Frankie stops thrusting once Dara is worked through her orgasm, wanting to watch you cum on Santi’s cock. He doesn’t want to cum too soon so he strokes Dara’s back as they both watch Santi start to thrust up into you. “That’s it, Bonita. Want you to cum for me.” Santi coos, his hands squeezing your ass to help rock you on top of him.

Your boyfriend encouraging to cum throws you over the edge. Tossing your head back, you cry out in pleasure. “Santi!” Your walls clamp down around his cock and you soak him as your body shakes.

He groans as you clamp down on him, squeezing him tight. 

“Holy shit, Fish. Like a goddamn vice.” Pope hisses and works you through it by rocking you on top of him. His cock is throbbing inside of you. “Wanna - don’t wanna cum yet.” He admits and Frankie nods. 

“Get on your hands and knees. Both of you.” Frankie orders, smacking Dara’s ass.

It takes a moment for you to move, but when you are on your hands and knees by Dara, you lean in and kiss your friend. “Fuck.” You giggle against her lips. “Isn’t this the fucking dream?” You ask breathlessly, looking over your shoulder at the two men and smirking. “They are both so fucking hot and want to fuck us.”

Dara smirks back, “a girl’s fucking dream, baby. Remember when we used to talk about something like this happening?” She asks and you nod, leaning in to kiss her again, sliding your tongue against yours. The two men groan, slowly jerking their cocks before they shuffle forward, notching themselves at the dripping wet cunts and pushing back in.

You don’t know exactly who is inside you for a moment while you are kissing Dara. Eyes closed and trying to guess because your cunt is already a little abused from the fucking. Until his hands grip your hips and he drills forward hard enough to make you gasp into your friend’s mouth. “Frankie!”

Your boyfriend chuckles as you gasp out his name and he slaps your ass. "Want you to cum for me, hermosa." He demands, knowing he can pull you apart easily. He hisses when you teasingly clench around him. 

"That's it baby." Pope groans when Dara grinds back onto him and he thrusts into her, making her moan into your mouth before she sucks on your tongue.

Dara nods, knowing it won't take much. She hisses as she rocks back onto Pope, his fingers rubbing her clit, but when you lean in to kiss her, your fingers pinching your nipple, she's sent over the edge. "Fuck!" She squeals into your mouth as she cums, clamping down on Santi's cock.

Both men groan at the sight of the two of you locked into a kiss when Dara cums. Santiago grips her hips tights to continue fucking her and Frankie moans as his own pace quickens. You know they are loving the sight and you swallow her sounds as she comes apart.

Frankie wants you to follow, his hand squeezing your tit as he rocks into you. “Fuck baby. Want you to cum for me.” He demands, pinching your nipple as Dara pants against your chin.

His cock is shredding against something wonderful inside you and you know you won't last long. You never do when he's hammering into you like it's the last thing he will do. Your body starting to stiffen with each thrust until you let out a loud cry, unable to stop yourself from tumbling over the edge and drawing out your pleasure.

“Fuckkkk.” Frankie groans when you squeeze his cock like a goddamn vice. “That’s it, hermosa. Jesús Christ.” He hisses, trying to hold off from filling you up. He pants your name and caresses your stomach, enjoying the way you soak him.

Dara groans and pushes back against Pope's cock. "Need you to cum, baby." She begs softly. "Both of you. Want to see cum dripping out of both of our cunts."

Pope grunts, jaw clenched as he pounds into your best friend, his nostrils flared as he seeks his orgasm.

Frankie groans, smacking your ass when you clench him, egging him on. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He hisses, pushing deep as he fills your walls with his hot seed in one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had.

“Fraannnnnnnkie.” You whine his name, rolling your eyes back in pleasure as he paints your walls with his cum, hearing Pope hiss out Dara’s name beside you as he is the last one to cum, his hips stuttering and his entire body jerking in pleasure as he fills her. “Oh god.” You pant, collapsing down onto your cheek and look over your friend and her boyfriend as he slumps over her back and kisses along her spine. “That was amazing.” 

Frankie leans over you to kiss you, his tongue sliding against yours and you kiss him back as hungrily. Dara chuckles breathlessly, “now I wanna taste your cum from her pussy.” Dara smirks at you, “wanna sit on my face like we used to?” She asks, biting her lip.

“Fuck yes.” You moan, clenching around Frankie and the thought of her tongue against your cunt. Frankie is amazing at eating your pussy, but Dara was just as good, if not slightly better. “I want to taste Pope’s cum too.”

The two men shuffle from behind you, pulling out slowly, and move to sit on the other side of the sofa, eyes eager. Dara shifts to lay down and she smirks at you, tapping her cheek and you shift to straddle her face, stretching your body over hers so you can push her legs apart, finding her creamy cunt. Dara doesn’t hesitate to lean in, sliding her tongue through your folds with a groan.

It takes a good bit of tilting her hips, but your own tongue quickly follows suit while both men groan around you. Watching as you two sample their cum from their girlfriend’s cunt with an eagerness that borders on feral. You love the saltiness of Santiago mixed with the sweet tang of Dara, licking the mixture from her swollen folds and holding her legs apart when your tongue swipes over her sensitive clit. 

“Fuck me.” Frankie murmurs, watching you both writhe and lick and suck. It’s primal and his spent cock rests against his thigh but his stomach twists with arousal at the erotic display.

“Mierda.” Pope murmurs, watching just as intensely.

You love the fact that they are watching, but this is honestly for you and Dara. They have cum and it will be a little while before they can fuck again. You clench around nothing when you hear Frankie groan, and suck a little harder on your friend’s clit. 

Dara squeezes your ass, loving the way you rock back onto her tongue. Her hips tilted so you can lick deeper into her pussy. It’s intoxicating and everyone is feeling the intensity of this moment. “That’s it baby. Lick her clit. She likes that.” Frankie coaches you, seeing Dara’s reactions.

You hum, grinning into her folds as you obey Frankie. It’s no hardship, especially since that’s exactly what she likes. You suck her clit into your mouth and give it a series of kitten licks that makes her moan into your cunt.

Dara’s tongue gets faster, anxious to make you cum like you used to. She laps at you, sucking on your clit and swirling her tongue around it while the boys continue to watch with rapture. “Look so good, bebita. Wish I could take a a fucking photo.” Pope groans, watching with dark eyes.

She pulls her lips away from your clit for a moment, making you whine. “Do it.” She moans before she dives back into your cunt. You moan your own agreement and nod. You trust the boys not to share that, and you would love to see how sexy this looks from their perspective.

Pope scrambles to find his pants on the floor, getting his phone and he looks over at Frankie who nods enthusiastically. “Do it, hermano.” He insists and Pope smirks as he takes a photo of you and Dara. “So fucking hot.” He groans softly, taking a couple more.

You whimper when Dara sucks on your clit again, so close to cumming as you rock your hips back. Pushing down onto her tongue. Your hand slides up and you push two fingers inside her, knowing how much she loves to cum around something.

“Fuck.” She cries out against your folds, her lips slick with cum and your arousal, and the boys watch in awe as her thighs start to shake around your head. “Cum for her baby.” Santo orders, his cock twitching in interest.

It only takes another few moments of sucking on her clit and pumping your fingers into her cunt before she is crying out. Her walls clenching down around your fingers and soaking them with her cum.

The boys hiss, watching Dara cum, and Frankie leans forward on his elbows, planting them on his knees as he watches Dara ride her orgasm on your fingers. “Your turn, hermosa.” Frankie rasps and Dara nods, her tongue pushing back inside of you, her chin against your clit as she tries to push you over the edge.

You whine, eyes fluttering closed and your mouth drops open when she flicks her tongue inside you, sending you over the edge. Your entire body bucks and you squeal in pleasure as the waves of bliss crash over you, making you gasp out as you grind back onto her face.

The guys groan, their cocks half hard at the sight in front of them. Pope smirks, biting his lip as he watches you cum. “Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.” He coos to both women. 

“Goddamn.” Frankie murmurs, watching Dara work you through it before she shifts to pull her mouth back.

You sit up and shift off of her, smirking at Dara and pulling her in for one last kiss before looking at the boys. “Happy Valentine’s Day, boys.” You hum playfully, making Dara giggle as she clings to you and it might be the best Valentine’s Day that you’ve ever had. Definitely one to repeat.

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 16}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: In the aftermath of a rather eventful and terrifying last summer farmer's market, you try to find a semblance of normalcy as best you can. Meanwhile, Frankie is up to something that is beginning to cause you to worry about the burden you've become in your recovery.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: medical jargon, mild language, emotional monologues, internal monologue, negative feelings, negative thoughts, ptsd symptoms, pining, emotional pining, depressive thoughts, description of pain and injuries, blood, descriptions of post shooting chaos, panic attacks, notions of death, hospital setting, mentions of needles and iv's, mentions of narcotics, use of prescription narcotics, feelings of inadequacy, angst

A/N: um, so it's been four months since i've touched this fic, then i woke up yesterday morning and just began writing like nothing. takes breaks when you need to, don't force things and it'll all work out. please let me know what y'all think!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“C’mon, hang on for me baby, please, don’t-don’t close your eyes.”

“Mantequilla, everything is gonna be okay, I promise, we’re all here for you, please know that everything is going to be okay.”

“We’ve got you, you did so good, you saved my little girl, you did, you saved her.”

“Honey, we all love you so much, please stay strong, I’ll hold your hand the entire way there.”

“Let’s get you turned over, ma’am, c’mon. There we go, you’re doing amazing.”

“Santi, she-she-“

“Papa!! Papa, please help her, I love her! Tio Santi, do something!!”

“Merde, that’s so much blood, Frankie you’ve gotta focus, you’ve gotta calm her down. Get her home safe, to your mother’s, somewhere safe.”

“Will!! They got her, call Morgan! She went missing the second things got crazy.”

“Has anyone seen Benny?”

“They’re transporting her now, rushing her to surgery the second the get there.”

“She’s lost a lot of blood, any donations with the same blood type would be appreciated. Who here is a positive?”

“Sweet girl, please, you’ve got to pull through, I know you can do it. You’re so strong.”

“No response, it’s been how many days now?”

“She’s being rushed into another surgery, she keeps clotting. They can’t figure out why.”

“Fransico Morales? You’re next of kin?”

“No, no, but we’re all she has. Her family is flying out, they’ll be here in a few hours.”

“Taylor, take a moment, it’s…it’s a lot to take in.”

“Daddy, why is tia all tangled in those machines, she’s going to be okay, right?”

“This is my son, he wanted to come and cheer her up because she always did the same for him when he was sick.”

“Please, mi amor, please, you have to make it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Fractered memories played over each other, words echoing and bouncing off of each other through the fog that was all you knew. You couldn’t feel anything, all of your senses stripped away, and you were nothing more than a half-conscious mind tunneling in and out of suspended darkness.

Beeping, an even beeping was the only steady thing you could make out. Sense of environment completely gone and sense of awareness slowly trickling in. Your eyes hurt as you slowly blinked them open, the faint lights around you too bright and you clenched them shut with a huff that pulled at your lungs. The stillness of where you were was shattered as the clattering of a chair sounded, followed by a pair of hands tightening around yours that were settled over your middle. A hushed order to go fetch someone and then a deep voice was rumbling close. You turned your head toward the presence hovering close to your left side, drawn to whoever it was.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, sweet girl.”

A grunt sounded from deep in your chest as you tried to open your mouth and respond. Then a gasp when pain reverberated from the same spot. You tried to shift your legs, hips feeling oddly numb but you couldn’t quite feel them. It was as if they were asleep, but… you cracked your eyes open a second time, squinting down the length of the bed you were in. Your legs were there, obvious underneath the thin, knit, scratchy blankets that only a hospital possessed. You tried to shift again, but even your hips didn’t feel like a part of your body. Your eyes flew open completely, tearing up at the brightness of the room.

Shuddering breaths pulled deep hurt, but you tried to shift again and again but there was no movement underneath the blanket. None.

“Okay, alright, querida, please. Take a deep breath, it’s-it’s gonna be okay.” Frankie. It had been Frankie speaking to you, close to you. His hands reached out for your own, where you had pried them from him to try and prop yourself up, wires and tubes pulling, clattering against each other and making your head swim. “The doctors-“

“I know this must be quite a shock, but it’s good that you’re awake!” A white coat, thrown over a modest skirt and blouse, blonde hair. A kind face, pinched. A furrowed brow. Bad news on the tip of her tongue.

You tried to speak, demand why you couldn’t feel anything below your waist. But you could only croak out the faintest notions of words. Everything was a blur, the hospital room you were in a mess of blue and white, the beeping of machines hurting your ears. Nothing made any sense, confusion coloring every thought as to how you got here and why.

“Let’s get you some water and food first, your body is pretty weak right now. Can I get a level two meal delivered to room thirteen eighty-nine, please?” She turned to address someone who had been hidden behind her, a nurse in teal scrubs.

“Tell me.” You managed to croak out, eyes fixated on her pinched ones.

“I would really prefer to get you a little acclimated.”

“No.”

Her eyes flickered toward Frankie, as if in a silent plea to get him to calm you down and put you at ease however little he could manage. But you ignored the warm weight of his hand on your shoulder, eyes trained on the doctor in front of you as you tried to find more strength to speak around the dry cotton feel of your mouth, the panging hunger that was present in your stomach, the lack of control over your body.

She sighed, arms holding the clipboard in front her in an imitation of a fig leave over her hips.

“We had you in a medically induced coma for the last two weeks. I’m not sure all of what you remember, the brain is fickle that way, pushing things and events out in response to trauma.” She didn’t look from you as the sound of fast steps approached the door, nor when a large figure moved passed her and came straight to your right side. It was Taylor. Both of the most important men in your life on your sides. He was quiet, but you could see the evidence of tears in the puffiness of his eyes, the lack of a smile on his face as he hovered close.

“You were hit in the sacrum and coccyx region, paralyzing you from the waist down. We performed three surgeries to remove the bullet shards and repair as much of the damage as possible. Your blood flow and reflex reactions have improved but we had no way of knowing if anything truly worked until you woke. A week has passed since we stopped inducing you, we were beginning to think you might not wake up.”

The rest of the conversation was a blur, medical terms floating heavy in the air of the room. Daunting, terrifying, life altering. You didn’t think you could handle another life altering event of this caliber. But it didn’t look like you had to traverse it alone. You teared up once the doctor left the room, offering to come back and talk to you once visiting hours were over, though she had mildly glared at both men as she said it. But knowing them both, they had been alternating staying the night to watch over you past the set hours that allowed for them to be present.

You had two wonderful men who were willing to do anything for you, one with a friend group who would follow his lead and the other who had given you so much already. You hoped it wouldn’t be too much, taking what they were willing to give.

“It’s a lot,” Taylor’s voice broke, his words spoken through eyes glittering with tears. His hands tight around yours as he leaned his forehead against yours, completely in your personal space. “But we’ve done somethin’ like this before and we can do it again. We can do it again.”

You could only nod, throat and voice still weak from weeks of disuse.

He walked closer to the side of the bed, the man’s large build shadowing over you in the dimmer setting of the lights you had requested. The full effect of them too bright for you eyes after being unconscious for so long. You reached out to him, urging him to sit atop it as best he could as you all but threw yourself at him. He let you, aware of Frankie standing close to the other side, eyes watering as he heard the cries that began to bubble up from you.

“I-I-“

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here. We’re both here.” Taylor murmured, as he wrapped his own arms around you to pull you close. He smelled like your apartment, a mix of faint buttercream and the rose perfume you favored all rolled into one comforting scent. His own masked by the time he had been in town. “Alfred was here too, but he had to be taken back for school. He sat with you every day for that first week and read to you. He was so worried about you, mami. He kept talking with you like he always does, hoping you would wake up and respond.”

Frankie excused himself, his phone beeping in his pocket and the sound of you crying too much for him to handle all at once. You watched him leave the room, his shadow visible through the blinds in the window looking into the room as he paced up and down the hallway just outside. His voice a low murmur as he spoke with whoever had been trying to contact him.

“I didn’t mean to scare him…or you. I’m so sorry, that call – it must’ve been so terrifying.” You hiccupped into his chest, unable to stop the tears and emotions from flowing all at once, overwhelmed and completely at a loss of how to respond to anything at the moment.

Hushed words eradicated any ill thoughts you were having of yourself, comforting in their genuine indication. He assured you he had been able to handle it, that he was able to handle the hard things that came along with being bonded with someone for life, for knowing someone for so long. For having already done something similar before. But yeah, that it had been scary but Frankie had been as detailed and direct as he needed to be, levelheaded in his description of what had happened and what immediately happened afterwards.

Frankie came up to you both as he entered back into the room, a hand on both your shoulders to get your equal attention. You looked up at him with watery eyes, feeling so proud of how everyone was trying to keep it together for you but guilty at the same time since it had been something they had been dealing with for weeks now.

“That was the airline, they need someone to come in and take over a few tours for double pay. I wouldn’t normally turn them down and I will if you need me here. You’re awake now and I want to be here with you.”

“Y-you should go, if you want to, if you need to.” Scratchy words spoken with what little conviction you could muster. He was conflicted, worried about making the wrong decision.

“You need me here.” He didn’t argue so much as read the thoughts in your mind as clearly as if you had displayed for him to see. “You want me here.”

“Yes, but….money is money, Frankie. For your house, for your daughter, for everything. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I’m gonna run and get a coffee before you head out, I’ll stay the night, okay?” Taylor announced before he pressed a kiss to your temple and stood. Leaving you and Frankie truly alone for the first time since you woke up. You reached out to the man, gripping his open flannel shirt and lightly pulling him toward you. But he didn’t budge, his feet stable on the ground and his back not leaning to meet you. He wasn’t looking quite at you, but just beyond you. His eyes a little distant.

“I’m sorry.” Pulling your hands back to rest in your lap, you began to twiddle your fingers, unsure of what to do, unsure of why he was acting so weird and distant. Maybe he was just exhausted, mentally wiped out from waiting and waiting for you to wake up. Maybe…he was rethinking everything he’s once promised you…

“Hey, no, you don’t have to be sorry.” His eyes caught your own, his hands reaching out to hold your own as he kneeled down to be at your eye level. Emotions you couldn’t read swirling behind them. “I just- It’s just… you’re awake. And I’m so scared I’m going to open my eyes or wake up and you’ll still be unconscious…or passed.”

“I am awake.” You insisted, worried about this being an elaborate dream all the same. Some made up fantasy your brain concocted in its last moments and none of it was real, that you weren’t real anymore.

“I want to stay,” He pleaded with you, desperate for you to understand how hard it is for him to make the decision to leave, to heed the call of an entire week’s worth of pay in just a few days. But he had a plan and he had to stick with it, it would be for the best in the long run.

“C-can you stay tomorrow?”

“Of course, sweet girl. I promise. I just- this is important. For the both of us. I swear.”

“I believe you, Frankie. I love you.” You lifted your intertwined hands and kissed his knuckles. He repeated the words before he shrugged his jacket on and bid you goodnight. He didn’t kiss you back, instead squeezing your hands twice in farewell.

“Hermosa, I-I just-“ Frankie hung his head, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees the next evening.

He had gone home to change and get a little sleep after a hectic two days of back to back tours. A touch restful now that he knew you were awake, but still fleeting. His thoughts had been a jumble as his mind flashed your unconscious form across the backs of his eyelids. Bleeding, hyperventilating, being rushed into emergency surgery not once but three times. Of you completely still save for the slight rise and fall of your chest laid out in the hospital bed. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or diminish anything but- just thank you.”

“You saved her, at such a great risk to yourself. But you did, you saved my little girl when I couldn’t. I have endless love and admiration for you, querida. Please, I am here for you. I will help you with whatever you need or want. And not just because of this, but…but until you don’t want that anymore. You’ve got me, sweet girl. I promise.”

The conviction in his tone was strong despite the way his words were pushed out with deep breaths, trying to keep his composure. His shoulders were quaking with the effort he was holding back another wave of tears. Too many emotions for him to handle since the second you had rushed in front of that gun aimed at his daughter.

“Come here,” You softly compelled him, trying to shuffle atop the bed. Feeling still numb below the tops of your thighs, only some control over your legs that you were trying not to dissect. Going over your charts and test results had helped a little, compartmentalizing that it was happening to you and mind working to help solve and reason the things you read as if it was a patient of your own. Work. And a lot of it was ahead of you.

Frankie shuffled up and out of his shoes, choosing to urge you forward softly so he could be the one resting against the back of the angled bed. He helped to situate you against his chest, his arms coming around you in a warm embrace, the smell of his cologne and body wash puffing up and surrounding you in a comforting way. He pressed kisses to the crown of your head, nose shuffling in your hair and making you sigh out at the human contact.

“I would do it again, in a heartbeat. Even knowing what would happen.”

“Te amo. Te tango mucho amor ti, querida.” He whispered hoarsely in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. All you could do was repeat the words to him, meaning them with everything in your very being. Bringing his hands up to rest over your heart, palms flat over your chest, you both just laid there soaking up each other’s company.

His thoughts took over as you felt your breathing even, reaching over to silence the television that had been playing quietly in the corner where it was installed high on the wall.

‘Everything was so loud, a cacophony of too sharp frequencies grating on his ears as he watched the way your body fell to the ground. The man with the gun fleeing from the scene as soon as the gun had fired, steps heavy as he ran as fast as he could. Pope taking off immediately after him, his own gun pulled from the holster attached to his belt. Permission to carry it around off the clock from one of the local military bases where he worked as a freelance advisor.

Frankie was rushing too, toward you. Toward his daughter. Toward you both. There was a pool of blood forming beneath you, having twisted yourself to prevent from falling on top of Alexia’s smaller frame. She was kneeling beside you, tears running down her cheeks as you reached up to cup her face. A pinched expression on your features and blood blooming dark low on your front. His little girl turned to him as he crashed to his knees behind her and brought her in a crushing embrace to his chest, hearing the hum of the crowd that had begun to form all around.

Shouts to call 911 and responses that more than one person was already speaking with officers, telling them of what had just happened.

She begged him to help you.

She begged him to save you.

Shouting at him in her small voice that she loved you and she knew he loved you too.

She buried her face in his chest as he leaned forward to try and get your eyes to focus on him, but you were barely able to keep them open. Lashes fluttering as your breath became labored. He was speaking, words falling from him as he fell back on years of training. Pinging questions off one after the other, getting no response from you for even one. Unresponsive in the worst way, body completely laid out before him and eyes now completely closed. You could’ve been sleeping, as you were still for a fleeting moment.

But then you started to convulse, body fighting against the bullets that had landed deep in your body. He tried to tilt your head toward him, to avoid you biting on your tongue or choking on your own breath.

A new set of hands was taking over, gently ushering him away as paramedics appeared on the scene.

He could only hold tight to his sobbing daughter as he watched the two technicians tend to you. Your chest ceasing heaving at an alarming rate, your breath almost rattling as your lungs desperately tried to keep working.

Blinking rapidly, Frankie focused his eyes on his hands curled over the controls in front of him. He was flying, the landscape of the city and surrounding greenery, the ocean all laid out before him. He was okay, you were okay. Alexia was okay.

He was at work. He was okay.

His fingers twitched at the clueless ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’ of the tourists clamoring for views outside the windows. Their voices coming in clear through the headsets they wore to match his own. Completely in their own world and no problems plaguing them. Carefree.

He was at work. He wasn’t okay.

He should’ve stayed with you.

He should’ve turned down the offer.

But he had run at the first opportunity. Unable to stop the events from replaying in his mind on a loop.

Preventing him from sleeping, preventing him from being able to look at you half the time. Seeing you as you had looked right after the attack, seeing you as they rushed you onto the ambulance, seeing you as your chest went completely still once loaded up. The way your body didn’t respond to the attempts of resuscitation.

Mind torturing him by projecting you laid out in an open coffin. Copper hair resting around your lifeless frame, beautiful face covered in the wrong shade of makeup, hiding the freckles that dotted your face from him. Forever closed eyelids hiding your bright eyes from him. Black dress hiding your soft skin from his twitching fingers, itching to trace the delicate ink that decorated your skin. A masterpiece taken from him in a cruel twist of fate.

Shaking his head minutely, he shoved the fake notions out of his head and pivoted the helicopter toward the coast. Following and announcing the route for the tour that the people sat behind him had requested.

He was at work and he didn’t think he’d ever be okay again. But he would try for you, because you were awake and waiting for him to return to you.

He pulled his sunglasses from where the frames were hanging from his collar and covered his reddening eyes.’

“Come on, two more steps and we’re home free.” The physical therapist was encouraging in the most grating of ways. Your normally polite and civil personality being shattered by the turn of events your life had taken. It was a lot of work now, but it had been a lot of work to initially discover that you had only minimal feeling and control over your lower half. Hips sore no matter how much medicine was added to your IV, legs numb and unresponsive more often than not.

But that didn’t stop the doctor from putting you on a physical therapy track of two appointments per week. Something you had thought was a lot right off the bat but not wanting to argue. Just as angered by the quick pace as you were determined to stick to it. It was the second week since waking up, discharge looming like a storm over the horizon, visible but not yet tangible.

There had been talk about Taylor renting a home to move into for the duration of your recovery. His son being taken care of by his co-parent back home with school having started. But Frankie had offered up his own home, a flush to his caramel skin as he did so. Not having wanted to ask you to move in under such dire circumstances. But he would be lying if he said the thought of offering you a space in his home hadn’t been on his mind lately.

Taylor had offered to split his time between Frankie’s and the apartment above the shop. An outpouring of love from the community delivered to the shop and hospital in overwhelmingly equal parts. Baskets of treats, flowers, cards, vouchers for services from all around the city and local vendors. Everything was being toted back between the two spaces that were now yours.

Lex indulging in the treats as she sat with you in the afternoons after school. Homework laid out before her atop the bed as you helped her with her math and writing. Different people picking her up while Frankie returned to work, determined to put in as many hours before he took two whole weeks off to help you transition to being home once you were discharged.

But right now, you were stood on shaking legs, arms braced heavily on the bars on either side of you as you stood between the set up of the parallel bars. Sweat dripping from your hair thrown up in a haphazard bun, skin sallow from the medication you were on a strict rotation of. You had forgone shoes, insistent that you wanted to be able to feel anything should it come back to you while practicing.

Your arms were shaking, holding up the entirety of your body weight on them, muscles straining and tattoos looking distorted with the flex of them. With a huff, you shifted your hips, right leg lifting slightly and managed to shuffle it about a foot before placing your foot down flat and tipping forward to even your weight with the new stance.

“Alright, you did it!” The nurse was a kindly young man, his arms hovering behind you as he waited for you to tap out. But you sucked in a deep breath and concentrated. Shifting your left foot ahead in the same manner before a spike of pain shot up from the arch of it as you settled it flat on the mat.

“Fuck! Okay, okay, I’m out. That’s all I got.” You wavered, arms shaking and legs beginning to tingle where you could feel them.

“That’s okay, you did good today. Four steps is progress.” The nurse helped you, gathering your form in his arms and lifting to get the pressure off your aching shoulders.

Santi was in the room when you were wheeled back, no sign of Taylor or Frankie. He informed you that they were both taking care of something for you which made you feel a little uneasy that they hadn’t told you themselves the night before that they wouldn’t be in to see you today. The nurse let the man take over with helping you get back into the bed, knowing you’d rather it be someone who you knew handling you for something a little more intimate of a move.

The man’s broad shoulders tensed as he supported your nearly dead weight, completely at a loss of energy from the days activities.

“Did they say where they were going?” You inquired, voice soft as you nuzzled your face into the man’s neck. He smelled so good and you were just in a very physically affectionate mood in wake of not getting any direct attention from Frankie in the way you were too hesitant to ask for.

“Mante, you know I would tell you if I knew, but they were like school boys, shuffling their feet and avoiding eye contact. I’m sure it’s just a surprise for you, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

You were quiet for a moment, allowing the man to situate your aching legs as best he could and covering you up with the blankets that had been brought from your apartment. He busied himself with getting a take out bag unpacked and placing containers over the collapsable table attached to the bed for you. A cup of coffee that smelled of caramel and foamed milk pressed gently into your reaching hands. He was so diligent, the soft curls of his graying hair falling over his forehead as he focused. When everything was set up, he settled into the chair beside the bed with his own container and began to dig in.

But you were still, only a sip taken from the hot coffee handed to you.

“Santi…”

“What is it, hermosa?” He looked up from his food, utensils loaded up and a bite halfway to his lips. “I get the wrong thing?”

“No,” A small smile offered to him as your heart fluttered in your chest, unsure of how to even broach the concerns that were crashing over you in overwhelming waves. “No, this is great. Thank you.”

The man watched you, eyes scanning your face as you averted your eyes. He let out a quiet sigh and set down his utensils completely, asking you to tell him what was really on your mind.

“Frankie…he, um, he-“ You felt like a complete idiot as your face heated up, tears welling in your eyes unbidden. Foolish question, it was such a foolish thing to be worried about when the man’s words were nothing but reassuring and loving. “Why won’t he kiss me, Santi?”

“Is that what you need right now?”

You warbled out an affirmative. Feeling for all the world like a pathetic lovesick fool even surrounded by everyone who you could possibly need in your life right now, everyone working together to help you in any way possible.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

A shake of your head was all the answer you could muster up.

“He’s probably just trying to respect you, not wanting to put pressure on you to be that way with him if you’re too overwhelmed.” Santi went on to explain that his best friend had trouble with stuff like this, showing his affection and feelings in wake of traumatic events.

That you should try not to worry too much, though he knew that was easier said than done. To not take it personally, but he admitted to knowing that might be hard to do as well, everything so much at the moment. He reminded you that you could reach out to you with anything at any time. He would try his best to be there for you in any way that he could. Even jokingly offering to pepper kisses over your face and approaching you with overly pursed lips until you erupted into a laughing fit at how ridiculous he looked as he loomed closer. He sealed the conversation with a genuine press of his lips to the corner of your mouth, his hands cradling your face in their warmth before he moved back to his seat and ordered you to eat.

Across town, Taylor and Frankie had a similar conversation as a bell dinged above them where it was nestled in the doorway to a shop front. The two men determined to surprise you with something that Frankie had quietly brought up one night following your first rush into emergency surgery. An approval of sorts he had been seeking after was granted instantaneously with a smile and words of encouragement from the only other man he felt like he could share the conversation with at the moment.  

“Discharge papers should be processed by end of day, looks like you’ll be spending the night in your own bed.” The doctor offered you a small smile. She had been worried about having you under her care when she found out you were a once trained medical technician, knowing how bad of a patient she was when sick herself. But you had surprised her, not talking over her or voicing opinions on what needed to be done. It had been another week, progress made in physical therapy.

You were able to walk the length of the parallel bars, slowly and with a lot of huffing and puffing. But it cleared you for outpatient treatment. The feeling in your legs was spotty, coming to you mostly in the mornings when you first woke up and at the end of the day after resting for a few hours. Something she was only mildly worried about, muscle atrophy from being unconscious for so long lingering even now.

But she had been confident that the feeling would come back completely, though she was honest when she said she was worried about numbness flaring up.

That’s how you found yourself seated in the passenger seat of Frankie’s truck as he pulled into the drive of his house. He was waiting for the garage to open, in order to make it easier for you to walk straight into the laundry room instead of having to attempt to tackle the stairs to the front door. Everyone would be over tomorrow, to celebrate your release. Giving you a free night to settle in and mentally deal with the shift in environments. Lex would be at her grandparents so Frankie could focus on getting you settled.

“One moment, just…want to get something set up before I help you out, okay?” His earnest gaze widened his beautiful eyes, watching you and making sure you were alright to be left alone for a moment. He was through the door and back in the garage in a matter of minutes, a shy smile aimed at you as he helped you down and got a walked ready for you. It had a cushioned seat in the middle, in case you needed to take any breaks when trying to move about. Something you wanted to argue but didn’t have a good one against.

You felt…weird. Having to rely on him so much, but extremely grateful that he was willing to. You’d seen friendships and relationships fall apart with this much stress and similar situations. Both as a professional and a civilian, as a friend. You only hoped this wouldn’t be one of the last things he did for you before telling you it was too much, that you were too much. Love could only encompass so much before it wasn’t enough to hold two individuals together.

Melancholic and depressive thoughts abundant as you tried to come to terms with what the near future would hold for an unknowable amount of time. There was no timeline with things like this and that’s what worried you the most. What if you had flares of numbness for the rest of your life, what if he began to see you as a burden, as work he had to come back to after doing his shifts at the mechanics and his flying tours. What if all your progress was meaningless and you woke up one day with no feeling at all?

He had hushed you on more than one occasion with soft words, promises he wouldn’t do that. Promises that he was yours, that you were his, that you were in this together. But doubt crept in regardless. Even more so in the realization that he hadn’t wanted to kiss you. He was quick to dodge your advances, placing placating touches of his lips to your hair instead; of pulling you tighter to his body instead. Almost as if he was hesitant to show you affection in that way and it was hard to handle when all you wanted was that type of comfort from the man you loved so completely.

His hands were warm as he supported your weight, but he didn’t shift you down to the ground completely, instead he pulled you flush against him. Your own arms tightened around his neck, feet barely touching the ground as he ducked his head to kiss you fully for the first time since you woke up in that hospital bed. You melted into him even more, welcoming his lips against yours reverently, desperately.

The plush give of them against your own feeling like a true welcome home.

Shifting your hands up into his soft hair, you knocked the cap clear of his head as you parted your lips for him. He held you tight, not risking you putting too much weight on your own feet for even a second as he kissed you again and again, lips meeting yours in a dizzying display of his unfettered affection. Pulling at his curls, you pivoted his head to deepen another kiss, desperate for his touch and his taste. He groaned into your mouth, pulling back slightly to rest his forehead against yours. You opened your eyes slowly, watching the way his face was completely relaxed. The lines of his age smoothed out slightly as he moved to peck one last kiss to your slick lips.

He had set the table up before picking you up, at home during the day as he had received your hopeful text about the paperwork this morning. But he had run inside to pull everything from where it was keeping warm in the oven, lighting twin tapers set in the middle of the dining table. You tried to hide the squeal of surprise as he lifted you up completely, choosing to carry you bridal style over the threshold of the house and through the laundry room and into the kitchen.

“Frankie, you didn’t have to do all this.” You placed a kiss to his cheek as he carefully set you down into a chair, making sure your legs were situated how you wanted them. “I woulda been happy with a fast-food drive thru, you know that.”

“I know, but I wanted to do something special for you.” He moved over to the closest chair, settling down into it with a sigh. He looked nervous, you realized as you took in the dinner had had made before picking you up. One of your favorite dishes filling the kitchen with its tantalizing scent. The boys had snuck in food from time to time, but it had mostly been bland hospital food for a majority of the last three weeks.

Frankie cleared his throat, your eyes lifting from the items on the table and toward him.

In his hands was an emerald velvet box, open to reveal a simple gold band with a sparkling rhombus diamond in the middle.

Your lips parted, a gasp falling from them as your heart stuttered hard in your chest. Hands dropping the utensils you had just picked up clattered to the table and you stared across the table at him. At a complete loss for words as he nervously shifted in his seat and leaned closer toward you to take your hands in his own, the small box set down gently beside your plate. His hands were shaking slightly, his nerves obvious as he bared his soul to you with his next words.

“Sweet girl, I know things are going to be touch and go for a long while,” He took a deep breath, chest pulling the fabric of his shirt taut with the action. His tongue peaked between his lips, a habit you noticed when he had a lot on his mind, and he was trying to sort through everything. “But I don’t want you to worry about anything to do with us, with you and me. You have me, you have me until the moment you decide you don’t anymore. I hope you don’t ever change your mind because I’ve been gone on you since the second you aimed that glare in my direction all those months ago. Will- will you do the honor of marrying me?”

Tears welled up the longer you looked at him, his eyes so wide and open, his voice cradling you with his earnest words. All you could do was nod, voice caught in your throat.

He let out a deep exhale, pulling a giggle from you when he broke out into the widest, goofy smile you had seen on him yet. You mirrored him, lips pulling as you squeezed his hands and leaned forward to rest your forehead against them clasped together.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Fransisco. Of course.” You kissed the tops of his hands, one and then the other before you were pushing yourself up slightly, tentatively placing weight on your legs and surging forward to kiss him.

He only let you get away with one before he was standing from his seat and kneeling in front of you with the box in his hands. He carefully removed the ring from its spot nestled safely inside the velvet cushion and you held out your left hand for him. It took a second for him to place it securely on your ring finger, snug and perfect against your skin. It glittered in the candlelight and you felt a tear run down your cheek.

Frankie’s hands came up to cup your face, his lips connecting with yours as he chuckled breathlessly at having managed to pull out the surprise proposal. At your resounding yes. At the prospect of a concrete future with you.

“I love you so much, thank you for...for everything.”

“I love you too, you dork,” Your laugh sparkled against his parted lips. “I can’t believe you just thanked me for agreeing to marry you.”

“Well, you could’ve said no.”

“Not in a million years.”

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

[nervoushottee]

Good Trouble | Frankie x Fem!Reader x Santiago Fic

Summary: You and the Miller brothers have known each other since childhood. But the years go by and time moves on and the three of you are grown up. But what happens when they come home to visit and the two friends they bring along with them catch your eye??

WARNINGS: Have no military knowledge whatsoever so none of this accurate I’m sure. Really just writing for the boys. So please don’t take offense if any of it is wrong. Also bad parents

NOTE: This fic was 1000% inspired by @astroboots Homecoming Universe. I can’t explain how many times I’ve reread that ENTIRE series and I truly love it. I can’t picture Frankie without Santi now and vice versa. Truly a work of art. PLEASE READ IT

[2k? And some change] (Might make a Smut Part 2??)

NOT EDITED, We die like the horny sluts we are.

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You, Will and Benny were like three peas in the pod. Having grown up together in the same neighborhood, went to the same church when your family felt religious, even went to the same high school together. You and Benny were around the same age, graduated in the same year a few years after Will did.

You and Will were close, he was the brotherly comfort you always wanted and needed. He looked after you as if you were just another sibling. Always around, always here for you. Do you need a ride somewhere? He’s there. There’s a rat you found in your parents garage? Lock the door, scream into the phone about the small animal and he’s there with a bucket and a shovel.

You confided in him about things even Benny never knew and at times, he did too. You loved each other, a calm and quiet love that you would forever cherish.

You and Benny were an entirely different story. When Will brought out the peace and slowness out of you. Benny brought the fire and chaos. You had it in you always, especially with how strict your parents were growing up. Only allowing you to go to school and back or to Will and Benny’s. Fearful that their only daughter would get corrupted by the world and influenced by others. But what your parents didn’t know was that Benny was simply the amplifier of your chaos. The younger brother of sweet and calm Will had to be just like him right?

Going into high school, that’s when it finally snapped. Too many years of being obedient, too many years of being compliant. You were antsy and full of anger and energy. And Benny, he grew into a 6ft 3 firecracker who always got in trouble at school. One night, you told your parents you were going to a party and it didn’t end well. Involving in you slamming your bedroom door, locking it with a chair pushed against the knob. You sat on your bed legs shaking full of anxiety and frustration. You grab your phone and dial Will’s number. Will who had just got a car in his senior year.

You muttered words of wanting to get away from your parents for a bit, that he couldn’t use the front door. He told you he’d be there in 20. He got in there in 10.

You grabbed a small bag with a few clothes and toiletries having know idea what you were doing. All you knew is that you needed to get out of there.

Benny helped you out your bedroom window and the two of you run out to Will small sedan he had bought with a good hard working at multiple jobs and the leftover amount his dad and had helped pay.

That night was the first time of many were you finally let yourself loose. It was stupid to “runaway” over a party. But to be locked up away and feel like you can hardly breathe, that felt like the last straw.

Your late teens were filled with you and Benny being mischievous and chaotic. So many detentions, missing school, sneaking out. Will tried to intervene like his mom asked but he wanted you and his brother to have fun. For you two to be youthful and enjoy your times together.

But then, Will announced he was going to enlist. Wanting to follow off his dad’s footsteps and fight for his country. His mother didn’t agree with it from the start. You either. Their father was hesitant on his response, telling him it was his decision but to know and understand what he was going to do.

You hated him for it. You know you shouldn’t but it was better than feeling sad for Will to go. He told you Benny would still be here and he’d see the two of you graduate. But you knew, the minute after graduation Benny would take the first opportunity to join him.

Benny always looked up to his brother, always wanted to make him proud. More than his own father. And when graduation turned around, the two of you in royal blue caps and gowns with bright smiles on your face, Benny enlisted a week after.

You got accepted into the only college you applied for. The college you put all your cards on to get you out of your parents house as fast as you could. It was in another state, smack down in the city of Chicago. Ben and their parents helped you move. You went up many stairs, Benny’s hands full of overpriced college items that you wouldn’t need later on in the semester. Every opportunity May got she brought up the opportunity for Ben to just go to college instead of enlisting. But Ben was sure, once he set his mind on something he wouldn't do anything else.

That day was the last time you saw him in a while. You hugged him so tightly, tears staining his white t shirt. He wrapped his arms around your shoulder, he towered over you with his tall frame. From strangers the both of you looked like a couple. And if Ben ever had the courage to tell you, you probably could have been. But you held onto holding him tighter and hearing him whisper that he'd be back soon.

Throughout your years of college, Benny and Will would come home whenever they were able to. Will helped you and your roommate find an apartment to get you out of the college dorm rooms. You were done with doing communal showers. The apartment was okay? Decent enough and cheap enough to live in a good area and close to the school. But you spent most of your time working at the diner to pay for rent. The visits home to see the Miller family was sporadic. Getting letters from your boys writing on slips of paper you would read on your break.

You and Benny started to grow apart. Which wasn’t a surprise. Two of you were peas in a pod. From being close in age and close in general. From talking everyday to almost a few weeks to a month. You didn’t blame him either (you did a little), the military wasn’t a walk in the park.

Then one day, Benny calls you, saying him and Will were going to visit but he would bring a few of his friends. And that’s when you meet Frankie and Santiago.

Frankie. Who had such a quiet yet confident demeanor. A cap on his head, his brown curls peaking through beneath. Your eyes lit up at the sight of him and it couldn’t help but linger for a second before you were introduced to Santi.

Santiago. Who burned with smugness and confidence. Eyes low as he stared down at you with a smirk. His gray shirt emphasizing his toned muscles of his chest and arms. Wit and humor flowing off his tongue the minute he got into the diner.

“This is who you two are always running off too?” He say playfully as the four them sit at the booth bar. The two of you shake hands which turns into a hug as Santiago pulls you into a soft rocking embrace. ( You were happy for the extra blush you applied that morning).

You could feel Frankie’s eyes on the two of you after you released from the hug. And almost as if you could read the man in front of you (who you just met), he could tell too. Your body warmed at the feeling.

You asked them their names to make sure you got them correctly before taking their order. Frankie hesitated a few times, asking what certain dishes were made with what just to spend more time talking to you. You smiled and would tell him your eyes never leaving his.

Frankie was quiet, even with when he introduced himself. Giving you a small nod of his cap and a warm smile. He didn’t speak much but his eyes told you everything.

Santi (that’s what he told you to call him), would not let up on his flirtatious jokes. They were subtle and small. They were just enough for you to know that he was feeling something towards you.

Just enough that Benny and surprisingly Will didn’t catch up on it yet.

It was almost funny how quick you could read off of the two of them from simply your first meeting.

You felt it in your bones that the two of them was going to be trouble. A good trouble that you would want to continue getting into if they let you. You ignored Will’s ever so persistent eyes on you, you knew that he knew something was off but wouldn’t say it unless he was 100% sure and even then he still wouldn’t. That man never missed a beat of anything. Benny and Santiago chatting you up about something that happened back on base that has you chuckling a few times. Frankie keeping to himself, quiet and adding a few comments here and there.

You could see the small touches between Frankie and Santiago since the two of them sat down. They were very small and it was like looking through a magnifying glass to see them. But now it was clear as day to you. How all four of them sat at the diner stools in a row. The two of them are right next to each other. Arms brushing against one another in a way that felt more intimate than accident.

When the four men finished eating you had them the bill and expertly slipping your number into Frankie’s pocket. (He saw you writing the number down 5 minutes ago and let you put it in his locked without you knowing). Knowing if you just handed it to him for all eyes to see that you wouldn’t hear the end of it from Benny.

Benny hated all of your partners. And granted most of the time the people you got with werent that great and had a good amount of red flags. But Benny would always have something to say regardless and you hated it.

So of course he would throw more than just a fit if he saw you handing your number to not one but both of his friends he introduced to you only just that day.

Santiago was a bit more tricky. You couldn’t slip it to him secretly without alerting Benny so you failed to give it to him. The four of them waved goodbye before both Will and Benny gave you a hug and exited out the diner as it was about to close. Only one or two stragglers left in the whole building. You see Frankie and Santi talking amongst themselves outside the diner looking at you as the Miller brothers walked outside to join them.

You get to tidying up since it’s your turn to close, wiping tables and stacking up chairs. When you’re sweeping in the moonlit room is when you see it.

A black wallet on the black and white checkered floor. You pick up to expect the license and your heart stops when you see it’s Santiago’s.

You have no clue if he left here on purpose or on accident but you smile to yourself as you stuff it into your bag before locking up for the night.

Walking back to your apartment, your phone buzzes once your at your front door, keys in hand.

Frankie: Check your apron pocket.

You look at your phone confused at the message. Wondering why that is the first thing he texts you but reach into your pocket all the same. Your hand is met with a small receipt that you knew wasn’t in there before the start of your shift.

You pull your hand out to see a ripped piece of paper with both Santi and Frankie’s phone number on it.

You knew they were going to be trouble.

Good trouble.

[floralpascal]

Heartbeat - Part 1

Summary: When you cuddle up on Frankie to watch a movie, his rapid heartbeat makes you question if he has feelings for you, too.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 7k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: kissing, (semi-public) dry humping, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, protected p-in-v sex (let me know if I missed anything)

A/N: This started out as a short fluffy fic and it turned into this. My mind goes straight into the gutter for this man. It’s my first time ever writing smut, so I’m a little nervous, but I hope you all enjoy!

Part 2

Friday night movie night at Benny’s with the guys was a rare treat that you thoroughly enjoyed, even if watching a movie with all four of them at the same time was a pain in the ass. Benny and Santi were always talking over the movie and if the movie had any sort of action, they would all start commenting on how unrealistic it was. If the movie had anything to do with the military, all you heard for the entire two hours was how every small thing was actually incredibly inaccurate.

Though you would feign annoyance every time, you secretly loved it. Even if you never actually got to watch the movie, you got enough entertainment from the guys.

Not to mention that you somehow always ended up sitting next to Frankie, the man you had a hopeless crush on for years. Even if you sat in a different spot for movie night, Frankie was there next to you. He would often lean over to you to whisper jokes about whatever movie you were watching, completely oblivious to the way it gave you goosebumps every time.

Tonight was no different. You sat down on the couch with the popcorn bowl, Frankie coming to join you not long after. He plopped down to your right, stealing a handful of popcorn as he did. The popcorn bowl gave you a reason to lean in close to him as Benny started the movie and Will turned off the lights. Santi took the seat on the other side of the couch from you and Frankie. Benny laid sprawled out on the loveseat like always and Will took his usual spot in Benny’s huge recliner.

Nearly an hour into the movie - and about fifteen different interruptions from Santi and Benny later - you had begun to shiver, curling in on yourself in an attempt to warm yourself up. Frankie noticed immediately.

“You need a blanket?” He whispered to you, only loud enough for you to hear over the blaring movie, leaning in close enough to send a shiver down your spine for a different reason. You nodded, setting the now-empty popcorn bowl on the table beside the couch.

He twisted to his right to grab the blanket behind Santi’s head on the back of the couch. When he brought the blanket closer, you thought he would simply hand it to you. Instead, he flicked the blanket out and draped it across the both of you. You smiled as he turned to you then, moving to lay his arm on the back of the couch behind you, arm open in a silent invitation for you to get closer. He met your smile with a polite, slightly bashful one of his own.

You readily accepted, curling into his side and laying your head on his chest as his arm wrapped around your shoulders to tuck you into his side. You had completely forgotten about the movie now, opting instead to focus on how the heat from his body soaked through the fabric of his clothes to warm your skin. After a moment though, you noticed that you could hear his heartbeat with where your head was placed on his chest, just above his heart. You wouldn’t have noticed if not for how fast it beat, going at nearly the same rapid pace as your own.

After a few minutes, you shifted to look at his face, a movement that drew his attention from the screen to you. He looked calm, his demeanor not matching the way his heart raced. The only thing that seemed off was how intense his brown eyes had suddenly become as he gazed down at you.

“Everything okay?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. You couldn’t help but dip your gaze down to his lips as he spoke, a movement that did not seem to go unnoticed by Frankie.

You had wanted to ask him the same question. You didn’t want to broach the subject now, not with the soft way he was looking at you.

“Yeah,” you affirmed. You noticed his eyes flick down to your lips this time before meeting your gaze again. “Thank you, Frankie.”

“Anything for you.”

You both stayed like that, faces inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes. You couldn’t help but drop your gaze down to his lips again for a fraction of a second, his own following suit once again. His warm hand came to lightly press against your back. Frankie began to lean in-

BOOM!

You and Frankie jumped, turning to see the aftermath of the explosion on the TV screen.

“That would not blow up like that in real life!” Santi grumbled on the other side of the couch. Murmurs of agreement came from Benny and Will. They all seemed to be engrossed in the movie, not noticing the moment that had passed between you and Frankie in the dark.

You gave an awkward chuckle, shaking your head. When you turned back to Frankie, his eyes were already on you, a small smile on his lips. Maybe it was just the dark, but you thought he looked anxious now, a slight crinkle appearing in his brow.

You shuffled back into his side, once again laying your head on his chest. His heart was beating even faster than before.

Was it…you? Was his heart beating this fast because of you? Your mind wheeled from the moment you had shared with him. Had he been about to kiss you?

You spent the rest of the movie curled up against Frankie. You were no longer cold. In fact, you felt like you were burning up now with the way your body was pressed against his. Frankie’s heart rate barely slowed. You looked at the screen, but you weren’t really watching, your focus staying with the melodic beat under you, with the way that his fingers lightly fidgeted with the edge of the blanket that laid on your thighs, the way you could feel his breath rise and fall.

When the movie was over, you reluctantly sat up off of Frankie. Santi wandered off to the bathroom while Benny beelined it to the kitchen. When Will flipped the light back on, you could finally see Frankie completely again. He looked at you as if he wanted to say something, his eyebrows drawn and mouth open.

“Fish!” Benny called from the kitchen. “Do you want to take the leftover pizza home?”

Frankie rolled his eyes, deflating a little. “No,” he called back, “it’s all yours, man.”

Benny then called your name. “You want it?”

“No. Just take it if you want it, Ben.”

“Thanks, guys!”

You laughed, standing up from the couch. You stretched for a moment, feeling stiff from sitting for so long. Your shirt rose up as you stretched, a sliver of skin above your waistline exposed to the cold air. When you looked back at Frankie, he quickly averted his gaze from where he had been watching you, suddenly very interested in his phone.

Was he… checking you out now? You wondered if you were imagining everything that was happening between you or if you were just interpreting it all wrong.

Twenty minutes later, everyone was wrapping up for the night. Santi and Will left together, Will going to drop Santi off at his house on his way home. You and Frankie, inevitably, we’re the last ones to leave. He walked you out to your car in Benny’s driveway, making small talk with you about your week. He still looked so calm, no hints evident on his face that his heart had been racing for the past hour like he had been running a marathon.

When you arrived at your car, Frankie stopped, suddenly seeming nervous. Once again, he started to say something before deciding otherwise, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment. Instead of whatever he had wanted to say, he simply said, “Goodnight, hermosa.”

Hermosa. He had never called you that before.

You mumbled out a goodnight in response, your mind whirring. Frankie gave you a tight smile before turning to head towards his truck.

Your hand reached for your car door handle before freezing. Something was there between you two. It was right there, just out of reach. But if you let him go, you knew that the next time you saw each other you would be back at square one, as friends and nothing more. Neither of you would broach the subject again. You thought for a moment before whipping around to look for him again.

“Frankie?” You called, catching him as he was rounding his truck bed. His head snapped up from where he was looking at the ground.

“Yeah?” His wide eyes stared at you from the other side of his truck. You thought you saw a flash of hope cross his face.

You made the decision then. You ran around his truck, praying that your suspensions were correct and trying not to lose your nerve. As you approached him, he gave you a quizzical look. Before he could say anything, you were up against him, hands lightly cupping his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

It was a short kiss. You pulled away a few seconds later, Frankie chasing your lips slightly before his eyes snapped open again. You dropped your hands, too afraid that you had misjudged his feelings for you to stay close.

He looked utterly stunned. You could see as his mind worked to try to catch up to what you had just done. He blinked once, twice, before he closed the distance between you again, his soft, warm lips colliding with yours as he buried a hand in your hair and his other snaked around your waist to pull you closer.

Your own hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders, grabbing onto his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer.

It was a desperate, hungry, all-consuming kiss. Frankie kissed like it was the last thing he would ever do. He kissed like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

You broke the kiss, trying to catch your breath. “Frankie,” you whispered.

Frankie pulled back, both of his hands moving to cup your chin. His eyes were hooded now, the way he was looking at you sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. “I wanted to kiss you so bad. In there. I didn’t know if you… if you…”

You nodded, bringing your hands to grasp at his wrists. “I do. I have for a long time.”

“Me too, cariño,” he sighed. His thumb rubbed over your cheek and you leaned into his hand. “You were all I could think about tonight. Hell, you’re all I can ever think about.”

“I didn’t pay attention to the movie at all,” you admitted. “Just you.”

“I don’t even know what that damn movie was even about.”

“Whatever it was, it was loud.”

Frankie chuckled before becoming more serious again. “So where do we go from here?”

You shook your head slightly. “I have no idea. Just kiss me again, Frankie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It didn’t seem that Frankie needed to be told twice. In one swift motion, he grabbed the hat from his head, tossed it on the top of the truck, and leaned down to kiss you again, now without the hindrance of his hat in the way. He kissed you so hard you felt dizzy within mere seconds. All that mattered was him, that he felt the same, that he wanted you.

You swore you hadn’t meant for the next kiss to turn heated. You couldn’t even remember how the kiss that followed had taken a turn from sweet to something more. But now you were pressed between Frankie’s chest and the cold metal of his truck as his lips moved against yours and his hands explored unknown territory.

Neither of you could get enough of each other. Every one of your senses were fully focused on one thing: Frankie. Kissing him, you were quickly finding, was an activity that demanded all of your attention. Everything else seemed to fade away, replaced only with the press of him against you, the way he moved, the way he pulled you against him. The insistence he kissed you with sent you soaring.

After a while, his lips strayed away from yours, teeth lightly nipping as he made his way maddeningly down your neck. One of your hands grasped at his shoulder, the other lightly tugging his soft curls as his lips found the tender space between your neck and shoulder. You gasped a soft Frankie when you felt his teeth graze against your skin there, your body slightly arching against his. You could feel him smile against your shoulder in response before he continued to kiss any bit of skin he could find.

As he pressed against you, you could feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against your hip. He was getting hard from this. It gave you the confidence you needed to roll your hips slightly against his, causing a small groan to fall from Frankie’s lips on your shoulder. He rasped your name as he gave a testing roll of his own, sending a spark of pleasure through you.

He moved back up to kiss you properly, a new fire behind his kiss now, and you pushed against him again. Another spark of pleasure spread through you, but it wasn’t enough. There were too many layers between you two, you so desperately needed-

“Hey!”

For the second time that night, you both jumped. Frankie’s hands locked around your waist as you both looked to see Benny standing on his porch, his front door wide open. From the light spilling out of the open door, you could see that he wasn’t even trying to hide the shit-eating grin he had on his face.

“I’m happy for you guys, kiss all you want, it’s about damn time,” Benny yelled over to you both. “But you two are not gonna fuck in my driveway, okay? Take that shit home. Get a room. Something.”

You laughed, slightly embarrassed that you had been caught so close to doing something with Frankie in your friend’s driveway, and buried your face in Frankie’s chest. You had completely forgotten where you were, too caught up in Frankie to care.

“Fuck off, Benny,” Frankie called half-heartedly, chuckling a little as he pulled you closer. He turned his back to Benny and hugged you to him, as if hiding you from Benny’s view would save you from some of the embarrassment. It also helped to hide his surely-noticeable erection from his friend. His hands moved to your back, rubbing circles as you giggled into his chest even more.

“I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere, Fish, and this is it. It didn’t look like you two were slowing down anytime soon. You guys have a good night, just have it somewhere else.” Benny grabbed his door handle and started to go back inside. He yelled over his shoulder, “Also, Santi owes me $50 now, so thanks guys!”

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Frankie once again. You pulled away enough to see him. The smile that was still plastered on his face sent your heart soaring.

“They had a bet going on us?” You asked.

Frankie shrugged. “It’s news to me.”

You shook your head.

“Do you - Um…” Frankie started self-consciously, one of his hands leaving your side to scratch at the back of his neck. “Do you…want to come home with me?”

You almost couldn’t believe that the man you had been practically dry humping out in the open was asking you that like he thought you wouldn’t want to.

“I do, Frankie.”

“You don’t think it’s too fast? I don’t want you to think that I just want a quick fuck or just a one-time thing or-”

“Frankie,” you interrupted. You moved to whisper into his ear, “I don’t want just some quick fuck either. I don’t want a one-time thing. I want you. If you want me, take me home.”

The groan that came from the back of his throat filled you with excitement. He pulled back, his hand coming to your cheek, and kissed you hard.

“I want you. Fuck, I want you.” He kissed you again before telling you, his self-consciousness gone, “Hop in the truck, cariño. I’ll bring you back to get your car tomorrow.”

Benny would just have to deal with your car in his driveway for the night. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about it at the moment.

Frankie opened the driver‘s door for you, allowing you to step up into the truck and slide down the bench seat enough to let him into the driver's seat. On his way in, he retrieved his hat from the roof and tossed it in the back of the cab as he sat down. You had never seen him toss his favorite hat so carelessly before, like it was something that was only getting in his way at the moment.

You had been to Frankie’s house countless times before. You had even ridden with him in his truck on his way to his house. But you had never gone like this. You had never been able to sit right up against him. You had never had his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles. You had never had this much anticipation between the two of you.

Frankie was the most focused you had ever seen him as he drove. You wondered if this is how he looked when he would fly: concentrated on his destination, his movements deft and calculated. The hand he had on the steering wheel was gripped tight, his fingers lifting periodically before curling tight around the wheel again.

You raked your eyes over him, bathed in the light of the passing streetlights. On a normal day, Frankie’s pants didn’t leave much to the imagination. They fit a little too well, which was something that had haunted you for years. But now you could see so much more as he strained against the confines of his jeans. He was big, that you already knew, but now you were starting to get an idea of just how big.

You began to play with his hair, carding your fingers through the brown waves of unruly curls while Frankie raced home.

“Cariño,” he rasped out, his voice strained, “if you keep doing that, I’m gonna have to pull over and take you on the side of the road. I’m barely hanging on here, baby.”

You gave him a mischievous grin, continuing to run your hand through his hair. “Why don’t you then?”

He turned his attention from the road to you for a moment, letting his eyes sweep you up and down. He looked hungry and disheveled, a combination that you had never seen from him before but already couldn’t wait to see again. It made your heart race. You could see him consider it, pulling over somewhere secluded and finally fucking you. For a second, you thought he might actually do it. But then he shook his head resolutely and answered, “Because you deserve better… and I’m gonna need a lot more space to work.”

The promise in his words filled you with anticipation.

After what felt like an eternity, you arrived in Frankie’s driveway. He ripped the keys from the ignition before he opened the door and scrambled to get out. He immediately turned to offer you his hand to help you out of the truck. You took it and hopped out, Frankie closing the door behind you.

Then, Frankie was on you, his hand cupping your jaw and his lips finding yours once again. He broke away, leaning back to see you, his rich brown eyes drinking you in.

“Come on, bonita,” he said, taking your hand in his. He led you up the old wooden steps to his front door. Of all the times you had followed him up those same steps, you never thought it would be for this reason. That your hand would be in his, the taste of his lips still on yours, with more to come. You took a breath to steady your own racing pulse.

He hastily fiddled with his keys before fitting one into the lock and turning. He shoved the door open, turning to walk backwards through the entryway as he pulled you closer to kiss you again. Once you had cleared the door, Frankie reached out blindly to grab the door and push it closed behind you.

You quickly realized that Frankie had been quite well-behaved in Benny’s driveway, all things considered.

You felt his tongue ask for entrance, which you immediately granted. He kissed you with a fervor that made you dizzy as his tongue met yours. His hands were on you once again, exploring and grasping at whatever they could find. One hand pulled your hips flush with his again and the other found the skin of your back under your shirt.

Your arms were thrown over Frankie’s shoulders, grasping at the back of his shirt and neck. You felt just as desperate as him, years of pining for him finally pouring out.

After a while, your fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, hastily undoing them one-by-one. Once you had undone the last one, he helped you shrug the cloth from his shoulders. Your hands came to rest on his bare chest, your right hand just above where your head had been laying just less than an hour ago. Under your touch, you could feel his heart race just as it had earlier.

Then, Frankie found the edge of your shirt and lifted it over your head. Though he had seen you in a bathing suit before, he took you in like he was seeing you for the first time. Then he looked you in the eyes, his arms wrapping around your middle. You felt his fingers hook onto the clasp of your bra and then freeze.

“Can I?” he asked, almost at a whisper. You realized it was a bigger question than just that. He was checking to make sure you still wanted this. That you still wanted your relationship to move past being just friends. He was giving you a chance to stop, to go back before you both strayed too far away from the friendship you had known for years.

Like you could ever go back after even simply kissing Frankie. You nodded, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to his jaw.

Frankie worked the clasp undone and drew the straps down your arms. Once you were free of it, you saw the way his breath picked up as he took you in. He kissed you again, bringing your chest flush to his. Hands roamed your bare back as he walked you both backwards, his lips finding yours once again.

You hadn’t realized where Frankie had guided you until the back of your thighs met a hard object. Frankie broke only enough to speak, his lips still brushing yours, “Hop up here, baby.”

You turned to see that he had backed you up against his kitchen table. You did as he said, coming to sit at the edge and immediately making space for him between your legs. He connected your lips once again, one hand on your hip and the other coming to palm your breast.

“Can I taste you, cariño?” He asked breathlessly, his voice low.

You nodded, giving him an adamant and breathless yes automatically.

Frankie grabbed your hips and gently pulled you closer to the edge. You watched as he pulled back and dropped to his knees, his broad shoulders coming to rest between your thighs. He guided your underwear down your legs, throwing them to the ground once he had freed you from them. His brown eyes were blown black with lust as he took in the sight of your dripping core.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he admired. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought about this. How you would taste. How you would sound…”

“You thought about it?”

Frankie smiled, leaning closer to you. “More than you know.”

“I have, too.” You returned his smile. However, it lasted only a moment before your eyes snapped shut and your mouth dropped open as Frankie’s tongue met your folds for the first time, licking a stripe from your dripping hole to your clit. He then moved to focus on your clit with a proficiency that already had your breath hitching, devouring you like a man starved.

You couldn’t have stopped the moan that fell from your lips if you tried. One hand came to grasp at his curls, the other moving behind you to prop yourself up on the table. He grabbed your shins and tossed them over his shoulders for leverage.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby,” he cooed, his hot breath hitting your core. You opened your eyes to meet his gaze. “Let me hear you, don’t hold back.”

He kept his eyes locked on you as he brought his tongue to your clit once again. His brown eyes looked so sweet compared to the absolutely sinful way his mouth was working at you.

You let your moans run free. After he changed speeds, a high-pitched Frankie fell from your lips, eliciting a moan from him. The vibrations from it rocked through you. When you breathed out his name again, you got the same maddening response from him. You realized that he liked it when you said his name like this. No problem. You could already tell that you would be saying it a lot tonight.

Your cries of his name only seemed to spur him on, his pace increasing as his hands wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place. He seemed to learn from every moan and every movement of your body what sent you higher.

Soon enough, you could feel the red hot coil in your stomach building, pulling taut.

“F-Frankie, I’m close,” you gasped out. “Don’t stop.”

With a few more calculated swipes of his tongue over your clit, the tension finally snapped. You closed your eyes again as your head dropped back and you cried out. Waves of ecstasy washed over you as Frankie drew out your release, his head trapped between your thighs. As you came down, he moved lower to gather your slick on his tongue.

He passed his tongue over your sensitive clit a few more times, eying the way your muscles jumped from the attention. The lust and adoration evident on his face nearly leveled you as he stared up at you.

“Can you give me another like this?” he asked, his voice gravelly, mustache and beard glistening with your slick, before giving another testing swipe at your folds.

Oh, fuck. You hadn’t ever been with someone who enjoyed eating you out like Frankie seemed to. You were starting to see that Frankie had been telling the truth: he didn’t intend on a quick fuck. He was a patient and attentive man - you were beginning to see just how much.

In your haze, you mumbled out a yes. Frankie smiled.

“Lay back, cariño. Let me take care of you.” His hand came to your chest to guide you to lay back onto the table. The cold of the wood was in stark contrast to the heat of your skin and the heat of Frankie’s mouth as it met your folds again.

You were lost in the feeling of him, one hand gripping the edge of the table and the other finding its way back to Frankie’s hair. Just as you began to adjust to his speed and pattern, he would change it again, quickly sending you higher than you thought possible. Moans of oh fuck, Frankie and just like that poured from your mouth.

The tension began to build again, quicker this time. You lifted your head off the hard wood to watch as he closed his eyes and savored the taste of you. That was all it took to send you toppling over the edge once again.

He kept working at you until you had come down from your high and lightly pushed him away from your overstimulated clit. Frankie gave one last, savoring lick to your hole, savoring every last drop of your slick. He pulled away, licking his lips as he groaned, “Fuck, you’re so sweet.”

Breathing hard, you sat up and gently guided him up from between your legs, bringing his face to yours. You tasted yourself on his tongue, his lips still wet as they met yours. Frankie’s tongue moved against yours with the same skill as when he was eating you out.

“Frankie, that was-”

“Just the warm-up,” he finished for you, leaning his forehead on yours. He hadn’t even fucked you yet and you were already wrecked just from his mouth alone. You couldn’t imagine what you would be like later if that was just the beginning.

“Well, that was a hell of a warmup.”

You kissed him again, wrapping your legs around his hips, your arms once again over his shoulders. Frankie took full advantage of the position, pulling your lower half to his and snaking an arm under you to pick you up from the table. He carried you to his bedroom - a place that you had only seen glimpses of a few times before - without even having to break your kiss. He flopped you down onto his bed, causing you to giggle as he climbed to hover over you and kiss you again.

You reached up to pull at his belt, trying to undo the leather. Once you had gotten it undone, you switched your focus to his jeans.

“Need these off,” you panted against his lips. You weren’t unaware of the slight air of desperation that had slipped into your voice.

Frankie shed his pants and boxers and discarded them to the floor. And, shit, he was big. You had guessed from what you had seen and felt earlier that he would be, but it was another thing to see it confirmed.

You brought your hand to his weeping cock, giving him a few testing strokes. Frankie let out a small groan, his hips rocking forward in your grip a bit. You continued to pump him in your hand for a while, trailing kisses along his jaw before he stopped you, his hand coming to your wrist and his lips capturing yours.

“Querida, I’m not gonna last like this,” he said. ”I wanna be inside you when I come.”

“Please. I need you, Frankie.”

“Not yet, baby. I need to get you ready first. Don’t wanna hurt you.” Logically, with how big he was you knew that you should, but that didn’t seem to matter to you at the moment. You tried to protest, to tell him that you didn’t care, you just needed him now, but he shook his head, a wicked grin on his face. He drew out his next words teasingly, “Greedy, aren’t you, baby?”

Your brain shut off, butterflies stirring in your stomach at his words. Like there was anything you wouldn’t let him do when he talked to you like that.

You gasped as he slipped a finger into you and started to pump in and out. His finger was bigger and longer than your own, already hitting a spot you could never seem to reach with your own fingers. He started building up his pace as he began to kiss down your neck like he had earlier in the night. This time though, you could feel him suck lightly as he went, surely leaving bruises in his wake.

You bucked your hips up, his one finger no longer enough.

“Need more, baby,” you whined, all care for how desperate you sounded gone. All that mattered to you now was the drag of his finger inside you and the way he sucked at the tender area just above your collarbone.

He slipped a second finger into your heat as he murmured, “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

His fingers were so much bigger than yours, two of his feeling like three of your own, stretching you as he built his pace back up again. It burned in the best way, radiating pleasure through you.

You arched against him as he curled his fingers, hitting a spot that made your toes curl.

“Right there, Frankie!”

“Come on, cariño. Come for me again and I’ll give you what you want.”

You were so close, teetering on the edge maddeningly as he worked his fingers in and out. Suddenly, he added a third finger. It was exactly what you needed to push you over the edge. Your orgasm rocked through you as you clenched down on his fingers. He continued to work them in and out as much as he could with the way you were gripping him.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed. “God, you’re so beautiful when you come.” Once your orgasm had subsided, he slipped his fingers out and brought them to his lips. He sucked your slick from them eagerly, like he hadn’t just tasted you earlier.

“Frankie, baby,” you panted, “I need you to fuck me.” You could feel his hard length against your hip and you bucked against him. He had made you come three times already and you were still desperate to have him inside you.

“I don’t think I could wait any longer if I tried,” he admitted. Frankie reached over to his bedside table and pulled a foil package from the drawer. He ripped it open with his teeth before taking the condom to roll over his length.

You reached out to take him in your hand again, giving him a few more strokes before you went to line him up with you.

His mouth came to yours as he made the first push into you. You both let out moans, your high-pitched one contrasting with his low one. He made shallow thrusts, each time sinking deeper into you. Even after trying to get you ready for him, it was a stretch to fit him. You had thought his fingers had stretched you. They were nothing compared to this.

“You’re so fucking tight, cariño,” he grunted. “Squeezing me so tight.”

“You’re so big,” you responded breathlessly.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“No, no,” you hastily whined. “Feels so good.”

After a few more thrusts, he finally buried himself to the hilt in you. Then, he stopped, pulling another whine from you. You rocked your hips, trying to feel the friction, but one hand came down to still your hip.

“Just a second. Fuck, don’t move,” he told you shakily. He took deep breaths in, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just give me a second or I’m not gonna last.”

You let him be for a moment, but then you couldn’t stop yourself from softly begging him to move.

He let out one last breath before nodding. He connected your lips again, starting to rock his hips into yours in long, slow strokes. You wrapped your legs around his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts. The hand that wasn’t propping him up came to grip at your ass and thigh over his hip.

His kiss started slow, but incredibly insistent. However, as his pace increased, so did the heat in his kiss.

“You feel so good,” Frankie mumbled against your lips. “You’re so fucking perfect, cariño. Like this pussy was made for me.”

He continued to murmur to you as he fucked you. About how badly he had wanted you all these years. How he couldn’t ever think clearly when you were around. How beautiful you were. You returned it, telling him that he was all you had wanted since you had met. He shuddered before his grip tightened on your skin, his next few strokes harder than before.

You moved to bury your hands in his hair as you gave him a bruising kiss. You ran your tongue along his lips and he quickly gave you entrance.

It was so good, but you needed more and you could tell Frankie was holding back. He wasn’t allowing himself to go as fast or as rough as he wanted. You could feel it in the way he would let up if he felt himself move a little too hard or a little too fast. But that’s what you needed.

“Harder,” you pleaded. “Fuck me harder. I can take it.”

Your previous observation about him had been right: Frankie wasn’t the kind of man who needed to be told twice.

Frankie nearly growled before he smashed his lips to yours messily. He snapped his hips against yours at a new, blistering pace. He hit that spongy spot deep inside you over and over. You broke from his kiss to moan out, your head tipping back into the pillow. He took advantage of your position to attach his lips to your neck once again, kissing and sucking wherever he could.

“Oh, fuck, Francisco!” You cried. You clawed at his back, searching for purchase over the muscled expanse, the way he was fucking into you absolutely devastating. “Just like that!”

His hips stuttered before he groaned into your ear, deep and desperate, “Say it again.”

Even through the haze, you knew what he meant, what he really wanted to hear.

“Francisco,” you whined. In the past, you had sometimes called him by his full name when you were joking around with him. You were the only person he even let call him that at all. With revelation that he liked it when you said Frankie, you now knew why he let you call him Francisco. The difference was that now you were completely serious, letting it drip from your tongue over and over like a prayer.

“I need you to come, baby,” Frankie grunted as he moved against you. “I’m close, but I need you to come first.”

Nothing that came from your mouth was comprehensible other than his name. You were so far gone, climbing higher than you had thought possible, the coil in your stomach continuing to tighten as he slammed in and out of you. Rather than snapping, the tension just kept building and building.

Suddenly, Frankie got a better grip against the thigh under his hand, moving your leg to rest higher on his torso, your other leg following suit almost automatically. He was deeper now, completely filling you as you cried out.

After a few more strokes, your orgasm barreled into you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. The breath was knocked out of you from the force of it. You clenched around him hard as he worked you through it, your legs locked and spasming around his torso. Waves of pleasure rolled over you.

“That’s it. That’s it…” he murmured into your ear. He kept moving in and out of you as much as he could, drawing your orgasm out.

Once it had subsided, he began to build back up to his previous place, chasing his own high. You threaded one hand through his hair, the other grasping at his back as you held on.

You gave a tug on his hair and his rhythm faltered. You did it again, this time while whispering into his ear, high and breathy, “Come for me, Francisco. Let go, baby.”

That seemed to be all he needed to send him careening over the edge. He let out a strangled sound, fucking into you three more times before his hips stilled, buried deep in you, and he found his release.

Once he had emptied, he nearly collapsed into you, his face in the crook of your neck, breathing hard, his cock still buried inside you. His weight on top of you was a welcome one. You ran your fingers through his curls once again, lightly this time, as you both came down.

After a few moments, Frankie lifted up and pulled out of you. He took off the condom and secured it before discarding it in the small trash can on the other side of his bedside table. Then, he rolled over to lay beside you, totally spent, pulling you to lay with him. Your head came to rest where it had laid earlier in the night on his chest, just above his heart. You chuckled a little, listening to the familiar, hammering thrum of the beat as Frankie came down.

You began to leave small, light kisses on his chest. Then, Frankie’s forefinger hooked under your chin, guiding you up to meet his lips as he whispered, “C’mere, hermosa.”

Your lips moved languidly against one another, completely savoring the moment. Your hand came to his chin, feeling the prickle of the sparse beard under your touch.

“You weren’t kidding,” you told Frankie after you broke. He gave you a questioning look, adoration in his soft brown eyes. “That was just a warmup.”

He laughed, his head falling back before he looked down at you again. “You’re amazing,” he countered. “I don’t know how I’m gonna go another day without fucking you now that I know what you feel like… and what you fucking sound like.”

“Yeah? I may have a short-term solution to that problem.”

“I’m listening…”

You gave him a small smile. “We could leave my car in Benny’s driveway the whole weekend and not leave your house.”

A grin spread across his face. “Baby, you’re gonna be lucky if I let you leave this bed this weekend.”

“No problem. I don’t know if I’ll be able to physically walk after that.”

“That’s the idea.”

You laughed, collapsing back onto his chest, both of you spent and blissed out.

You both still had things to discuss, but you knew that you would figure it out soon enough. For now, all that mattered was that you both wanted each other, that he was here, his arms wrapped around you as he kissed the top of your head.

After a few minutes, you drifted off, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

[writefightandflightclub]

Captain of the team

AKA: Santi’s a dom unless Will’s in the room

(Fem!Reader x Triple Frontier boys)

Summary: When it comes to group sex, you need one F to spell “fuuuck” and 3 M’s to spell “Mmm” (AKA, Santi’s not as straight as he thought, and other things he learns when the boys dick you down together.).

Genre: Porn with some plot.

Rating: EXPLICIT AS ALL HELL. DO NOT READ OR INTERACT UNLESS YOU ARE 18+ ⚠️

Word count: 20k. LONG, but broken into sections.

Author’s note: I know the TF x group sex / gangbang / poly sex has been DONE. The existing examples are stellar ✨ and each so unique that I haven’t really wanted to tackle it myself! Tbqh, I probably didn’t do anything fresh with the beloved trope (and oh boy this evolved so much as I was writing and became something entirely different to what I was shooting for) but I hope I managed to put some small spin on it, somehow, that means you enjoy reading this?! One huge disclaimer: Benny’s not there, I’m sorry, I know some of you will be exceedingly upset with me (but don’t hate me bc neither is Tom, okay - so bear in mind I could have been even meaner to you! 😂) Finally, READ THE WARNINGS to decide if it’s your thing. It’s far softer and ultimately more loving than it sounds when I just list out all of the explicit acts they perform (for real, who says gagging on dick can’t be romantic though, lol, it’s actually a thing that can be so personal 😆), but there are defo things in there which might not be for everyone! So, you’ve literally been warned! If it’s not for you, that’s fine! P.s . This is the theatrical release, I guess. The Director’s Cut went further with some of the kinks (I am a slut for some consensual degradation), but maybe you can convince me to share some deleted scenes, who knows? 😉 I also left it very open for prequels and sequels.

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT: all consensual - some consent happens off-screen. MMM on F Gangbang -> mixed M/F + M/M group sex. Things the boys to do reader (as part of planned, consensual scene): service kink; degradation; name calling (toy, slut, whore, good girl etc.) oral sex inc. gagging / brief rough oral, cum swallowing; cum play; spitting in mouth; slave/master dynamics; dom/sub dynamics (sub!reader); brief ball play (sucking, resting on face); P in V sex (unprotected); creampies; cumshots (on face / body); masturbation; fingering; oral sex (receiving); orgasm denial; anal sex (unprotected); gangbang (ish, no DP, sorry!); light slapping (clit); light choking; kissing; aftercare and lots of check-ins / love 💕 Other explicit stuff: rimming (f giving m receiving); first time having explicitly queer sex; MM anal; MM blowjob; M eating M’s cum; sub!M; MM kissing; slight praise kink including terms such as “good boy”/“baby boy”; hair pulling; slight size kink; aftercare. (ask if you’d like more info on any of the above warnings!). General warnings: alcohol mentions, Catholicism mentions, language, mild angst- implied past relationship fuck-up (vague). Disclaimer: this is not a guide to real-life sexual activity. It’s a fantasy fic! Be safe! 😊🧡

Shout-out: to @astroboots because CiCi’s Santi is basically canon to me now. Definitely influenced this Santi calling Frankie “Frank” in this fic. I didn’t used to do that but it’s the only way I can hear it now! 🙈You’re all gonna want to RUN to check out CiCi’s Homecoming series tbh, for the most beautiful Santi/Frankie/reader relationship. Trust me! 🧡 Also, I have to shout-out the OG and flawless TF gangbang fic by @mylifeliterally, the amazing Santi/Frankie threesome by @adverbedly, @autumnleaves1991-blog’s amazing Santi x reader x Benny series, and @charnelhouse’s TFboys x reader series. (What are you even doing in THIS fic to be honest because you NEED to read all of these RIGHT NOW instead!!) I’m sure there are more I need to mention too but sorry that they escape me for now! (LMK if you wanna be untagged!)

Also a huge thank you to everyone who helped me understand American football a little bit! So sorry I used my new-found knowledge in such a crude way 🍆💦😅

THEY’RE GONNA NEED A BOAT WITH HOW WET THEY’LL GET YOU 😂

Pre-Game

“You okay, baby? You ready?”. Will dips to plant a soft kiss on your temple, the moment before you enter the scene far more romantic than you’d ever have expected.

As his large, warm hands inch slow and steady down your back, over silk and lace and skin, you feel a molten heat surge in your core. A slick builds between your legs simply owing to the fact he’s fully clothed and you’re dressed in something barely there, feeling on display as his eyes rake over you.

“Yes,” you nod, a subtle hitch in your breath which grates your words - makes them husky. “Very ready.”

A knowing, confident smile inches over Will’s face and it makes you hot for him - his easy manner a clear sign of the trust and bond between you as you prepare for what lies in store beyond the door. And, even though you mirror his ease, his comfort, his piercing blue eyes study you carefully just to be sure that you want this. With affection, feeling reassured, he dips to press another tender kiss to the middle of your brow, his blond beard tickling your nose.

With a surge of confidence as you feel Will’s arousal press against your hip, you loop your arms around his neck and plant a sweet, lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. You can’t help the devilish grin which claims your face, and, feigning a coyness which you expect Will to see straight through, you bury your words against his cheek. “Do you… think they’ll enjoy me?”

Will’s chest shakes up against yours then, with a deep, resonant chuckle. It isn’t mocking - instead it is familiar, reassuring- and you can picture the creases radiating from around your golden boy’s eyes like beams of warm sun. “Don’t act all shy now, angel,” he says, tone as tender as his touch, meaning even his dirty words sound flowered. “This whole deal was your idea, you filthy little thing.”

Your lips quirk again into a mischievous smile. It was your idea, that’s right, but still, you’re not past fishing for compliments from your big strong man. “But will they? Enjoy me?” you purr.

Will’s eyes sweep over you - or as much of you as he can see with you held so close. That means your face and lips and tits, and a hum of appreciation reverberates in his chest. “Baby. How could they not?” he praises, voice thick and dripping like warm honey. “You’re delectable. Delicious.”

You love him like this, slow moving and teasing and all restrained. Will can end you with the barest of touches, as it makes you crave what you know the man is capable of unleashing. The latent power of him. The force of him.

Even now, you gasp as he gingerly grips your chin, tilting your head to the side and you follow his lead, offering your neck to him freely. The air itself grows syrupy as he sinks his pink mouth to your skin, all supple warm tongue and ticklish brush of blonde goatee against your pulse point. You whimper, as he works a chain of kisses up to the shell of your ear, decorating you with a string of glistening pearls. “So pretty,” he whispers, praises, and his voice shivers down to your bones, making you heat from within. As you whimper for him, you feel the curl of a satisfied smile against your cheek - a shifting scrape of facial hair and muscle. “So pretty… and we’re about to ruin you, Princess.”

Fuck. At the mere suggestion of what is to come, a deep note keens in your chest, breathy and pitching-up at the end - a cracked-open sound already.

You can feel Will getting excited too, the press of his warm firm body all bulges - pecs and biceps and bulk and increasingly, that thick, straining mass beneath denim.

You pull away from him though, sultry, teasing, and his lips and eyes and hands and his whole damn being chase your skin - the feel of you. His cock even fills to reach for you, the tenting arousal evident in his jeans.

“Mmmph,” Will sounds, tone petulant as he immediately feels the loss of your warmth in his arms. “Can’t I have you all to myself just a little bit longer?”

Well, now there’s a thought. The smouldering look he’s giving you is certainly tempting; but, you resist this pleasure, in favour of the pleasures in store. “No, handsome,” you coo, in a husky tone which you hope sinks all the way into his crotch. “Remember? Today you have to share.”

A gulp trails down Will’s throat and you feel some pride in it - he’s so hard to fluster - and then he is sweeping his eyes over you just once more, head to toe this time, and shaking his head in utter disbelief at the sight of you -“Goddamn”. Next, he slides his warm grip down your arm and along the underside of your wrist. As a pleasant hum beds down under your skin he raises your hand to his lips, the pad of his thumb gently stroking back and forth as he plants a kiss to each of your knuckles like some gallant prince. And then, adjusting his erection with a downwards tug on the crotch seam of his pants, he offers you an adoring, doe-eyed grin. “I can’t wait to watch you, angel. You’re gonna look so good taking care of us.”

Then, with fascination, you watch his expression and manner subtly shift. You watch him enter his role, and his eyes are sterner and colder as he turns to you. You feel a thrill deep in the pit of your stomach as he reaches one arm -roped with popping veins- up to the back of your neck and squeezes, driving you on towards the door with a measured shove, his voice a deep, dark drawl now. “Now get in there, slut, the boys are waiting.”

They are.

Waiting. 

Waiting with one express purpose.

Today, Will is going to share, and together, they are going to ruin you.

First Quarter, Second Quarter

“Fuuuck,” Frankie keens, his voice deep and frayed and stuttering apart like an engine struggling to start as your mouth sinks down on his length, again and again and again with a delicious glug.

Frankie should know fine well he’s supposed to play into the role; to get a little rough with you - that’s what you want - but apparently what you’re doing to him feels far too divine for that, because instead of... anything, his head is thrown back on to the lip of the couch, his eyes screwed shut and breaths entirely ragged. And his hands? His hands are wildly fisting for some purchase, claws sinking into whatever is nearby.

Well, “whatever is nearby” happens to be the sturdy thighs of Santi and Will, respectively, sat at either side of him, both entirely rapt while watching this whole thing go down - go down your throat that is.

“Jesus. Fuck is right, Frank,” Santi says in awe, his own hard cock twitching in his pants and he has to shift in his seat - has to unzip his fly to make room because he’s too full. Too full and tender as Frankie twists, burying his head in his buddy’s neck and moaning right next to his ear, hot breath fanning over Santi’s neck and making him shiver - sending a glorious prickle crawling under his skin and all the way to the tip of his dick.

Santi’s never thought about his friend in that way -at least, not before right now, not that he’d admit- but the other man’s noises are… certainly doing something for him. Something in the crotch area, specifically.

Goddamn, so is the sight of you. Holy shit, look at you, in this silly little outfit, half your tits and ass hanging out, and that smug, self-satisfied glint in your eyes. That look in your eyes as you accommodate Frankie almost all the way. How fucking pleased you are with yourself because of the fact you have all three men sat hard and straining before you and so eager to be… serviced.

“Please, she isn’t even trying. Stop teasing and make him come, honey,” Will commands coolly, reaching across Frankie’s lap to grab you by the back of the head in his broad, sure grip. To do Frankie’s job for him and drive you down on the man’s length until you are spluttering with it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Santi exclaims as Will holds you there and you take it, all the way, and -fuck- he had expected this would be a fun experience for him, sure, but he’d never realised how much he would enjoy watching. Watching Will’s brow burdened with purpose, face stern and all angles and his piercing blue eyes cold and hard and intimidating. Watching Frankie lose it, eyes screwed shut and lips parted and squirming - almost bucking off the couch in ecstasy and desperately clawing at anything he can touch like something feral. And those noises out of his mouth? Holy shit.

Finally, and last but definitely not least, Santi is awed by the sight of you, so dutifully gagging on Frankie’s length as Will holds you down. Holds you until you can’t take it - until you tap out with your palms on their thighs and he allows you to surge off of him, all spluttering noises and cock swollen, spit-shined lips, still linked to Frankie by gossamer threads, and that alone would be enough - more than enough to tip Santi over the edge but you don’t relent there though; no. Next, your hand wraps around the slick base of Frankie’s cock, making him look huge in your grip, your liberal spit inching down over his balls and you begin to pump, your tongue and lips working all over Frankie’s shaft and his artfully contoured head until he is undone and filling your mouth up.

Fuck, that’s a pretty mouth.

Fuck, that’s a pretty cock too.

Santi’s own arousal throbs, in dire need of some attention by now, and so he grips himself in the circle of his hand and squeezes a little. Squeezes; however, he immediately has to stop. Has to stop pumping himself or he’d nut at the sight of Frankie still pulsing his seed into your throat, flooding over your tongue, that deep crimson flush over the ruddy head of him, and fuck, you’re swallowing it down and all the while you’re looking at Santi. Looking at Santi and giving him the eye since it’s no use looking at Frankie - the man’s head buried in Will’s chest by now, the larger man smoothing his hand over his cheek and his patchy beard and helping him come back down with a smug grin plastered over his chiselled features.

So, here you are instead, eyeing Santi like nothing he’s ever seen -as though you’re promising him “you’re next” even as you swallow Frankie’s load down with relish, his hot cum slipped down your throat and the residual salt tang of him being licked from your teeth and lips and fuck if Santi doesn’t wanna kiss you while you still taste of him.

Santi doesn’t kiss you though. Doesn’t make a move to. Doesn’t make any move at all. Just sits there with his jaw slack and his dick in his hand as though he’s not good at this. As though he’s forgotten all the ways he can take a woman apart or all the ways he might get his rocks off. Instead of making a move -the thing he does, the thing he’s fucking known for- he’s holding his own dick in his hand and he can hardly believe what he’s seeing. Can hardly believe it’s true.

It all feels unreal; something akin to the moments after an explosion when all there is is ringing - blurred noise and slurred sound and blurred reality except this time it’s a good thing, his body vibrating; humming with pleasure already and you haven’t even touched him.

You haven’t touched him… yet, but the dark promise in your eyes hints at what’s coming.

He’s next.

And so, after doing a thorough job of milking Frankie for every drop, draining his balls dry, you lift off the man’s softening dick with a pop, his flushed head shined and sucked clean, and yet you only look hungry for more.

Hungry, and you bite your lower lip and dip your head - playing all deferential - and you look to Will. You look to Will, and Santi always fancied himself in charge but it’s obvious now - it’s Will, isn’t it? The only fucker in the room holding it together, sitting there with a shit-eating grin and looking about as fucking pleased with himself as you do while he watches his woman dismantle his buddies, taking them apart piece by mother-fucking piece.

“Enjoying yourself, baby?” Will asks you in his deep, steady drawl and you offer him a wicked smile. You are brazen as all hell, looking your fucking boyfriend in the eye while your lips and chin are still shined with spit from gagging on Frankie’s size and Santi can’t handle how fucking hot you are. How this is the hottest fucking thing he’s ever done, ever seen, and you still haven’t even touched him.

“Yeah, I thought so, you fucking whore,” Will scolds, his expression darkening, the smile dropping from his face and his words gathering dark. “Give Pope’s cock some attention now, you greedy little toy.”

Fuck. He’s next.

Santi’s next and he feels already like he’s floating outside of his own body. Floating like he’s in some fever dream, but somehow Will’s voice drags him back into the room. “You good, Pope?” Will asks with just a hint of amusement as his buddy is lost for words, and Santi finally shivers down into his own body. Will’s voice is steady - deep and earthy, and Santi realises suddenly that it always did ground him, even in the heat of battle. Always brought him back to the moment, giving him comfort and purpose, Will a constant calm amidst choas.

Santi blinks wordlessly still -has he even fucking said anything this whole damn time?- his jaw dropped open and his lashes fluttering as though he’s a shy virgin or some shit. “Uh… uh-huh,” he insists, voice grogged by lack of use, and a slow pearly smile drags over Will’s chiselled features. “Good. Want a turn of her?” he offers, and fuck, was his voice always so deep? Did it always hit so deep?

Does he? Does he want a turn? Hell, yeah he does. He’ll probably nut in you in seconds but yes - yes he fucking does, thank you very much.

“Yes,” Santi rasps, and the word barely comes out, so he tries it again. “Yes. Yeah, I do. Please.” Fuck if he knows why he’s being so damn polite about it, but it is what it is. He needs you. He’d beg for it if he had to but look at you, so willing.

“Yeah you fucking do,” Frankie praises as he comes back down to earth, still panting as he turns his head back from Will’s chest, bringing his voice tantalisingly close again to Santi’s ear, his lips so close to the bare skin at the column of his neck that if he leaned a little he could kiss him. “Shit. Feels so good in that wet little mouth, man.”

Christ, Frankie talking dirty is something else.

“Give him a turn,” Will orders coolly, eyebrows raised and head dipped and tone stern like he won’t fucking tell you again. The Miller brother is apparently the only one of the lot of them hitting the brief, even as his own erection sits nestled beneath the band of his black underwear, his jeans unzipped to offer breathing room to the veiny, straining mass of him.

This brief, this idea? It was you - it was all you, and then suddenly it was all of them too.

You had this fantasy, see. About being used. But not just being used by anyone. Being used by them. About them all watching the game -or whatever, something on the flatscreen. Ignoring you mostly, except for when you were serving them. Bringing them snacks, beers, anything they asked for, whilst wrapped up like a present in this obscenely skimpy little outfit. And then, the scene progressing. Serving them in other ways too, while they treated you like a little toy, made for their pleasure. While they watched the game or whatever and barely acknowledged you except when they were using you to get off.

You’d been very clear about that. Very explicit about how you enjoyed being degraded a little. You’d wanted them almost bored with it.

Well, it’s funny then, isn’t it? Because Santi has never been further away from bored in his goddamn life. He has never been so riveted, so captivated, and all he’s done so far is sat with his dick in his hand and fucking watched.

You flash a bratty, insolent look to Will as he speaks - God you’re a minx, fucking delicious - and the man licks his lips at the sight of you, kneeling and compliant and eager and about to be used all over again. Santi watches Will work his throat around a hard swallow. Watches his eyes darken with lust all his own and he knows the man’s envisaging taking his turn with you. And on the flip side, Santi is engrossed with the way you are held rapt as well, bound and controlled effortlessly by Will’s cool, quiet authority. Speaking of: “Stop distracting me from the game and suck on Pope’s cock - I won’t be pleased if I have to make you.”

Well, Santi’s definitely not going to argue with that plan - and it looks like you’re not either. He’s certainly not; not after the noises Frankie was just making. “Yeah, yeah,” he encourages, whisper soft, tipping his chin up as you slink towards him on your knees, an utterly devastating glint in your eye. “That’s it, hermosa,” he encourages, voice sunken with need and barely there - as if he’s never given an order in his fucking life. Never spoken a word in his fucking life. “Come put your mouth on me.”

Christ - never mind Frankie coming apart- he couldn’t have looked further from bored while you sucked him off and Santi’s not sure he’s got the memo either. You want him to be mean, but look at you. He just wants to fucking worship you.

He loves you too much to-

No. Wait.

No. He parks that thought for later. Buries it even. Maybe for a therapy session where he can talk about why on Earth he’d fall for his best friend’s girl.

Instead, he focusses up. After all, it’s not like he isn’t into the idea of all this - not like he doesn’t get the premise of all of them treating you some kinda way. For sure, it turns him on too - more than he could have realised.

Even the discussions beforehand had gotten Santi as hard as a rock. In the weeks leading up to this, he can’t remember ever jerking off quite so vigorously or so often. Can’t remember coming quite so hard in a long while. The conversations about which skimpy little outfit you would wear, and the fashion shows which followed. Talking about exactly what you liked (and didn’t), exactly what they could do to you (and what they couldn’t). What you could do to them and all the ways how. You’d all been meticulous about planning it - Will especially, of course, like it was a fucking military operation. Hell, Santi could swear they’d done less prep pre-Lorea.

Everyone was clear on their role; but, now that Santi has you here, on your knees like this, fuck if he doesn’t want to give you every shred of his focus and attention like you deserve.

Luckily, he’s a generous lover - if you want him to be mean, he can do that for you. Can give you what you need - take care of you like that. “Yeah, come here,” he coaxes you, his voice finally coming back to him, laying a sugared-trap. “Open your mouth,” he commands - still softly, still brandishing his ruddy, veined length in his hand, a purple flush creeping over the head of him. Shifting his hips forward on the couch so that he can smack you in the cheek with his need-laden cock a few times for good measure, before dipping the head of him into your wetness and warmth, letting the heaviness of him fall over your tongue and the weight of his hand settle on top of your head. “There you go, baby girl,” he soothes as you take him, opening up around him and getting used to his girth. “That’s it. Such a good little toy.”

Shit, Frankie wasn’t wrong, you feel good - and a cracked, disbelieving laugh even keens in his throat, his hips jolting up on instinct as he seeks to bury himself balls-deep in your mouth. 

“Hnnng. You look pretty getting sucked off, Pope,” Frankie rumbles next to his ear and fuuuuck.

Santi could nut right now. “Unnf, you fucking asshole, Frank,” he curses, as he feels a jolt of pleasure zip along his length - making his whole body tingle. 

But, thankfully -and he’s not even sure how- Santi remembers his role, and maybe that’s a good thing right now. Maybe it’s a good thing that he can simply guide your head down on his shaft like you’re a little toy. That he can simply sit there in his baseball cap, jeans pushed down around his hips, obnoxiously chewing his gum and ever so casually fucking into you. Watching the flickering flat screen and focussing on the background drawl of the commentator instead of how good it feels between his legs. Maybe it’s a good thing - because if Santi directed his full attention to you, like he wants to - if he directed his attention to Frankie or even Will, each of them languidly stroking their hard-ons in his periphery... If he did that, he’d come undone right there and then, and after so long waiting for you, he is keen to make this last. 

That’s all very well, except - ohhhhh. Ah. Jesus, where did you misplace your gag reflex all of a sudden because he’s fucking buried in you to the hilt, your nose settled all the way down into the patch of dark curls, forehead pressed against the slight softness of his stomach. 

Grabbing your hair in his fist, Santi pulls you off him urgently, his hips stuttering, breathing deeply until he can regain some morsel of control.

You look at him then - how you had looked at him once, so many years ago; before Will - your gaze veiled with innocence and lashes batting up at him and devouring him and wrecking him and he can hardly tear his eyes away.

Apparently the others can’t look away from you either, resonant hums of approval coming from his right, hands pumping their stiffened cocks with increasing vigour.

Still, Frankie pauses his own ministrations for a moment as Santi gusts out a breath, warm and sweating and shuddering and on the edge. “Come here, idiota,” the man breathes, deceptively soft, gingerly lifting the baseball cap from off of Santi’s head and rifling a hand through his grizzled curls for good measure.

Santi tries to ignore all of it. You, the look of you, the feel of you. The way Frankie’s small act of service makes his stomach flip. The way your hands are pressed flat and snaking up his thighs. The way Frankie’s hand lingers on his head a little longer than necessary, fingers raking through the length at his crown. “Better?” Frankie asks him, in a familiar tone. A tone that says he promises to always be there when Santi is in a pinch. To be there whether he’s bleeding out on some jungle floor or whether he’s too drunk on your mouth to take his hat off while you suck his balls dry.

“Better?” Frankie repeats, and Santi imagines answering his question with a kiss, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t yet, but as he turns his head to his buddy there is the hint of a promise there too. A promise that he’ll get his turn as well. A promise Santi would be keen to chase if you weren’t sucking his soul out of his dick like you’re trying to exorcise him from his own body. “Fuck. Look at this, boys,” Santi says in awe before he even really realises what he’s saying. “Fucking look at this pretty little slut choking on my cock.”

The boys chuckle next to him, throaty and deep and gruff and it does things to him, especially as your tongue circles diligently around the tip of him. “She loves your cock, Pope,” Will drawls. “Uhhh. Look at her - the little cumslut’s so hungry for your load.”

Santi wasn’t ready. Ready and willing, yes; but not prepared. For how much he’d enjoy being watched.

And, uhhhhh, holy shit, apparently you liked being talked about like this - like you’re not even there as they compare notes - because next, you hum pleasantly around his length. You suck him more vigorously and reach your hand up to squeeze and tug his balls, and Santi tips his head right back, moaning into Frankie’s neck as you work him.

Jesus, the man smells good.

“Fuuuck, cariño,” Frankie breathes, a tremor in his voice and Santi isn’t even sure. Isn’t sure whether his buddy is talking to you or to him; but part of him doesn’t much care - either way he likes it.

Santi is on the edge. He’s on the edge and, in this moment, he looks to Will, a helpless, sideward glance. He looks to Will because of course he does. Because that’s who everyone looks to when they’re in need, when they’re needy, when they need an order, and he watches Will tug his shirt off over his head, putting his rippling muscles on display, his latent power obvious and primed and his blue eyes intent on your mouth and Santi’s cock filling it. Looking at him too. Enjoying him too. 

Fuck.

Santi’s eyes screw shut then and he’s not faring much better than Frankie had by this point - not that’s he’s complaining - the sight of you and sound of Frankie and raw power of Will almost too much. Almost. Too much and yet somehow he wants… more.

“Wait ‘til we’re all done with you. Gonna paint you with cum, baby. Fill all your greedy holes, huh?” Santi moans hard when Will says that, and his eyes would roll back into his head -probably- if they weren’t already fluttered closed, long dark lashes fanning on his cheek.

He wants to. Wants to paint you. Fill you. But Santi listens to Will and he can almost imagine the man is talking to him. About him and not you. 

That thought, along with the wicked sensations you’re delivering gets Santi far too close to the edge all over again, and so he tugs on your hair to have you release him from the wet, slippy channel of your throat. His busted knees quaking beneath him -so much so that he thinks this might be it, might finally be the moment they decide give out- Santi stands, tugging his tee over his head and tossing it aside. Shifting his jeans and boxers further down his thighs with a jangle of his belt, baring his ass to Frankie and Will and not caring.

And then… Then, he looks back at you, kneeling ever so obediently and expectantly at his feet. With a grunt, his brow burdened with a furious need, Santi takes his length in his own fist and begins to pump, with a pace suggesting he’s about to spill his load. You simply smirk deliciously, raising an eyebrow and tipping your face up towards him before closing your eyes and bracing - flinching at intervals as you await the sudden spurt of thick ropes of come being dumped over your face. “Nuh-uh. Open your mouth, you little slut,” he growls, enjoying this power play, the mischievous glint in your eyes encouraging him. “Open your mouth. Gonna come over your tongue and I don’t want you to swallow. Keep it in there, understand? Let me see it.”

He hears a needy, awed moan from behind him and meanwhile a whine slips from your lips - the sounds a divine contrast of hard and gruff and sweet and liquid. 

You answer him, making the closest sounds to a yes Santiago as you can with your mouth open wide for him, pink tongue glistening. E, aaa-eee-aaa-ooo.

And then, Will is standing too to get a better view. Frankie also. The men stand until they’re all crowding you, lengths brandished as you kneel. They are stood forming a gaggle around you, delivering mumbled, awed words of both praise and degradation, the syllables mingling with the wet, rhythmic fap of Santi’s hand and then…

Liquid.

Warm and sudden ropes of salt sprayed into your mouth, over your lips, across your cheek as Santi’s aim falters in the moment. As he stutters his hips into his hand and paints you with his thick, pearly seed.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl,” Will praises.

“Show me,” Frankie asks in awe and you stick out your tongue, almost proudly. You exhibit your face covered in his load and slipping from your smooth skin, coursing down towards your jaw.

Then, Will grabs the underside of your chin in his hand and stoops over, his long, toned body hinging at the hips. “Yeah, show us. Keep that pretty mouth open.” You moan, flowered vowel noises and Will just grips you harder, tipping your chin up and ceremoniously spitting in your mouth.

Well, fuck.

If Santi could come all over again - if it was possible - he thinks he would in that moment, watching Will do this to you and you loving it. Listening to him order you around. Telling you to swallow down Santi’s load then show them all your mouth is empty. Dragging your head towards his crotch so that he can rest his balls over your mouth and nose, rubbing them on you and moving the remaining come -his come- around your face.

Santi wonders if Will might take your mouth too, but he’s still showing some restraint it seems. Still patiently waiting his turn, and so instead, his touch softens around your jaw. He strokes your cheek tenderly despite the mess of spit and seed. “You good, baby?” he asks you softly, checking-in. “You liked that, huh?”

Will brings you to standing and you grip his forearms to steady yourself and you smile - a bright, beautiful smile that knocks Santi for six. Then, you tongue the remaining pearls of him from your lips before wiping your mouth on the back of your arm. “Fuck, yeah.”

Will looks at you and the energy between the two of you is sizzling. Alive and consuming and Will’s hard as a rock between your bodies and God, Santi would love to watch the man take you. Would love to watch his primed, coiled muscles in action, dominating your form. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before. Hasn’t imagined it.

“Let me feel you, huh?” Will purrs, his lips twitching into a smile. “Let me feel how wet you are?”

Santi watches, his jaw dropped open all over again, still reeling from that orgasm and still unable to tear his eyes away from you. Unable to move away as Frankie wraps and arm around his bare shoulders and tugs him a little closer into his side, even as he puts his dick away and pulls up his jeans.

Santi and Frankie both watch, as Will’s hand winds around your hips and ass and disappears in between your thighs, and they don’t see his fingers spear you from this angle but they see it play across your face, the flutter of your eyes and the knitting together of your brows and the way you almost collapse into Will, arms bundling into his sturdy chest as you are finally allowed a morsel of pleasure for yourself. They hear Will’s halfway wicked chuckle as he works himself inside you, his arm pumping, roped with popping veins and tendons. “Fucking dripping,” he drawls, managing to sound impressed and scolding all at once as you languish against him, and Santi swears he can hear your slick being forced out of you.

Then, Will abruptly removes his hand from beneath your excuse for a skirt, earning a groan from you and revealing his two middle fingers to the other men. They are glistening up to the knuckle with your juices, which he smears unceremoniously along your chest as he wipes himself clean on you.

“Think you’re having too much fun, whore,” Will scolds, tugging your outfit down over your tits and grabbing one breast harshly in his broad grip, giving it a tug. “Don’t go forgetting your place, Princess. This isn’t for you, understand?Fuck. Santi should move, he thinks. Say something, do something. Anything. Totally should; but he can’t. He’s rooted to the spot, Frankie’s arms still wrapped around his shoulders. “Now go and get some beers and make yourself useful.”

Will’s tone is harsh yet playful - just as playful as the look in your eyes as you nod deferentially in response to his command, and the small exchanges are not lost on Santi. He sees when Will crooks his finger and massages that spot just behind your earlobe. He sees his blue eyes search yours until you give him a soft nod of reassurance, Will dipping to whisper that he’ll be right out before his eyes follow you adoringly out of the room.

Then, standing there like a fucking Adonis, shirtless and powerful and with his jeans wide open at the crotch, the band of his boxers slung under his shaft and balls and not a hint of embarressment or self-consciousness as his erection looks fit to burst, Will turns the scope of his attention towards the remaining people in the room. Of course, that’s Santi and Frankie. “Well?” he asks, surely knowing the answer already. “Enjoying my girl?”

Santi lets out a choked sound which he hopes passes for “yes”, and to his side Frankie expels a throaty chuckle- a noise that Santi always thought was one of the most beautiful in the damn world but which sounds even more gorgeous post-BJ, apparently. “She’s a dream, man.”

She -you… you are a dream, alright.

Will’s eyes sparkle with pride and he slaps Frankie on the upper arm, before turning to Santi. “You okay, Pope? You look wrecked.”

“Yep. M’good.” He is good, and his whole body is still humming pleasantly.

Still, Will steps a little closer to smooth his palm across the stubble on the smaller man’s cheek, before -to Santi’s surprise- dipping to plant a smacker of a kiss to the centre of his forehead. “You beautiful fuckers,” he grins, smiling at the both of them, and then, an aside. “Take care of him, Frankie, while I check on my Princess?”

“Got it.”

Santi should feel offended at the insinuation he needs taking care of, perhaps, but as Frankie’s warm eyes fall on him that thought falls out of his head and he simply staggers backwards, seating himself on the couch with a huge, contented sigh, his legs all nervy and shaking.

Will turns back briefly when he reaches the door, with one final thought. “There’s some water and-“

“-Go. I know how to take care of him,”Frankie insists, almost defensively, and, with a nod, Will takes his cue to leave. Then, Frankie crouches before Santi and smooths a hand on top of his thigh, his voice hitting far different when directed towards him. Somehow fuller. Richer. “I know how to take care of you, huh, pendejo?

“Yeah, Frank,” Santi admits, and he doesn’t know why his chest tightens with emotion in that moment, but it does.

Meanwhile, Frankie reaches over to the cooler by the couch and grabs a chilled bottle of water. “Good. Now drink up. Judging by the size of your load you just lost half your bodily fluids. Christ.”

Santi’s chest shakes with a hearty chuckle. “Was fucking good man. I’m still shaking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, man… and we’re just getting started.” Frankie slaps his hand on to Santi’s thigh, but then it just… lingers there, his touch warm even through the denim.

Santi’s softening cock twitches inside his jeans. It’s not lost on him that Frankie is in the same position you were moments ago. Not lost on him at all.

The two men lock eyes then, and Frankie abruptly clears his throat, surging up from the floor and reaching up to tame his mussed hair. “Stop staring and drink up, pendejo,” Frankie warns, and Santi softens the intensity of his stare.

Still, Frankie’s words echo in his mind, and he can’t help but stare just a little, especially as the man zips his jeans up over his softening length, his trimmed pubes still peeking out above the waistband.

We’re only just getting started.

Half-time

“Hey, beautiful.” Will announces himself before slipping up behind you in the en suite, gently wrapping his arms around you as you gargle mouthwash - getting the residue of cum from out of your mouth before round 2.

After you spit, he settles his hand at the back of your neck, his thumb stroking back and forth. “You okay, baby? Not too rough? Too… anything?”

“No. If anything you’re going easy on me, Captain. Sent me away after two dicks,” you sing-song.

Will chuckles. “It’s not you I’m worried about. Honestly, I think Pope needed a minute. Talk about living up to his call sign - I think you actually made him see God.”

“Hmm. Well I have been told my blow jobs are a religious experience,” you guffaw, spinning in the loop of Will’s arms until you face him, getting to see his bright smile head-on. “Really though, is he doing okay?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Will reassures, a little frown appearing at his brow. “I just wonder… if things take the direction I think they might, are you good if we change the scene up a little?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s just say, it would involve a different kind of teamwork.”

“Okay,” you nod, and Will is surprised that you don’t ask for more details. “I trust you to keep us safe, baby.”

Will’s eyes glow with more than a little pride at that - a pride which quickly shifts into hunger. “God. Let me kiss that dirty mouth of yours, hmm?” You tip your chin eagerly towards him and he swipes his tongue into your mouth, his hands slipping down to knead the meat of your bare ass beneath this skimpy outfit. “Mmm. Can I feel how wet it got you again? Please?”

“This is merely the staging area, Captain Miller. If you want to sample me you’ll have to wait your turn downstairs.”

He swipes his tongue into your mouth again, the kiss hungrier. “Hmmph. Good thing I like waiting.”

You smile and wriggle playfully out of his grip. He makes it easy - he unhands you immediately - and you finish straightening yourself up in the mirror. “Now… do I still look pretty?”

“Even more delectable.”

“See you in there?”

“Mmm-hmm. Okay, baby.” He dips to steal another quick kiss, his tongue shoving over yours and earning a horny groan from him. “You still taste of cum, you slut.”

“Love you too,” you coo with a teasing, devious smile.

Will winks as he sweeps out. “Damn. I’m a lucky man.”

“You sure are,” you tease. “Now go join the other lucky fuckers downstairs and I’ll be right with you.”

As Will sweeps out and you watch his broad form disappear, with a final glance over his shoulder and a charming yet hungry smile, you feel somehow like you’re the lucky one.

Quarter Three

Santi isn’t ready for it. Well- that’s not quite true. He is ready and willing, but he isn’t prepared. Isn’t prepared for how good it feels. How good it looks.

He watches Frankie pull you into his lap and pop your tits from out of this silly little outfit. He watches the man gather your breasts in his broad palms and mouth at your nipples, while you make these pathetic, delicious little noises which send blood thumping straight to his cock.

He watches you be dragged off of Frankie by Will, big strong Will, as a punishment for your moans - for the way you had begun to grind your heat down on to Frankie’s denim-clad erection to get yourself off. And, it wasn’t lost on Santi that seeing Will hoist you off of the other man -seeing that latent strength in action, for the first time in a long while- was a thing of beauty. Something that made his whole body tingle.

Then, Santi watches you being a little brat about it, until Will begins to call you the kinda names which make you bite your lip and squeeze your thighs together. Names which make you wilt against him even as his hand is clasped around your chin and jaw, dragging you up until you are standing taller. Names he doesn’t mean because the man fucking adores you - that much is obvious.

You trust each other, and it’s a beautiful thing to witness. More than that; you make Will trust himself. If you didn’t, there’d be no way Will would wrap his hand around your throat like this. No way you’d let him. Not after what he’s done.

In awe then, Santi watches. Watches as Will moves and manipulates you so easily. He transports you to the table, bending you over it to reveal your exposed, tight little holes to everyone in the room. Making a show of you -if you can’t be a good toy I’ll get your holes out for everyone to see- Santi and Frankie both instinctively standing and crowding around you, hungry for a better view.

You moan as Will pulls up this flimsy little strip of fabric passing for a skirt, pushing it up past your hips and putting all of you on display for them, the globes of your ass and meat of your thighs, and that perfect glistening slit.

Will grabs your hands and holds them behind your back as you squirm your ass and hips on nothing. “Oh you like this? Little whore wants some cock, is that it? That why you’re acting up? You a thirsty little slut? A fucking attention whore?”

With a grunt, Will snakes his broad hand up your back to pin your torso down on to the surface of the table. With his other arm, his thick fingers skim idly -haphazardly, roughly- over your heat, and they come away glistening with you. Santi is rapt, as, with firm, indiscriminate pressure the man begins spreading your slick around, playing with it, spreading it over your clit and lips and one finger circling your little asshole, making the rim of it gleam, all inviting. He can’t look away as Will slaps your pussy, watching the way you writhe and moan for him so beautifully when he does it.

Santi is so aroused he almost feels light-headed.

“Fuck you’re wet. You’re enjoying this. Being on display, aren’t you? I’m just going to leave you here until we’ve all had a go, hmm? Until your holes are full of our cum.”

Santi is so hard it’s bordering on painful.

Then, without warning, Will spears two fingers inside your heat, all the way to the knuckle and you yelp, a high-pitched noise which bottoms out into a deep, chesty groan, a shiver of pleasure undulating right through your body as his girth drags through your walls and over your g-spot.

“Ready for some cock, alright,” Will confirms. “Shall I show them how to use you?”

“Yes. Yes please,” you beg, voice all throaty and undone.

Fuck this is better than anything Santi’s ever seen - in real life or in porn.

“So needy. Where do you want it?”

“In my pussy. Please.”

Then, just like that, Will’s perfect, pretty length is sunk into you, his hips pistoning back and forth, allowing no time for you to adjust to his size and taking you anyway.

His eyes roll to the sky as he is gripped by your tightness and Santi’s own cock pulses; aching, needing something.

Then, Santi is watching Will flip you on to your back, spreading your legs wide open and getting you to hold them there as he grips your ass in his palms and slams you down on to his length, his arms all bulges and his sculpted abs undulating as he works his hips.

The sounds are something else. The obscene wetness, the slap of balls against skin, the staccato grunts of Will and your cresting moans which give way to fast, abortive moans, your lips dropped open in a silent scream of pleasure.

Then, Will hinges at his hips to bring his chest down towards yours, one arm bracing against the table and the other gripping your jaw.

“You a filthy slut? You love having me balls deep in your cunt while my buddies watch?”

Will knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows that the fresh angle makes his stomach grind down on your clit. Knows how his power gets you off. Knows just what you like. Indeed, you moan a throaty affirmative, and Will clamps his free hand on your jaw until you open up for him, dipping to spit right in your mouth and over your cheek as he continues pumping in and out of you, pleasure ripping through you and maybe just a hint of pain too - only in a way you like, never more than you enjoy.

Fuck.

“Open your eyes and look at them while I fuck you. Look at them, all hard for you. Look who’s gonna be inside you next.”

The juxtaposition between the hardness and softness is something else. Will’s tight body slamming you so hard the whole table rocks, heavy balls slapping, muscles firm and pumped as he holds you in place; and yet the softness too. The lilting curve of his lips against your cheek when he folds to whisper in your ear. The unconscious kiss he plants just behind your earlobe. The way a large portion of his strength is still reined in, because he doesn’t want to hurt you; would really never hurt you in ways you didn’t like.

You start to whine and squirm all of a sudden like you’re close and Will laughs, drawing back to be perpendicular to your body, slapping your clit with a firm hand and making you yelp. “Oh no you don’t,” Wills scolds, and before you can find your release he denies you, pulling out at the last minute and groaning deep and low as he pulses creamy ropes over your stomach, cock twitching as he ekes out every drop to paint you with, watching his load pool and glisten on your belly. He grins down at you as his breaths steady, the man recovering remarkably quickly. Thriving from it. Somehow able to find words when Santi is rendered speechless and he’s only watching.

“Pope, you want a go of our little toy next? Fucked her open but she’ll fit you like a glove.”

Does he? Of course he fucking does; but he’s also fascinated by the planes of Will’s shirtless body. By the way he manipulates you so effortlessly - throws you around and puts you where he wants you - exactly how he wants you. He’s also fascinated by Frankie, his long, thick cock slightly incongruous with his lithe, soft frame. And, he’s fascinated by you. That look on your face as you hold your own legs open, unfulfilled and your pussy fluttering on air, your red-stained lips dropping open and your eyes fluttering shut.

Santi swallows, and he wants to make a move but he doesn’t. Instead, he thinks about how Frankie’s cock might look filling you up, all that size disappearing into you.

“Wanna watch Frank fuck her,” Santi says at the same time he thinks it, immediately nervous that’s he’s said the wrong thing as soon as the words are past his lips - but then Will is saying okay then and holding his damn hand out to Santi and Santi takes it and he feels safe with Will. Big strong Will, who Santi’s never called that in his head ever before today but hell, apparently now he is, and pretty Francisco, his hair curling up about his ears from writhing his head about the couch cushions and his eyes and his stomach all soft but his voice so fucking gruff and hard. And then there’s you. You all over again, and Santi might be a lapsed Catholic but, fuck, you could make him believe in heaven.

Everywhere Santi looks there is something gorgeous; someone gorgeous, and then Will is slapping the subtle curve of Frankie’s ass with a hearty, locker room chuckle as the man lines himself up with your entrance, that thick head notching against your hole. And you.

Oh god, you. Santi knows he’s meant to be mean, but wants to stroke your hair and shush you as Frankie fills you rough and balls deep, you beautiful thing.

“You okay, baby?” Will asks you, breaking the scene for a moment. “You ready for him?”

“Yes, m’good. Please Cat’. Fucking need you.”

Frankie makes a strangled sound in his throat at how desperate you are for him, and Santi finds himself pumping his length in the circle of his hand. He has to. He needs some friction.

“Tease her a little and she’ll beg you, ‘Cat,” Will offers. “It’s fucking beautiful.” Then, the hunk of a man turns his attention towards Santiago, and a heat prickles across the back of his neck, his body standing taller and stiffer - muscle memory firing as though he’s about to get an order. Standing to attention for Will, in so many ways. “You okay, Santiago? Still with us? You need to stop or take 5?” Fuck, there’s something about Will first naming him in that voice which gets his dick gets even harder than he would have thought possible.

Then Will is closer. Slipping his hand around the back of Santi’s neck to better search his eyes, but his touch trails and lingers on him a little longer, calloused pads of fingers smoothing up and into his hairline.

“Yes. Yes, I’m good,” Santi confirms, his voice sunken by need, wet and liquid and no sand left in his throat.

For a split second, Santi imagines his tongue buried in Will’s mouth - imagines the rough friction and rasp of stubble against beard like he could light a match, but then he is suckered in entirely by the sweet sight of you.

You and Frankie.

“Please. Please Frankie, fill me up,” you plead pathetically and he pushes -no, glides- inside your wetness, his hands gripping your hips and a faltered moan falling from his plush lips as he bottoms out.

“Fucking beautiful,” Will praises, looking like the cat that got the cream as he witnesses some other dude spearing his girl wide open. And fuck, it looks like Frankie is stretching you to your limit.

Santi’s cock is aching in his own hand as he watches it - watches Frankie’s dick surging in and out of you, gleaming with your creamy juices. Watches the way his size spreads your lips apart, making them all flushed and glistening as they cushion him. Your little asshole just visible when Frankie pulls out - all tight and puckered and begging for a cock too, he’d guess.

Frankie bottoms out again with a cascading groan - jeez this man is a vocal lover - and then he’s moving, pumping into you, bending his knees and getting the perfect angle to fuck up into you - the perfect angle for him, not for you, even if you do seem to be enjoying it.

“Look at Frankie go,” Will bids him, and Santi’s cheeks flush at the man’s knowledge he is looking; watching.

“She feel good, Frank?” Santi asks with a swipe of his tongue along his lower lip, and Frankie replies in the affirmative, his words barely intelligible; and then, Santi asks you a question. A question which makes his heart throb in his neck when he realises how desperately he wants the answer. “Does Frank’s cock feel good inside you, baby?”

Does it? Does it feel good? It looks like it would feel good.

You spill profuse praises, causing Frankie’s legs to tremble as he fucks you, and then Will is moving, coming up next to your face to shut you up and pressing his dick towards your mouth. “Come here baby. Lick up the mess you made of me.” With an obliging hum you wrap your lips and tongue around the head of him, sucking diligently on him even as Frankie’s cock is pounding you, sending shockwaves rippling through your flesh.

Santi watches as Will reaches to roughly knead your breasts and pinch your nipples, and he sees a shudder course all the way down your body like a wave, your hips adjusting to a new angle around Frankie and making him tip his chin to the sky and breathe quick and ragged to stave off his end.

“Fuck, she likes that. Do that again, William. Feels fucking perfect on my cock.”

You laugh. You laugh musically with Frankie deep in you and Will thumbing your nipples and it’s actually fucking beautiful. This messy, beautiful thing, and your laugh brings Santi back to his body.

To his needy body.

Santi palms himself, focussing on the head of him, just enough pressure to stay rock hard - not that he reckons he’d have any trouble while watching this.

Fuck, Santi thought he’d be more… dominant but he… he just…

He swallows.

He wants Will to tell him what to do. He wants Will to tell him what to do to you. What to do to Frankie… because he wants to do everything and he’s too spoilt for choice to choose and…

Fuck.

He wants…

“Santiago,” you croon, desperately, voice hoarse with need and stretching out the vowel sounds and extending your hand towards him. Your attention on him for a moment, even if you’re getting dicked down by two delicious specimens, Frankie filling you and Will gradually engorging all over again in your mouth until he’s stretching your cheek. And Santi almost turns around and looks behind him when you moan his name because it can’t be him you need, can it? Don’t you have everything you need? “Santi, please,” you beg, and the effects of your wanton plea ripple through each of the men. Frankie fucks you harder, ensuring your eyes meet his again, albeit briefly before they roll back into your head. Will’s face lilts into a crescent smile at how deliciously filthy you are, and Santi…

“My woman needs you, man. Come get involved Santiago,” Will offers with an easy, agenda-free smile. “Sure she can take three. Put it wherever you want. Or, hey. If you’re not gonna get your dick wet just yet, come and torment that little clit of hers and make her clamp down harder on our pal Frankie.”

God - Santi should have gone to Will. He should have gone to Will all those nights he was trying to wank himself off in his army bunk. Should have had the Captain slot in beside him and whisper orders in his ear because it’s the only damn way he can mobilise. Because he needs Will’s cool, calm authority. Always needed it to feel safe.

Needed that but…

…He needs you too. Has needed you. And, Santi tics his gaze over to you, arcing up a thick, suggestive eyebrow - and ever so briefly it’s like you’re sharing a moment just the two of you, even as Frankie’s thrusts shunt you back and forth on the table. Even then, your eyes trail up and down Santi’s body and your tongue darts out along your lips like a silent invitation. And so, Santi comes to stand alongside the table edge, looming over you all splayed out like this. He gets in a position perpendicular to you, where he can just about touch his cock to your lips and reach his hand down towards your mound at the same time too.

Slowly, so slowly and in such juxtaposition to everything that is happening to you, Frankie’s thrusts growing harder and faster and increasingly sloppy, Santi smooths his palm down over your chest, your stomach, and on towards your little hatch of hair, quickly finding that swollen nub and skimming over it with the barest of pressure.

You jolt from it, a shockwave careening through your body and causing your spine to arc away from the table like a bow.

Frankie makes a choked sound then and so do you, but you’re moaning around Will’s engorged dick -your hands on both him and Santi and dipping them alternately into your mouth, sometimes both at once, their cocks frotting up against one another’s - and so that figures. “Holy shit, she likes that, you beautiful motherfucker,” Frankie rasps, voice almost entirely sunken. A delicious bead of sweat shimmying down from his temple which Santi half imagines he’d like to taste. “Just clamped down on me like a fucking vice.”

With a smug smile at making you feel good- making Frankie feel good- Santi builds the pressure. Starts with circles. Then, starts flicking and squeezing and strumming your needy, swollen clit, your moans suffocated around his own dick, but your jerking body and jagged breaths around his shaft a dead giveaway that you like this.

“Give me some more lube down there, Frank,” Santi requests, and his buddy -though increasingly undone- obliges him, puckering his lips and letting a shined glob of spit land on your clit with a soft smack. Well- Frankie always did have good aim.

And then, as Santi works you, you are practically bucking off of the table; however, there are 6 strong hands holding you in position. In position so that you can be filled and pleasured how they like. Your own hands and mouth busy with two dicks and you could stop, if you wanted. Anytime you needed to. You could tap out if you wanted, but you don’t. You like this, and so instead you use your hands to reach for them, to reach for more, to reach for him.

You moan around Will’s cock as he pushes deeper into your throat - deeper and in counter rhythm to Frankie’s thrusts. “So humiliating how much you like being used, Princess,” he coos at you.

Santi is riveted as Will surges out of your mouth, and then your moans are suddenly unfettered; abortive whines and pants and burgeoning waves of sound from deep in your chest. To the other side of him, Frankie’s percussive grunts and groans are the perfect complement to your carnal noises, perfectly in time with the slap of his balls against you, and Will’s still whispering dirty things, dirty words cascading down to you and Santi’s tormenting your clit and all of this- all of this is only taking you higher.

Santi could come again. Could come already, but he’s slipping his fingers further down, further down your lips and folds and he’s hitting the shaft of Frankie’s cock too and it feels warm and ridged and contoured, the feel suggesting veins and weight and he’ll be damned if he comes before he witnesses the two of you reaching your end. And maybe - maybe it’s coincidence but as soon as Santi is touching him too, Frankie seems to be losing it, his rhythm uneven and his grunts increasingly broken and his hands clamping harder on your thighs, leaving indents like claws and half-moon crescents where his short nails dig into your flesh.

Santi is overcome by it. By the need to feel you, to feel you both, so he crooks his forefinger and he reaches down and he finds room against Frankie’s shaft to slip a finger inside you with him, stretching you just a little more, and he finds that you can take it. That you like it. And maybe… maybe it shouldn’t fit- Frankie already an impossible stretch- but everything is drenched. So slippery. Obscene wet noises like ruined fruit. Both of them inside you as he brings his other hand across to massage your clit, his palm pushing down on your lower abdomen, and he can feel it. He can feel it when you clamp down, he can feel when Frankie comes undone and his orgasm zips all the way up from his balls.

Santi’s touching both of you as you are bucking off the table with no chance of going anywhere. As Frankie is spilling his load into you, slamming deeper into you, as deep as he can get, all of his length disappeared inside you all the way down to the groomed tight curls where Frankie’s happy trail meets the base of his dick.

Santi’s not even inside you. Not inside your mouth or pussy but he swears he feels just as good from watching Frankie fill you. By the fact he helped you both come undone.

He and Will both simply watch, both intent on you and Frankie, and a disbelieving, awed sound slips involuntarily past Santi’s lips as Frankie delivers his load, thick and creamy ropes pulsing out of him and filling you. Santi’s fractured moan deepens as he watches Frankie slip out and his cum and your arousal slipping with him, a mess of gleaming, white liquid pulsing from your fucked open hole, and your legs left quivering and jerking as aftershocks tear through you.

It looks fucking delicious.

You look delicious.

Frankie looks delicious, his shaft shined with your juices as he withdraws. He looks delicious as he dips forward, hinging at the hips to shove his tongue hungrily over yours in gratitude, whispering sweet things to you. Shoving over the same tongue that was on Santi’s cock only moments ago - almost as though he’s tasting him.

No, Santi wasn’t prepared for this. For how good it would feel and look.

Santi’s part of this and even then he’s jealous. Doesn’t know who he’d rather be. Him, with the privilege of watching you get fucked and filled up. Frankie, burying his length into your tight hole. Or… you. You, being filled up and used like that and…

…There he is again, untethered from reality like the moments after an explosion, ringing in his ears and blurred sounds and-

“Santiago,” Will says suddenly by his ear, deceptively soft, and Santi turns, grateful for his guiding force. Will slips his hand around the back of Santi’s neck again, gripping him securely. A grounding touch too, and with effort, Santi lifts his dark, lust-blown eyes up to Will’s baby blues, suddenly acutely aware all over again of the aching, straining mass between his legs. Of Will’s size and mass too. His height and muscles and power - not only his strength no, but the quiet, cool authority that has always felt like safety to him. “Santiago,” Will soothes, with the subtle brush of a thumb up and down the column of his neck. “Is there something you need, hmm? Something you… want?”

Santi’s throat bobs around a hard swallow and he averts his gaze from Will, shuffling from foot to foot.

Yes. There is something that he needs. Something, but he can’t…

The words…

He looks to Frankie, brown eyes meeting and Santi’s mouth drops open and closes wordlessly, Frankie’s tongue darting out to whet his pillowy lips and his eyes filled with something Santi can’t name and can’t place.

He looks at you.

He wants so many things but he…

He can’t name them.

So, he looks to Will. He looks to Will because everyone looks to Will when they’re in need, when they’re needy, and Will’s eyes narrow as he contemplates something. A smile twitches at his lips as he lands on a plan of action - always the one with a plan of action.

And so, experimentally, Will smooths his hand over Santi’s hair, making him hum, making him push his curls ever so subtly back into Will’s grip. You do this too - Will knows fine well what it means. “Want me to pull on your hair, Santiago?”

“Uhh. Uh-huh,” Santi admits, voice hollowed-out by need. Heat blooming in his cheeks and flushing his neck and chest. That prickle over his skin again because Will knows. Will knows what he wants. What he needs.

Then, Will obliges. Tugs the ex-soldier’s head back and his chin up and Santi emits a weak, needy sound that could only be described as a whimper.

“Want me to tell you what to do, Santiago?”

Fuck.

Santi’s heart is hammering in his chest and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why but he knows it feels right. He knows he trusts Will. With his life, and with this too.

“Please,” he croaks, and again, Santi immediately worries that he’s said the wrong thing, but only for a moment. Only for a moment because then Will is nodding okay. Will’s nodding okay and then he’s standing up taller, drawing up from Santi. Raising his chin. Asserting his authority. “Always were such a good soldier, Garcia. Should have known you’d like taking orders,” Will drawls, with a satisfied lilt to his deep voice.

“Fucking dickhead,” Santi fires back immediately, and Will tugs harder on his curls.

So help him, he likes that.

“Get on your knees, Santiago, you insubordinate little shit,” Will delivers in a commanding tone, causing a shiver to skitter all along Santi’s spine.

It’s experimental, Santi realises. He doesn’t have to do it, and even now he recognises there is plenty of slack in Will’s tone -in his expression- for challenge. For disobedience. “Get on your knees and lick up Frankie’s cum from the toy.”

Oh yeah. There’s definitely plenty of room for challenge; but Santi doesn’t take an inch of it. Instead, his legs shaking, he positions himself and drops to the floor before you. He settles there like this is second nature. As though he’s ever done this before, naked and hard and kneeling, and his palms settle on his thighs. He settles there, distinctly aware of Frankie and Will stood either side of him. Of you, lying there obediently with Frankie’s cum still pulsing out of you - after he’s used you, made a mess of you.

And Santi looks up - looks to Will, because of course he does. He looks to Will like you do. Waiting for permission. “Taste her then,” Will orders, casually pumping his semi in his hand, quickly swelling again. “Taste Frankie’s load.”

Santi rises up on his knees. He rises up like he’s free. Like everything suddenly makes sense. He cups your ass in his hands and then with a moan and shiver of anticipation from you, suddenly he is sinking his mouth to the mess of you, Santi’s writhing tongue shimmying and thumping and circling against your sensitive clit, sending jerky aftershocks through you.

Next, his tongue is trailing down to your fucked open entrance and he is lapping Frankie’s salt from you. Slurping obscenely and tasting the delicious tang of it flooding over his tongue, his cock so hard it almost hurts; aches. So hard as Will fists his fingers into his crown of curls and drives him more deeply into your heat. As you moan and shiver under his mouth. As Frankie practically gasps at how much Santi is enjoying tasting him.

“Holy shit,” Frankie keens, a cracked-open noise like a revving engine struggling to start - a telltale tremor in it.

“Good, Santiago,” Will praises experimentally, and in response Santi moans into your heat as the words makes his cock throb. “Clean her up. That’s our good boy.”

God, his dick. So hard. So desperate for any friction. Aching.

“Mm-hmm.”

And Santi’s thinking about everything. About what he might do next. About how he could fuck you. About how he could fuck into you and have Frankie’s release coating his dick. Your juices all over him making him slick. About how he could fuck Frankie out of you. How he could claim you for his own. How he could be claimed himself if only-

-His cock aches.

He needs to touch himself -needs some relief- and he reaches down, fingers finding his velvety shaft.

“Fuck,” Frankie revs, voice levelled with need. “You look so pretty on your knees, Santiago,” he praises, and Santi almost spills over his own knuckles right then and there before he’s even really touched himself.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s waiting for something.

Waiting for…

Will commands him to get up. His legs feel like jelly but he just about manages it. He orders him to fold your legs back towards your chest. Tells him to fill you up like Frankie had. That the toy needs to be all used up.

Santi does as he’s told. He doesn’t need much convincing to slip into your inviting tightness anyway, does he? And, god, he’s only just slipped inside -just the tip- and it already feels so good. So good that he’s breathing in long gusts of exertion, trying to stave off his end and barely able to move because he’d nut before he’s even really fucked you. The way you grip him so tightly and the way it feels when the head of him nudges just right against your walls is something else. The warm grip of you on his shaft and the sight of Frankie’s cum being scooped out of you with every shallow thrust impossibly hot.

Santi’s whole body shudders, and then his eyes are rolling back in his head and suddenly Will’s directing. Will’s directing because it needs to be harder - not these pussy ass thrusts - and he needs to ruin you, and then Frankie is there. Frankie is warm, his chest at Santi’s back and his hands clamping around the man’s hips to fuck him harder into you - to guide the pace and depth.

Then Santi is moving. He’s moving because Frankie is fucking him into you and Will’s egging him on and you’re quaking around him, Frankie’s hardness an increasingly insistent pressure at the small of Santi’s back. Those big hands clamped on his hips and ass, that push and pull controlling his pace and thrusts, making each one longer and deeper than the last, and Santi can sense his balls drawing up, getting so tight, and his whole body getting ready to spill into you. It feels so fucking good.

“Looks like we have two toys, huh?” Will purrs. “You want that, Santiago? Wanna be a good toy for me and Frankie?”

He does. Yes.

Fuck, he wants that.

“Y-Yes. Yes,” and his own voice is barely recognisable, buried under layers of need, his hips stuttering and jerking and his legs nervy and he thinks he could fall over. Thinks he would fall if Frankie wasn’t sturdy at his back and so he leans into him. Leans into him more and all of a sudden Frankie’s gruff noises are fanning over his neck, over the shell of his ear. All of a sudden Santi is turning his head to the side and then he’s merely an inch away from Frankie’s lips, only the ghost of a moment between them.

Fuck.

The ghost of a moment, and with it Frankie loses control of the pace, the interruption to the rhythm and the slightly changed angle and how fucking wet you are causing Santi’s dick to momentarily slip out from you.

For a moment, you and Santi are joined in a crescendo of desperate moans in protest at the sudden lack of sensation - no, no, no- more more more, don’t stop- and Santi thinks about reaching down to guide himself back inside the warm embrace of you but he’s holding your legs, taking the weight of your hips as he suspends your lower half off the table, so instead, before either of them think about it, Frankie’s hand is reaching down.

Fuuuuck.

Frankie’s hand is reaching down and winding around Santi’s sensitive shaft, and he would moan at the feel of his buddy’s girthy fingers on his dick but the sounds are dying in his throat. Dying in his throat and fuck he’s close. He’s close, and as soon as Frankie’s hand is sliding down his lubed shaft and the head of him is engulfed by your plumped lips and wet heat all over again? He’s losing it.

“Come for me,” Will says firmly, and he thinks this time, that he really is talking to him too. Talking to both of you.

This.

This is what Santi has been waiting for. For Will’s permission and Frankie’s touch and you. Always waiting for you and he’s there. Fully present in his body and caught between you and Frankie, his orgasm ripping through him as a single word from Frankie falls over the shell of his ear. A gruff wrecked voice, deceptively soft: “Cariño,” and this time Santi thinks Frankie really could be talking to him too.

With that -with all of this- Santi is spilling himself and you’re clamping down around him too, wringing him dry and convulsing on him, hard, and Will is holding your head and shushing and stroking and praising you.

Santi is emitting ragged sounds from deep in his chest as you drain him dry, Frankie’s hand still squeezing the base of him, and all of a sudden he is releasing everything. His load, this weight from his chest, these sounds - almost like sobs but of pleasure. Sounds muffled only by Frankie’s tongue shoving over his, finally, pushing past the seam of his lips as Santi turns his head once more and the two men lock lips, the kiss hungry and tentative and unexpected and yet somehow entirely inevitable all at once.

The kiss eventually crests and breaks, just like Santi’s orgasm. The come down happens, yours and his, and for a moment the room is held in a cocoon of jagged breaths and breath taken away; pleasant hums and hands smoothing and lips meeting, soft wet sounds and hushed tones, and the soft slip of Santi surging out of you and his come and Frankie’s slipping with him.

Then, there are hands on him too. Careful hands. Reassuring hands. Familiar ones.

Will’s hand winding around the back of his neck again, into his buzzed hair, except this time his other hand is slipped around his waist too, gently pawing there. “You good, Santiago?”

“Yes. Good. Fucking. Soul left dick. Need a minute.” Will nods and slaps his cheek playfully and then they’re all back to you. Back to you and Will is massaging your thighs and you’re giggling disbelievingly and it’s beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

You made him feel so good.

And… Santi is fine.

He is.

He’s fine.

But even so he rasps a hand over his stubble and can’t help but notice there is an elephant in the room.

The elephant in the room is that he can no longer look Frankie in the eye.

He can’t; because then, he might give it away.

Might give away that he’s satisfied. That he couldn’t be more satisfied… yet at the same time?

There’s still something else he wants.

“Let’s take 5, yeah?” Frankie pipes up, sounding shy, sounding distant, and Will agrees, helping you off of the table and rubbing your legs until the blood comes back to them and you’re reaching for him and kissing him and he’s accepting, enjoying the gentle slip of your tongue against his, letting him know you still belong to him.

And, looking for his own embrace, Santi turns. He turns to search for Frankie, but he’s already quietly slipped out.

Already gone.

Gone, and it leaves a longing.

Yes, Santi knows there’s something else he wants, and he doesn’t know if he can find the words.

After all, it’s been this long -has been years- and he has never quite been able to say it.

Timeout / Huddle: amend the play

You all get cleaned up, get some snacks and water, and gather in the master bedroom for a much-needed change of scene.

The air is still heavy and thick with tension, hard swallows down throats and eyes glancing off of bodies and hands skimming skin, leaving searing, liquid trails of heat in their wake.

The pace is slower. More gentle, sensual. A different scene. A different feel.

But still, it’s clear this is not over. That there is more pent-up desire to be fulfilled.

You’re still nude under your silk robe, and shirts and pants have been hastily thrown on by the boys for this conversation, but no-one has made any move to end this.

Everyone still wants. Still needs. That much is apparent. Everyone is satisfied in some kind of way but still needing something more; and the group of you are never ones to leave a mission incomplete. You always get the job done.

Even so, it’s also clear that something has shifted. Maybe for all of you since the scene was planned - sketched out. Something is… different.

You’d talked at length about how the parameters might shift, of course. About what could happen in the moment, theoretically. About different feelings and desires and dynamics that might arise. Complex ones. Unexpected ones. Difficult ones. Pleasurable ones.

But this is far more than theoretical.

You think you all know it. Think you all have a pretty good idea; but it can’t come from you.

It has to come from him, and so this time, all eyes fall on Santi.

“Is there… something else you want to try, Santiago?” you probe, as gently as possible, all too aware -from personal experience- of this guy’s tendency to bolt when things get heavier than expected. More… emotional. More invested.

“Why are you all looking at me?” he asks, sweat gathering at his temples as though he’s literally burning under a spotlight, his heavy brows drawn down over his hooded umber eyes.

“We just want to make you feel good,” you purr. “But you have to tell us what you want first, honey.”

You look at him levelly. Letting him know: It’s okay. You’re safe. I promise.

Santi’s lack of protest is a subtle acquiescence in itself - you know him well enough to know that- but you’re going to need a hell of a lot more to go on than that if a single thing can happen. “So, what do you want?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I-“ his eyes glance off of Frankie, and it’s a subtle tic but it’s a glaring admission all at once.

You don’t want to push him - to push this- but it feels so close. So close, and so you think you can give this one more try. You sigh gently and you slip a palm up to Santi’s face, the texture of his stubble rough and warm under you, and his eyes flutter closed as he leans gratefully into your touch, a weight settling on his brow all the same.

He doesn’t give in - he’s stubborn- and so you go with a hunch. “Do you want to be filled up too, Santi? Like I was?”

Santi’s eyes blink open - widening, a flush creeping all the way down his neck, his tan skin flushed with an undertone of crimson.

He looks to Will. Looks to Will like he’s said the wrong thing even though he hasn’t said a thing at all, but Will leaves plenty of room.

Leaves this wide open.

Makes him feel safe.

Still, when Santi remains silent, you look at Will helplessly. Maybe things are done for today. It’s okay if things end here. After all, there can’t be any pressure. “We don’t have to keep going - it might be best if we leave things here and-“

“-No,” Santi protests, his voice weak and yet his assertion forceful. A plea.

You note that Frankie whips his gaze back up from the spot on the duvet he’s been intent on for 10 minutes in that moment, seemingly holding his breath as he waits for Santi to reveal his desires. You swear you can see his heartbeat pulsing -raging- through his corded neck when you look closely enough.

“No?” you prompt, doing your best to stifle a smile. To play this off as casually as possible.

“I. Want That. What you said,” Santi admits, his voice shot through with rare nerves.

You imagine you hear Frankie gulp next to you, but Santi’s looking down at his hands - now clasped firmly in yours. “I. Fuck. I think I want to try that.”

You nod encouragingly. He’s safe with you. You promise. “Okay.”

Will says something next, perhaps going on a hunch too. “Want Frank to fill you up?” It’s experimental. The words slack. Leaving plenty of room. Plenty of room, and Santi doesn’t take an inch of it.

Santi and Frankie’s eyes lock for a moment and you bite your lip, holding your breath as you wait to see how this is going to go down, the air suddenly as close and as suffocating as molasses.

You keep your voice gentle. “That okay with you, Frankie?”

Frankie clears his throat shyly, but the huge tent he’s pitching in his pants right now -as well as the deepened colour of his cheeks- is a dead giveaway. “Yep.”

You could swear Santi releases a held breath when Frankie confirms.

Okay. Good. You’re halfway there. “Santiago?” you probe gently.

“Yeah. Yes. Please.”

You exchange a glance with Will and he gives you a gentle nod. “Do you two want me and Will to stay or-?”

Santi and Frankie both reach for you immediately and in tandem, as though to pin you down before you can disappear, and each of their heavy-lidded, needy expressions sends a thrum of heat and happiness crawling under your skin. Your lips quirk up into a smile, and Santi’s still reaching for you, looking between your eyes and lips and moving close enough that he is almost straddling your lap.

God, he’s pretty when he’s all needy like this.

You read his intentions. “Wanna kiss me, Santiago?”

“Yes please, hermosa.”

Wow. If he’s going to keep asking so nicely you won’t be complaining. You kinda like it, in fact. You’ve never seen him so polite.

“Kiss each other then,” Will suggests to the both of you. “Put on a show for us. Get me and Frankie hard so we can fuck you in your tight little assholes.”

Well…

Now there’s an inspired idea you can all agree on.

Always the man with a plan, your boyfriend.

No wonder he rose through the ranks really, is it?

Quarter Four

Santi surges towards you and you meet him, both of you raised up on your knees on the bed as your lips gravitate towards one another’s. And then, he’s devouring you. Kissing you deeply and hungrily, the movement of his jaw scraping his stubble over your cheek and -no doubt- leaving you raw.

He wants you. He wants you here. He wants you to be part of this. He wants all of this at once. He wants, and it feels like too much but it also feels like everything he ever wanted.

“Can I get you ready for Frankie?” you ask wantonly, your voice husk and syrup, and Santi takes more than a moment to catch your drift.

Oh. Oh.

Well, Frankie’s big. He probably shouldn’t deny a little assistance.

“Yeah,” Will purrs. “Come here, baby. Lick his asshole. Get him ready for Francisco.”

A moan shudders out of Santi even at the thought of you rimming him - of that pretty pink tongue lapping at him, and he could almost come apart if it wasn’t for Will. Will directing him to get on all fours on the bed. To position himself face down ass up. To spread his cheeks open for you.

Fuck.

Is this how you had felt earlier, Santi wonders, your holes all exposed and on display?

It feels… good.

You don’t waste any time in heeding Will’s command, and Santi swears he’s having an out of body experience as he feels the mattress dip to his rear with the weight of you, as he feels your breath against his entrance and your hands gripping the globes of his ass, all three of you making sounds of appreciation at the sight before you.

And then… Jeez.

The feel of your tongue is something else. First, you gently bend his hardened shaft back so that you can lick along the underside of him, your tongue then shivering up to his balls - which you suckle into your mouth for good measure, releasing them with a gentle pop. Then, from his balls your tongue dances over his perineum and finally, you circle around his puckered rim, around the sensitive flesh at his tight ring of muscle, and his moans are muffled right into the bed as he buries his head.

“Fuuuccck,” he praises, and you giggle smugly against him even as you continue your ministrations, your tongue swiping and probing and then gradually pushing inside, dipping into him and making his whole body tremble.

He moans again. Moans as your thumb circles the wetness of him and teases him there until he is eagerly pushing back on you, wanting you to ease in. You do - you push your thumb deeper inside, finding his prostate and pressing down, gently at first and then harder, stroking over it and almost making him shoot his load right then and there. Especially as he hears Frankie moan from somewhere behind him.

“Have you had something inside of you before?” Will asks.

“Yes.”

“You can take him?”

“Nothing as big as Frank. But I think so.”

“We’ll take it slow, cariño,” Frankie reassures, and Santi doesn’t think the man has ever sounded hotter - in control and assured and somehow deeply soft too, a well of caring and emotion brimming under his straightforward tone.

Frankie has got you. Whether you’re bleeding out on a jungle floor or about to be fucked in the ass by the man - he won’t let you down.

And fuck. What you’re doing feels good. Impossibly good, and from behind him Santi hears you mewl, your breath fanning against his ass as though you are being taken care of too. He’s not sure who might be warming you up or how but he can’t say he minds either image.

“I know you can take it, baby. You can take me all day long. That ass is mine, huh?” Will says with a swift smack to your ass, causing you to jerk and your thumb to slip slightly deeper inside Santi.

Oh, fuck.

He has to fight not to nut right now, but he wants to save his load. He wants to save it so he can make Frankie feel good. Judging from the sounds to his rear, Frankie is already enjoying this, and so -of course he does- Santi plays it up a little, feeling slightly smug, enjoying the attention, writhing his ass and increasing the volume of his wracked moans.

Santi is so very conscious he’s being watched. The two men behind him watching you open him up, Frankie emitting a beautiful groan as you replace your thumb with two fingers and Santi accommodates you with ease, and then he doesn’t even need to play it up. In fact, he’s having to reign it back in and he’s squirming and backing-up so you fill him deeper and swallowing down his moans and-

“There you go. There you go, Santiago,” Will praises, and Santi doesn’t think he’s ever felt such a sense of pride in his life as when Will praises him. “Francisco, have him suck on you and get you all wet.”

Frankie does just that, needing little to no encouragement to shift to the head of the bed and kneel before the other man, bringing his dick to Santi’s lips as you continue to deliciously pulse your fingers in and out of his tightness. “You want to? Want to open up for me?”

Santi responds by sinking his mouth eagerly on to Frankie’s length. It’s a new sensation- he hasn’t sucked a dick before- but he immediately loves how full he feels. Loves the weight of Frankie over his tongue and the taste of skin and salt. Loves the textures of him.

Pretty Francisco.

Pretty Francisco and his big pretty delicious cock.

Frankie seems to enjoy it too -Santi’s mouth on him- as before long he’s pulling out, insisting he’ll bust a nut if he stays in there too long, shuddering with need.

Will talks over at him. “I get a feeling our sweet Santiago likes to be told he’s a good boy. Think you can you be nice to him, Francisco?”

“Yeah. I can be nice to him,” Frankie chuckles. “That okay with you, pendejo?”

“Yeah, starting when, asshole?” Santi jokes, even as his voice tremors with need, and then he is being moved by strong pairs of hands - moved into position on his back as Frankie scolds him - “careful, or I might stop being so nice,” - and then all of a sudden, both unexpected and inevitable, it is happening.

Frankie’s hard shaft is inching inside of his eased open hole, stretching him out and filling him up until somehow, the dull burn is giving way to searing pleasure, and Frankie is buried all the way.

Next to Santi, Will has you on all fours as he fucks into your ass, slamming you hard and fast and burying that perfect dick in you just like you need him to, your hand winding in between your thighs and punishing your clit in time with his thrusts.

Will goes to town on you, because he knows you can take it, knows what you like, what you need, and meanwhile, Frankie - his sweet Frankie- is far more gentle. More gentle until Santi adjusts to his girth. Allowing him to set the pace and dictate the angle, his knees held up towards his chest as he holds himself open.

“Feel good?” Frankie enquires, a subtle concern etched into his handsome features, even as he hums with the feeling of Santi gripping his dick so tightly in his ass, his pink tongue darting out to skim over his lips.

Feel good? Good? That’s a fucking understatement, even before Frankie is really even moving. And, in response to what seems like an absurd question in the moment, it is all Santi can do to let out a choked, disbelieving laugh.

“Use your words,” Frankie scolds, his voice deep and delicious, and that command causes Santi to raise his arms and grab the pillows above his head for dear life, as though they might give him any purchase against the man’s deepening thrusts.

“Yeah. Feels good, Frank. Feels amazing.”

“Yeah?” Frankie says, the pace and force of his thrusts increasing as soon as he’s sure Santi’s enjoying this. The concern dropping from his features. His palms pressing down on the man’s thighs to keep them crushed up towards his chest, and Frankie sinking a little weight into his arms so he can deepen the angle of penetration too.

It’s good. It’s more than good; it’s divine.

And yet, Santi has seen Frankie fuck. With his own two eyes. Has seen Frankie fuck you. Hard. And he knows he’s still holding back.

Santi nods towards you, where you are getting railed into oblivion, tits bouncing and being gradually shunted up the bed by the sheer force of it, Will continually having to drag you back down on to his cock. “Francisco,” Santi pleads, almost bashfully. “I… I… want it like that. Please.”

“Like that how? All fours?”

“No. Just… harder. Fuck me harder, Frank.”

Frankie picks up the pace a little, testing the waters, sending a white hot, blooming pleasure shooting through Santi’s core. Still, he’s the one in charge here and he’s not about to let Santi forget it that easily. “You’re actually telling me how to fuck you? Curses under his breath. “I know you didn’t just try to top from the bottom, you little brat.” There is a warning in Frankie’s voice, but there is that undercurrent of humour too - an ease developed through years of back and forth between the two men - his endlessly familiar tone cut with a harsh, playful edge that Santi enjoys.

“Sounds like a fucking challenge,” Santi sasses back, and that was both his biggest mistake and his greatest idea, because with that, Frankie slams into him with far greater force, fucking him until he’s almost seeing stars.

“Uh- uh - fuuuucckkk.”

“You’re lucky you look pretty getting fucked by me, Santiago,” Frankie chides, but there’s so much warmth there too.

So much warmth and Frankie’s hard and soft and oh so familiar and entirely new and despite himself, even as he’s being drilled Santi can’t help but laugh. Can’t help but laugh because it’s unexpected, because it’s wonderful; but then Frankie is fucking him harder, and Santi’s laugh digresses to a moan and he’s keening for him, his hands raised above and behind him, searching for something to hold on to, and he figures he must look some kind of way getting fucked like this - being opened up so deliciously by Frankie - because you’re looking at him. Looking at him like you are rapt, captivated, even though Will -big strong Will- is buried deep in your ass. You’re looking at him, your eyes trailing from his flexed arms down his chest and flared ribs and soft stomach where his gleaming cock rests, nestled like a treasure between his thighs, knees curled back almost to his chest and Frankie’s soft stomach slapping up against his balls and sending jolts of pleasure slamming through him as he drives harder, faster, deeper.

Santi feels… boneless. He feels… liquid.

He feels something wet and liquid on his stomach and he realises his cock is weeping creamy fluid, Frankie fucking milking him, making him slick and God. God it feels good and it’s too much and it’s everything, but then Santi is reaching out for something -something else- and it’s you. Your hands clasping together in the space between you and holding on for dear life as you each get filled all the way up.

You lock eyes with Santi and hum approvingly at the sight of him, until Will is scolding you -I know he’s pretty baby but you focus on me when I’m fucking you, understand?. Scolding you but there’s no menace in it - you’re both smiling, that is, until Will is baring his teeth in a snarl at how good you’re making him feel.

And then, Will succeeds in reclaiming your attention by ramming you harder, and your eyes are rolling back in your head and Will is thumbing your clit and now you look like you’re almost seeing stars too.

All over again, everywhere Santi looks there is something beautiful; someone beautiful, all of them creating something beautiful, together, and Santi is smiling and he never knew that sex could feel like this. Never knew it could feel so fucking hot -hot like fire- and yet so joyful too.

So joyful and Frankie is fucking gorgeous like this, his hawkish face intense and handsome as he bears down on Santi, concentrating on not coming undone, breaths gusting from the circle of his plush lips and his thick length hitting Santi just right, and Santi idly thinks it’s apt that the pilot should have an aerial view.

Then, Santi vaguely hears Will ask you a question to the side of him. Something about whose dick you want to come on, but then he’s growling and gathering you up in his arms and raising your torso off the bed, his chest at your back as he snaps his hips forward and up as he buries his seed deep in your ass, and it gives Santi ideas.

“Harder,” he pleads at Frank with a flutter of his pretty eyelashes, and this time, oh thank God, this time, Frankie gets the memo.

This time, Santi’s got his knees up to his chest and Frankie’s hands are gripping his ample hips and Santi looks down. Looks down at Frankie disappeared into him. Looks up at the man’s smooth chest and broad shoulders. Looks down at himself, and he doesn’t usually like his stomach since he retired from the service but it looks good like this; good for Frankie, soft for Frankie, and he’s being railed and shunted further up and up the bed and he feels good. He feels so good with this white hot pleasure sparking in his core with every thrust, with the slight friction of his own length against his stomach as he’s filled. He feels so good that he is the one making Frankie emit such pretty, sexy as hell noises; making him feel good too.

Frankie’s filling him and it’s everything, and it’s enough, and it’s more, but suddenly Santi understands how you had felt earlier when you had called out for him, even as you had everything you needed.

He understands and he calls out for you now too. Calls out for you as Frankie fills him and he climbs ever closer to his peak. Closer and he’s filling him up and you’re watching him and Santi reaches out and it’s as though you know exactly what he needs. As if you know what he needs and you smooth your hand over his curls, over the stubble at his cheek. “Okay, baby boy. Okay. You’re okay,” you soothe, and his eyes roll back in his head with this divine contrast of soft and hard, being pounded and soothed, praised and used, and then he’s looking at Will all over again. Looking at Will because of course he is. Looking at Will because he wants permission. “One more orgasm. Give us one more baby boy.”

And then, just like that, everything is shifting. Suddenly you’re all talking and agreeing and moving and he is agreeing and pleading. Pleading that you straddle him and put his dick inside you. That you ride him while Frankie fucks his ass, and then, all of a sudden it’s happening.

It’s happening, and Santi’s being rocked between the motion of the two of you, both filled and filling, and it’s like the tide, one pleasure reversing and replaced immediately by the other, in and out, and it’s so good that he can’t take it. So good that the pleasure feels like it’s about to burst out of him everywhere.

So good he’s shaking, tipping his head back and moaning more deeply than he’s ever heard himself moan, and he sounds pathetic, desperate, wonderful, and then Will’s drawing Santi’s head into his lap and stroking his hair - telling him how well he’s doing. How well he’s doing letting you ride his dick, your hips undulating skilfully on him and your walls dragging over his contours. For having Frankie moving inside of him, so thick and stretching him open and him taking it so well, so deep.

“Feel good, baby boy?” you ask him, fully prepared to stop if he can’t handle the stimulation, if it’s overwhelming, and Santi could swear it is too much. That it is too good, and yet his hands somehow clamp down on your hips to keep him buried inside you and he’s begging. Begging all three of you, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please.

Santi’s here, caught in a web of pleasure, and his enjoyment seems to build you all up too. Seems to drive you all further toward that peak together, and for a minute, with you all around him and inside him and above him he feels like he’s at the centre of the goddamn universe.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this. Any of this. To deserve the sight of you as you surge up, arms reaching behind you and head twisting so Frankie can kiss you, full and deep. What he’s done to deserve your lips on his next as you fold forwards, hinging at the hips and shoving your tongue over his. What he’s done to deserve Will’s praises and the dirty affirmations which cascade over the both of you.

“Yeah - you belong to me, don’t you, even with this other dick in you?” Will rumbles in his deepest, darkest voice - and Santi screws his eyes shut and imagines for a moment he’s talking to him. Imagines he’s talking to him, and then, quite plainly, he is. He really is. “You too, little one. I’m letting them fuck you. You’re mine too. You belong to me, you got that, Santiago? Mine to take care of.”

Santi can’t describe it. Can’t describe the elation he feels with Will’s words in his ear, and his fingers raking in his curls. Your tongue in his mouth and your pussy wrapped around his length. Frankie’s dick buried in him and his hands clamping down around his hips. All of you taking care of him.

He feels like he belongs.

He belongs to Will. He belongs to you. He belongs to Frankie. And he feels - he wishes, he hopes- that you’re each saying it to him now, in your own ways. Saying everything that he’s ever wanted.

He belongs. He belongs. He belongs.

To you, and you, and you.

“You okay, baby boy?” You purr right next to his ear.

Then, Frankie’s voice sounds from above him too. “We’ve got you. Come for us. That’s it. Come on. That’s it, baby.”

Santi screws his eyes shut again and focusses fully on the feelings and sensations. The sounds. The sights are almost too much.

He feels your laboured, quickened breaths fanning over him as your bury your head in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, I’m gonna… Frankie, you close too?” Frankie grunts yes, he is. “Come with Frankie, Santiago,” you plead, directly into the shell of his ear. “Come with me.”

Fuck. He’d go anywhere with you.

“Come on,” Frankie encourages, fucking him more roughly as his seed pulses deep into his ass.

And, between you all, you are hard and soft and Santi’s spilling and Frankie is too, all warm and thick deep inside him, and Will is awed, watching like he is witnessing some divine confluence. Santi feels it too. Feels the divine here. He feels the God that he always missed whenever he was dragged to Sunday service. He feels like this is something so perfect it shouldn’t be possible.

It’s like belonging.

It’s like being loved. If that’s not sacred, what in the hell is?

“Holy fucking shit,” Frankie growls as he comes, and his noises merge with your more incoherent, throaty moans -louder than he’s ever heard you come- and yet Santi is silent. Silent as though in prayer -at least, the way the Catholics do it- head thrown back in a noiseless cry, little cracked sounds and fissures all that escapes his throat as a full body orgasm tears through him.

He clamps down and squeezes Frankie dry. He almost bucks you off of him, throwing you forward until your arms have to steady yourself with your arms at either side of his head as pleasure blows through him like an explosion. Like a Big Bang.

Then after, it is calm.

Santi is levelled.

Santi has this ringing in his ears and this blurred vision and everything seems unreal. Seems unreal until touches and voices start to ground him again. Until the weight of bodies and palms settles him back down to Earth.

There is softness and shushing and stroking and he’s lying on the bed and he’s being taken care of. Being taken care of by his squad who have his six, whether he’s bleeding out on the jungle floor or coming down from the best orgasm of his life. Soft touches and soft words abound, and only now, in this moment, does Santi realise his cheeks are wet with tears - getting wetter- and even so, despite this emotion, despite how much he hates feeling vulnerable, you’re collapsed on top of him, boxing him in with your arms and legs, and he’s never felt more safe in his goddamn life.

You come down to Earth first. You always were the anchor or the group. Holding everything in place. You kiss him, and his lips are trembling as they meet yours and he can taste the salt of his own tears on your tongue.

Then, there’s Will. The leader. The Captain. The one who always knows what to do. Who knows right now. “Taking my girl for a second, Frank, will you look after this one?”

Then, that just leaves Frankie. His Frankie. The heart of the group. His joy. “You okay, Santiago, you kinky mother fucker?” And Santi can’t help but laugh. Can’t help but laugh that yes. Yes he is okay -more than okay- even as he has tears streaming helplessly down his cheeks.

“Kiss him better, Princess,” Will says softly, and Santi finally opens his eyes, seeing Will carrying you, your legs wrapped around his waist, arms slung around his neck, and he dips you down so that you can reach Santi, swiping your tongue tenderly along his lips until he grants you access.

“You too, Frank,” Will commands, and then Frankie obliges, lying -half-collapsing, in all honesty- on his side on the bed. Then, he is bringing Santi’s face towards his with a tender palm on his cheek, and slanting his mouth ever so softly against his, his moustache tickling against Santi’s upper lip.

And, finally, when you and Will leave the pair of them, momentarily, to get cleaned up, Frankie becomes big spoon, curling around Santi’s form and whispering something into the man’s ear. Whispering something that makes Santi look entirely blissed out.

“I’ll take care of you, pendejo.”

Overtime

“There’s gotta be a joke somewhere here?” Frankie insists. “What do you call you two subs sitting in a bathtub?”

“Oh, ha ha,” Santi says, tone thick with sarcasm, merely causing the other man’s eyes to crinkle in amusement.

“I’ve got it,” he comes back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What’s the difference between you two and the USS Seawolf?” Santi emphatically rolls his eyes, and Frankie takes that as a clear invitation to deliver his punchline. “Nothing. You’re both subs and filled with semen.”

Okay, it wasn’t that funny, but it has tickled Frankie, and neither of you can resist that man’s infectious, throaty chuckle - despite best efforts, in Santi’s case.

Well, Frankie isn’t entirely wrong, is he? You had certainly been more than filled up. Your core hums pleasantly with the memory of it.

Then, after the fact, Will had lifted you away. Had stolen a moment alone with his love, to properly check in with you. To kiss you slow and deep and hold you close. To praise and fuss over you.

He’d also figured that Santi might do well if he wasn’t being crowded - that leaving Frankie to take care of him would be the best call. That Frankie would want that too; he went on a hunch. And, since then, everyone had been cleaned up and checked-in with and -to Will’s insistence- had rehydrated. Any immediate physical needs had been addressed, and emotional ones too, as far as possible.

There were soft kisses and hugs and caresses, sweet words of praise, and some good-natured words of teasing too, the moment Santi was ready to assert himself again.

Then, all that was left to do was to bask in the afterglow. That, and Will had run the two of you a bubble bath while he and Frankie had disappeared to shower in the en suite.

Now, you and Santi are sat at either end of the claw-foot tub luxuriating, legs overlapping and folding around one another.

Frankie is seemingly sticking with the two of you for just a little bit longer as well, his forearms resting on the bath edge and his chin on top of that, his eyes closing and a satisfied hum escaping him as you fondly card you fingers through his messed-up mop of hair, putting his ‘do back into place even as you know it will look tidy for all of 5 minutes.

Feeling a rush of affection for the man, you dip forward to kiss him on the cheek, and then you run your index finger down from his brow, tracing the profile of his hawkish nose, the line of his moustache, over his lips and shapely chin, and you can’t help the smile that curls your lips as you appreciate him.

“He’s kinda pretty, right?” Santi says, tone imbued with fondness too, and just a gentle teasing edge.

Frankie hums again, and then his eyes slowly peel open, creasing at the corners as he looks at Santi. “And you get uglier everyday.”

The challenge in Santi’s eyes is kind of delicious, and if you weren’t so spent it might even get you horny again. Still, you have other things on your mind for right now. “Why don’t you go nap, Cat’?” the man is obviously tired, stifling yawn after yawn - and yet, refusing to relinquish his post. “Sure Will’ll tuck you in, sweetie.”

Frankie looks apprehensively between the two of you.

“We’ve got everything we need. Really.” You pump your eyebrows, hoping that somehow you convey: I’ll take care of Santiago.

And so, confirming that you’re sure one more time, Frankie finally concedes, leaving you and Santi alone in the bath.

Santi looks at you, coming back to his cheeky old self -clearly, as his eyebrow ticks up suggestively- but there’s no real intention behind it. You can tell he’s wiped-out too.

“Sometimes I think this is actually the best bit,” you share, as though this is some insider bit of intelligence Santi might covet. “You can drag the aftercare out for days with Will, he’s a soft touch.” You toss the man a wink.

Despite your light-hearted tone, Santi’s eyes mist over then. You’re not a mind reader, so you can’t quite place it, but if you had to guess you’d say there was a look of regret there. Santi gets that look in his eyes on occasion, when you talk about Will -when you’re happy about Will- and so you’re not overly concerned. It registers like an old ghost, and, as usual, it is covered over in a matter of moments. Buried all over again.

“Did you have fun?” Santi asks you instead.

Wow. Did you have fun? Well, you can’t help the grin which splits your face then. “Couldn’t you tell I was having a good time? I thought you were intelligence.”

“I had some clue,” Santi grins, a lazy, charming smile which disarms you a little, in spite of yourself. He’s good at those. Good at making you feel beautiful, his dark eyes glinting at you.

“What about you?”

Something indiscernible passes over his eyes again. “Yeah. Yeah I did,” and he rasps his hand over his stubble, leaving a trail of bath bubbles in the wake of his hand which fizzle on his skin. There’s something more there too, though. You can feel him wrestle with it. That’s usual. Standard Garcia, but you’re surprised that this time, some words actually find their way out. “You know,” Santi says, a sudden seriousness burdening his brow, and you can’t help but tense up a little. “I always regretted fucking up with you.”

You draw your knees up to your chest, hugging them close, feeling like you’re wandering into dangerous territory; quickly erecting a perimeter around your heart. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Santi breathes out. Seems to release something on the exhale. “But now… I’m glad I fucked up. Because what you and Will have… You’re incredible. I see how happy he makes you, and… you deserve that. I… I never could’ve…”

Your eyes mist up, mirroring his, and you have to bite back a swell of emotion which surges in your chest. For a moment you can’t speak. You can only reach for one of his wet hands and clasp it in yours, interrupting the flow of his words and dragging his deep brown eyes up to yours. “Santi. You could have. For whatever it’s worth now? You could have.”

Santi smiles thinly. Nods. And you’re not sure whether your revelation is a sad one or a happy one, but regardless, he draws you to him with a hand around the back of your neck, dipping to plant a chaste, fond kiss on your lips, your foreheads resting together, just for a moment. It’s not an apology exactly, but somehow it feels like one. It doesn’t even matter - you forgave him long ago anyway.

You smile back at him - a thin, watery thing which you quickly gloss over; and then you each release a breath. You each let it feel lighter. It is only then that you realise how much it had been weighing on you all this time.

Then, your eyes gradually sparking with gentle humour, you distract from this thing between you. You arrange a bubble beard along his jaw, your bright laughter and his resonant chuckle eventually echoing around the tiled room.

He looks at you then like you’re beautiful, his head tilted to one side and you reel a little, his natural charm entirely disarming. Always was that way. “God you can take a dick,” he grins. “And you look good doing it too.”

Despite yourself, you laugh - a dirty, smug sound. “Look who’s talking, Pope.”

And, okay, it’s not the smoothest segue, but you’ll take it. “So… you and Frankie… that was…” you tick up an eyebrow. “…unexpected? Right?”

Santi pouts his full lips, nodding slowly. Expression impassive. “Yeah.” He doesn’t say anymore, even though you feel like he wants to; still, you don’t push him. He’s bound to be emotional right now, and tired, and vulnerable. Santi has bolted for fewer reasons than that before and the last thing you want to do is push him away. Maybe it sounds silly, but you only want to protect him - which has always proven tricky when Santi’s biggest enemy is himself.

So, instead, you chew over a different question, as though you’re about to ask him for the Earth. “Will you come lie up against me, Santi?”

Santi hesitates for a moment. Doesn’t make a move to come closer.

In the space he leaves you almost want to beg him. Don’t run. Don’t run from this. Not me. Not Frankie. Not Will. Not this time.

To your surprise though, he shifts in the water, and he slots his back against your chest, allowing himself to be nestled safely in the loop of your arms. Allowing you to take care of him, for once.

You hold him close to you, and with the weight of him against your chest, somehow, it releases a different weight you’d never even known you were carrying. Not since Will. Not since you were happy.

By the time Will comes into the bathroom to check on you, Santi is dozing against your chest.

You wonder if Will is going to be pissed, somehow, but instead, his eyes glow with admiration as he watches you -the two of you-Santi nestled against your chest, and a smile claims his face at the sweet sight.

He gives you a wink, no agendas behind it, and you love him for it. “You okay, angel?” he whispers with a staggeringly beautiful smile. “Need me to relieve you of brat duty?” He dips a hand in the water. “Water’s almost cold.”

Your eyes crinkle and you swallow a laugh. “He asleep?” you mouth.

“Looks like. Frankie’s zonked out too. Shall we put this one to bed as well?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “You sleepy?

“Not really. Hungry though. Guess fucking your ass really worked up an appetite.” He grins. God. How does he do that? Make you feel so safe and so ignited all at once?

Your eyes light up and you bat your eyelashes at your love in hope. “Snuggles and pizza with my Captain?”

Will’s lips twitch with amusement and adoration in equal measure.

“If it helps you decide, I took three dicks today. Think I deserve it,” you purr.

“Ok, Angel,” Will laughs robustly. “Can do.”

Post-game analysis

After a decent nap, Santi and Frankie join the two of you in the lounge.

Everybody is feeling more rested, eating the leftover pizza, and idly watching some shit 80s action flick that Frankie knows every single line to. There is intermittent chatter too, as everyone reclines on some couch cushion or other.

You and Santi are bunched up in the middle, your head reclined in Will’s lap and his in Frankie’s, the two seated men at opposite ends of the couch. Banter is flying around, and you and Santi are quickly being dubbed the mischief makers and more than playing up to it too, perhaps unconsciously trying to tempt some fun consequences.

“Look. Can we address the true elephant in the room, Pope?” Will sniggers, mid-way through one of the random digressions from the movie. “I thought you were a dom, man.”

“Yeah,” Frankie titters gleefully. “Santi’s a dom until Will’s in the room.” His comment earns him a hearty laugh from you and Will, and pure daggers from the man in question.

“Shit. You wanna watch out or, next time, I’ll prove to you just how well I can dom,” Santi says indignantly. And then, all over again, he tenses up. Feels instantly as though he’s said the wrong thing. That he’s been far too presumptuous. That he’s given far too much away about his wants. Why? Because a repeat performance was never agreed upon. Was never supposed to be on the cards. Still, with effort, his voice comes back, even if this time it is far smaller. “I mean… if there…” he gulps, his mouth suddenly as dry as cotton. “If there’s gonna be a next time.”

A tense silence falls over the room - an awkwardness for the first time today. And for one last time, all eyes converge on Will.

“Why are you all looking at me?” he wonders casually, chowing down on a slice of ham and pineapple without a care in the world.

“Because you’re in charge, Captain,” Frankie says without missing a beat - in all seriousness.

“Well - that’s not quite true,” Will chuckles.

“No?”

“No!” he replies, and his voice becomes suddenly wistful. “No, dumbass. We’re a team.”

Santi feels it.

Feels choked up.

Feels that expansive happiness swell in his chest again. That limitless relief.

He belongs. He belongs. He belongs.

And he feels his heart thudding in his chest.

“Sure, but baby - every team needs a Captain,” you say to his right, in a tone sure to massage whatever shred of ego Will has left.

Will huffs out air disbelievingly -increasingly amused as everyone continues to look towards him, as if to ask, “Well?”

And so, Will can seemingly no longer stifle the smile that crosses his features. “Okay. Well. We clocked… 11 orgasms this time.” That’s Will - Will counts everything. “Next time, squad?” Everyone’s breath is bated, hanging off his every word. “I think we can do a little better.”

At that, Santi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and Frankie’s arm settles over him, perhaps with relief too, giving him a gentle squeeze. In turn, Santi reaches out and wraps his arms around your leg, and with all of you around him like this, Santi finally feels like he belongs.

He only hopes this feeling can last.

THE END.

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Most importantly, thanks so much for reading! I’d love to know what you thought so any comments, ask or reblogs will always be received with endless gratitude! 🧡🙏

[romanarose]

Leather and Lace: Chapter 4

Santiago Garcia X OC

Previous part here : Next part here

Fic masterlist

While on the mission, Pope and the guys find a girl tied up in the basement of a drug lord. Through a few unforeseen circumstances, the girl and Pope get separated from Will, Frankie and Benny and have to find their way back in the woods. She doesn’t talk, is malnourished and traumatized, and Pope has the instinct to protect her at all costs.

(Pretend this is him leaning over a railing while talking to Fish okay)

WARNINGS!!!: for whole fic there’s gonna be violence, mentions of blood, mentions of sex trafficking, ptsd, sexual trauma (past), physical trauma, gunshots, eventual smut!! Don’t read just for the smut tho cuz it’s not smut focused.

Warnings: UUUHH maybe nothing really? Will being a dick? kissing? at worst? Kinda soft, lil angst then soft.

I wrote this,,,, SO TIRED. Not my best work tbh. I think I'm gonna keep updates to once a week until Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside is done bc between this, SSSB, Seattle, the han solo story ive been trying to finish for two years, and the one shots i wanna do AND taking 19 credits and working 4 days a week.... it's a lot. I want my work to remain as good as I know I'm capable of. Thank you for all for patience, and thank you for all your lovely encouragements! Fanfiction writing can be so thankless sometimes, it makes me so emo-tional to see your nice words. In the mean time, come read Sunshine! I've been told it's pretty bingeable if I do say so myself. I see a lot of people like it chapter by chapter and inhale it in a day or two. 27 chapters out of 33!

*****************

“Home sweet home” Santi opened his front door, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible, despite being exhausted from the flight. He let her in, holding the door as she wandered in, carrying her backpack. Lace had refused to let Santiago Garcia carry it. He was already carrying his bags plus one of Benny’s, and she already felt uncomfortable with her dependance on him. Benny’s friend had picked them up, dropping Santi and Laci off at his place. Frankie and Will had stayed behind for a few extra days to finish what they were supposed to all do in the days after they raided the house. Unfortunately, between Santi’s disappearance from the house and Benny’s gunshot wound, they had gotten side tracked. Will had a fucking fit about Santi leaving, which had turned into some choice words and a Frankie once again having to separate them before it got too far. Frankie, who was less than thrilled about Santiago leaving with Laci, agreed Santiago should go. Ben wanted to stay as well, but his shoulder was still out of commission. Frankie also thought it was a good idea to separate Will and his injured brother to allow Will space to calm down without constantly seeing his brother damaged

Laci took in the space. She wore pants and a long sleeve, covering the array of bruises she was still recovering from. She turned to him with a smile. ‘It’s nice’  The place wasn’t huge, but it was clean, it was safe, and it was his. After he had retrieved the money that was thrown in the canyon, Santi had split it with his 3 other friends. Most of them felt… wrong, having the money, so they all kept the money aside for emergencies, donated a lot, and made a few smart purchases. All of them had bought houses, no mortgage. At the very least, they’d always have a home. 

“It’s late, but we can go to the store tomorrow and get you set up with some more clothes, anything else you need.”

She turned to him, nervous and shaking her head. “It’s fine”

“No, Lace it’s okay, let me do this.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get a job and get out of your hair” She dodged his eyes again. They had made a lot of progress, she was talking more freely, but she never held his eyes for long.

“Lace…” Pope wondered how he could make her see, make her believe that he just wanted to help her. He took her hands, careful not to startle her. “This… this is your home now. You can stay here as long as you need, I mean it. Don’t worry about working until you’re ready. Let’s get you set up with services, counseling, medical… Don’t even think about work yet.”

She leaned into him, holding tight on his hands but looking away. “Expensive.” She muttered.

He sighed. “Listen, it’s a lot to explain but… I came into some money recently. Don’t worry about that. Just…” He took her face in his hand, turning her face to him, and she finally looked at him. “Lace, let me take care of you” He kept her eye contact, watched her eyes searching his face. She was looking for a hint of a lie, of malicious intent. She found nothing but tenderness.

Before Santiago even had a moment to react, her lips were on his. He kissed back the moment their lips met, purely on instinct. When his brain caught up and realized it was her, it was her lips, chapped and hesitant, he kissed back with more fervor, wrapping his arms around his waist and she melted into his arms. Then, he realized what was happening. Santi pulled away, taking a few steps back and away from her, disgusted with himself.

“I’m sorry” He said all too quickly, as soon as he saw her distressed face. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He expected her to cry or panic, he didn’t expect this response. Her face set into a nervous determination. She pointed at him and shook her head. Then she pointed at herself. ‘You didn’t do it, I did’

“I know,” He clarified. Here he was with a traumatized and vulnerable girl in his home, she probably felt obligated to sleep with him, she thought that's what he wanted… He scrubbed his face, then looked back at her. Laci’s face was red, looking at the floor. She was embarrassed. “Can we just… let's pretend this never happened, okay? Finish showing you around?”

She nodded, not talking. Santi fought the urge to sigh again. Two steps forward, one step back. “C’mon, I’ll show you the yard.” He wanted to just block out the last two minutes from their collective memories. He started walking toward the sliding glass doors, but stopped when he heard her footsteps stop. He turned around and saw her staring at his bookshelf, staring at the 5 porcelain dolls on the top shelf.

She cocked her eyebrow up at him with a teasing smile. ‘Yours?’

He smiled, happy the tension was gone. “My sister’s, actually.”

Laci grinned, still lookin at the pretty, well cared for dolls, but was slightly nervous. She pointed to the house in general “does she live here?”

Santi’s kind smile waved a tad. “She died. It’ll be two years next month. Overdose.”

She turned to him, but he remained focused on the shelves, so she turned back. After a moment, she spoke. “My brother. I was 20. He raised me after our parents died.” Another pause as Laci took a shaky breath. “Suicide.”

Santi took her hand.

******************

A week later, Santi was parking his car on Frankie’s street. “You sure you’re okay? We can still turn around, Fish will understand.”

Laci had thought she was hiding her anxiety well, but somehow, Pope always knew what she was thinking. This was helpful, seeing as she still hardly spoke. It came and went in moments, he was never exactly sure what caused her to start or stop talking. If she was anxious or upset she shut down, but sometimes there didn’t seem to be a cause.

She looked at him with a little smile. ‘It’s fine. You want to go, so we’ll go.’ The two of them had gone everywhere together this week, every appointment and every meeting with a social worker or doctor. He wouldn’t leave her at the house alone, and he knew she would insist on going despite her reservations. She had asked who was coming. Pope knew that was code for ‘is Will coming’. The two of them had yet to interact. With Frankie, at least, he made an attempt to speak to her, dropping by when he got back to the states and asking yes/no questions to Laci so she didn’t feel left out. Will hadn’t been over, nor had be called. But she was fairly comfortable around Ben. Benny had been over a few times, and Laci even let Santi leave the room to go to the bathroom or get snacks, leaving her alone with Ben while they watched tv. Always Sunny in Philadelphia, of all things. It made him smile when he’d return to the room, watching her and Benny laughing out loud together. 

They hadn’t addressed the kiss and neither made a move, but the tension was palpable some days. Her first full day there, she had tried to make him dinner while Pope showered. When he heard a bunch of banging, he rushed out, only stopping to wrap a towel around his waist and ran to the kitchen. He found Laci  cleaning up a bunch of pans that had fallen on the floor. Looking up, her eyes widened as she stared at his shirtless torso. When her eyes flicked up to him, they stayed like that for a moment, Santi trying to read her face. He was good at it, he usually knew what she was saying or thinking… right then, she was unreadable.

She took his hand as Pope let himself in through the back gate and she took in the scene. It was a small gathering, Frankie had promised that it would just be the guys. Frankie usually held a cook out when everyone comes back from a mission, a way for everyone to decompress. Usually, it was a fucking party. Alcohol, lots of friends, family, and any random stranger Benny had met off the street that day. Today was small. Ever the peacekeeper, Frankie was hoping Will would warm up to Laci. Fish recognized, even if Pope was in denial, that Laci was going to be  part of things for a long time. On a phone call with Ben while he was still out of the country, Benny had told him he thought something was going on between the pair, that they were absolutely inseparable. Benny was the one that noticed Santi’s watch was missing on the flight, and relayed the story Pope told him to Frankie.

“Hey guys!” Benjamin Miller swaggered over, hugging Santi and putting his hand on Laci’s shoulder. “C’mon! I’m on grill duty” It was a warm day, and now that Laci got to pick out her clothes, he found she liked to wear a lot of flowers. Her dress today was pink and white floral and a flowy skirt.

“Oh god,” Pope muttered, following the blonde boy.

“Relax, Garcia. Fish is cooking, I’m just in charge of making sure the burgers don’t burn.” Benny, Laci and Santi stood on the deck for a few minutes before Will opened the screen door, and he felt Laci tense.

He was carrying pop, tossing one to Ben and one to Santi, one for himself. 

Santi called him out. “C’mon man, don’t be a dick.” He felt Laci’s hand on his arm, and turned to see her face. ‘Let it go’

Will rolled his eyes and cracked open his pop. Benny handed his to Laci “Here, I’m grabbing a beer” He walked into the house, grabbing Will with him and shutting the glass door, no doubt about to chew out Will.

Santiago turned to her “Sorry Lace, he’s being a dick.”

“You don’t have to… defend me or anything. I don’t want you guys to start fighting…” After learning about Santi’s sister’s death, and how most of his family is gone, she started to realize what these men meant to him. She didn’t want to be the one to cause any more problems than she already had.

Will and Benny returned, Will looking irritated but calmer. “Here” He handed Laci a snack pack of cheetos. A small gesture, but a gesture nonetheless. 

Laci kept looking at the floor, but touched her hand to her mouth, then moved it out. ‘Thank you’ in sign language. Ben had taught Laci several basic sign language phrases to prepare for the party. All the guys know passable sign language, and this way she could communicate a few things without having to talk or have Santi translate her facial expressions.

When the door opened, Will’s grumpy face lit up. “Here’s the woman of the hour!” And held out his arms to snatch the little girl from Frankies arms. The one year old practically dived into Will’s arms. It was strange for Laci to see Will not glowering. One by one, each of the guys held the tiny toddler, Laci was absolutely enthralled with the sight of Santi holding the adorable girl, blowing raspberries on her stomach.

“Laci?” Frankie spoke up. “Would you like to hold her?”

Laci nodded frantically, and held out nervous arms for Frankie’s daughter. The 18 month old was hesitant to leave her tio’s arms, but once she was in Laci’s around, she put her little hands on Laci’s face. It was an immidiet bond between the two.

“Rosie,” Frankie steps over to the two girls, tickling the toddlers neck. “Meet Laci. Laci, this is Fatima Rosa Maria Morales Ferndanez. Or Rosie, as we usually call her, when she’s not in trouble.”

Benny smiled at his friend and his niece. “Powerful name for a powerful little girl.” 

Frankie noticed Laci’s eyes welling up and her lip quivering. “You okay, Laci?” 

Santi kicked himself for not picking up on her discomfort, moving to take Rosie out of Laci’s arms, but Laci held on, looking at the little girl adoringly. She turned and whispered to Santiago, who then turned to his friend, smiling. “She said she’s beautiful, Frankie.” Frankie smiled back.

The evening had been delightful. Santi always enjoyed seeing the guys, especially after a particularly stressful mission. Even if Will was being a bit of a dick. It wasn’t bad, Will knew how to tow a line, that was for sure. Just enough where Santi didn’t feel it was worth making a scene, but enough where his irritation was growing. Laci was mostly oblivious, she had Rosie on her hip, even so much as straying away from her ever-attachment at Santi’s side to play with her in the grass. Santi leaned over the deck, beer in hand as he watched her. 

“I think Rosie has a friend.” Frankie joined him, looking at his daughter lovingly.

“Yeah.” Santi’s smile was huge. Frankie knew he was down bad.

“How’s she been adjusting?”

“She’s doing alright, considering. Therapy starts next week and she’s been to a few medical appointments, got her on meds, a diet to get back the nutrients she lost. Dentists gotta do some work, shit like that. She’ll have… she’ll have her moments. It’s hard to watch.”

Frankie nods. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes I’ll find her asleep on the couch watching tv. She had to get on medicine for the nightmares, they seem to help, but she likes the light. She says the TV helps her focus. She watches Friends reruns. She doesn’t even like Friends, It’s just something else to think about, nothing serious, stupid sitcom.” He paused, unsure if he should say it, but if he could be honest with anyone, it was Fish. “She kissed me”

Frankie laughed. “Oh yeah. She kissed you.”

Pope turned to Frankie, finally looking at him “I’m serious!... I mean… I kissed back.”

“There it is.” Fish smirked.

Pope was defensive. “She did! Fish I would never want her to think she has to do anything just because I’m helping her.”

“But you wouldn’t mind if you and her… we’re together?.”

Pope rolled his eyes, “Well, she’s-” pretty he was about to say, turning back to Laci. She was on her back, legs up in the air with Rosie on her feet, playing superman. Laci’s skirt rode up, showing off the smooth curve of her ass. “Oh fuck” Santi and Frankie quickly turned out, but gave each other a side-eyed smile. 

An hour later, Frankie was putting Rosie to bed, and Laci was back to Santiago’s side. When Frankie came back, everyone was gathered on the porch. “Hey Santi, I think you forgot something.” He tossed the watch to his friend.

“Fish, what the shit? How did you…?” Santi hugged Fish tighty “Hermano, how did you know I lost it?”

“Benny can’t keep a secret for the life of him.” 

Benny meely shrugged, smiling.

Will, however, was confused. “Wait, is that Fatima’s watch?” He looked back and forth between Fish and Pope. “Why does Catfish have it?”

“I um…” Pope hesitated, his grin fading. “When we were in the forest, I sold it to get some food and water…”

“What the fuck Pope?” Will looked irrationally irritated.

Frankie put a hand on Will’s arm, trying to calm him. “Calm down.”

Will shrugged him up. “You sold Fatima’s watch because of her? Jesus Pope, what the hell?” 

Pope put himself in front of Laci instinctively. “Back the fuck off, Ironhead. Now.”

Will look at Santi condescendingly. “What is she doing to you man? She almost got you killed, now you’re just being her bitch”

Ben saw it coming before Santi even made a move, smacking Frankie, signaling him to move. Ben grabbed Pope, holding him back as he went to punch Will and luckily, Frankie caught Ben’s message and grabbed Will’s shirt, warning him not to do anything. Laci stepped backwards until her back hit the deck railing, and there she froze.

“What is your fucking problem Will?!” Santi shouted at the much taller man.

“Do you have ANY IDEA how close you came to dying, Pope? It’s a goddamn miracle you didn’t get your head blasted open! You and Ben could’ve died! Then what? Do we spit up the money again and give it to your non-existent family and pretend it’s okay? If Ben died, would you just give me a pat on the back and say ‘Oh, sorry!’ and move on?”

Santi was in too much of a blind fury to possess what Will was saying “None of that has ANYTHING to do with her!” Santi pointed to the scared girl in the corner of the deck, clutching onto the railing for dear life.

“I told you we needed to move, but you never fucking listen! You had to baby her, you had to play knight in shining armor and rescue the pretty girl, meanwhile Benny gets shot and you literally dodge a bullet!”

Benny mumbles something about not bringing him into this, but no one was listening. Benny knew he wasn’t getting anywhere. Santi and Will would hash this out, Frankie would stop them from killing each other. He looked over to see Laci scared as shit. Carefully, he walked over to her. Her eyes were shut tight, but she knew it was Ben, because she knew what Santi’s hand felt like.

“Enough!” Frankie shouted after a few more pointless back and forths. “You guys hear that?” Through the upstairs window, everyone could hear Rosie crying. “You guys woke up and probably scared the shit out of my baby, not to mention Laci.” Santi suddenly noticed she had left his side, and felt a tinge of guilt and jealousy to see her so scared, but also holding the handsome young man’s hand. “Santi, Will, go inside and fucking sort this out like adults.” He noticed Santi glance to Laci again. “She’ll be fine, man. Jesus, Ben will be here. I’m going to put my daughter to bed and I swear to god, if you wake her up again, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Will and Santi stormed off, and Frankie went upstairs to try and put his toddler back to bed. Benny and Laci stood in silence as Laci held his hand tightly. They couldn’t hear what Will and Santi were saying, but it sounded calmer. After a while, Will opened the door, looking embarrassed. “I need to talk to her” he told Ben.

 “No way man-”

“Okay.” The Miller brothers turned to Laci, eyes finally open and looking directly at Will for the first time.

Hesitantly, Benny let go of her hand, telling Will not to be an asshole, closing the screen door instead of the glass door. “Can I close the glass door? I don’t want them eavesdropping.” Laci nodded, and Will closed it. Much like Santi, Will scrubbed his face. “How much did Santi tell you about our history together.”

She held up her fingers together. ‘Very little’

“He tell you bout Tom?”

She shook her head.

Will sighed. “Last year, a mission went wrong. I got shot.” Despite how much of an ass he had been, he swore he saw a bit of pity on her face. “But we had another friend, his name was Tom. He got killed after things went very, very wrong and… I think I’ve always held onto a lot of anger and guilt over it. A lot of feelings I don’t know how to let out in a normal way. Seeing my brother get shot, and those few days where I thought Santi had been killed or taken, I think… Well I think maybe it brought a lot of feelings out. I don’t know if Santi told you, but Benn is my brother. My actual brother, I mean. I know we all refer to each other as brothers…” he trailed off, realizing he was rambling. “I thought I was going to watch him die…” He shuffled his feet, trying to figure out what he was trying to say.

Surprisingly, she spoke up, although barely audible ”I didn’t ask for any of this…”

God, that hurt. Of fucking course she didn’t. This poor girl had gone through hell, and here he was making her feel worse. “I know. And I’m really sorry. I’m not good at this kind of thing…” Despite his best efforts, his voice was just a little choked up. It was a high emotion week. “I don’t really have a good excuse, but I am sorry. I know you’re going to be around a while, maybe forever-” he cut himself off. He didn’t exactly know what Santi and her relationship was., and wasn’t sure if they knew either.“I don’t want to make an enemy out of you, and I don’t want to be the person who makes you feel worse.”

Laci thought for a second, then smiled a soft, nervous smile. She tentatively walked towards him. “It’s okay.”

He shook his head. “It’s not-”

She held up a hand. He didn’t need Santi to translate that. “I get… I get really angry sometimes. Sometimes I get angry at Santi and he did nothing wrong. He doesn’t know. I push it down. But sometimes I worry I won’t be able to stop it. It’s okay.” 

Will nodded. He felt like they had an understanding, at least.

She walked past him, going to find Santi. When Laci found him, he surprised her with a hug. “Are you okay, Lace?” He asked, rubbing her back.

“Yeah, I’m great. Take me home please?” She nestled her head into his chest, taking in his smell.

On the drive home, Laci asked about the watch.

“My sister gave it to me a few months before she died.” He took it off, handing it to her. “The inscription translates to ‘count all the stars and add one more’ it’s about how much the singer loves someone. It’s a song by Jesse and Joy and it features Luis Fonsi” Santi turned to her, smiling sadly “I couldn’t stand Luis Fonsi, but my sister loved him.” He turned back to the road. “Her name was Fatima. Frankie named his daughter after her. He and I grew up together. Anyway, she gave me this watch as a half joke since I hated the song. Now it’s one of my favorites. I think she knew she was dying.”

Laci put her hand on his shoulder. Usually, their touches were for Laci’s sake. This was for Santi’s. “That’s really sweet, Santi. And I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Muñecita. For Will.”

“I think Will and I are going to get along fine.” She turned to him. “I like your friends a lot.”

Santi smiled. “Yeah, I do too.

***************

THANK YOU FOR READING! Reblogs help a lot, comments mean the world! lmk if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Since google doesn’t really translate it, Muñecita means little doll. Muñeca is doll, and adding -ita makes a name or object diminutive.

@littlenosoul @bensolosbluesaber @milkymoon2483 @gogh-with-the-flow @itspdameronthings

[coweye]

Commitment Issues - Part 5

Pairing: Benny Miller x Reader

Words: 2.1k

Summary: When you try and take your friends with benefits relationship to the next level, Benny’s response isn’t quite what you were expecting.

Warning: Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnancy Complications, Benny being a slight dick but kinda cute xoxo

Author note: Ya girls back, was kinda depressed for a hot second there and couldn't write anything for shit, but you guys reblogging my story despite me not posting for weeks was and AMAZING feeling and gave me some much needed serotonin.

I love you all so much and can't thank you enough for the support. 💕

Without further ado... here's ma boi getting his head on right for once.

I made a very slight rewrite in 4.5.

I would recommending just rereading the very end of 4.5 so you're not lost if you read it before New Years 2022.

➢ Fic Masterpost

⇠ Previous Part

Your ears were ringing - you were furious, always it was about Benny’s feelings, Benny’s incapability to deal with everything, yes, he was going to be a father, but right now you were carrying another human being inside of you.

Your hormones were through the roof, you had vomited for the majority of the morning and your boobs were killing! When was it your turn to be a child?!

So, much like he had, you left. It was your turn to have a dramatic strop.

You went straight out the way you’d come in and you were seated in your truck long before anyone was the wiser.

You were done - so fucking done, with everything and everyone in your life.

Santi and Frankie’s drunken looks of disbelief and betrayal.

Will’s eyes filled with abject rage.

And Benny. Fucking Benny.

Everyone could mind their own business as far as you were concerned, this baby was yours. If Ben didn’t want to be around 100% then he didn’t need to be, you and this baby weren’t a ball and chain, you weren’t anyone's problem.

That's what you told yourself as you sat in your truck in the 7/11 car park, a half drunk slushie in your hands and the heating on full blast.

You could do this alone.

Already the dye was turning your tongue blue, easing your rage - despite the fact it was probably giving your unborn child a sugar rush.

Leaning back against your headrest, your eyes clouded with tears and your throat constricted almost painfully as you fought the urge to breakdown, you blamed this entirely on hormones, fucking Benny.

Taking a few calming breaths, you closed your eyes.

You felt exhausted; both emotionally and physically drained by the day's events.

You couldn’t say how long you were in the parking lot, whether it was an hour or three, perhaps it was 10 minutes but the busted analogue clock on your dashboard currently read that it was mid afternoon. Judging from the night sky, you could safely say that was incorrect.

Your brain awoke with a start, spilling the remaining slurpy down the only nice dress that still fit you.

“Fuck.” You hissed, reaching blindly into the back seat. Your hands grabbed at an article of clothing that had been left in the footwell behind the passenger side and began mopping at the residual blue raspberry staining your cocktail dress.

The second you saw the MMA logo you threw it on the passenger seat as if it had burnt you, slopping the icy mess with it.

You sat glaring at the article of clothing as if it had personally offended you for a moment, as if it was the idiot that knocked you up sitting next you.

In a moment of unhinged rage you grabbed at it and in sheer fury pulled at what used to be your favorite jumper. It was futile, of course, you were nowhere near strong enough to rip the fabric, but somehow warping the weaving of the cotton-poly-blend somehow made you feel better.

It was petty and ridiculous but it eased the pressure behind your eyes, as if you were getting some sort of revenge. Your manic arm movements as you tried to get a better grip on it caused your forearm to graze the horn. The loud BEEP brought you back down to earth; the realization of how insane you were currently being was enough to ground you.

Throwing it back onto the seat in defeat and leaning your head against the wheel; You figured the heat had to have died down by now. You were bound to get an ear full in the morning but that sounded firmly like tomorrow's problem.

Starting the engine you began your completely uneventful drive back to your apartment. It wasn’t until you rounded the corner that anything gave you pause.

There sat the father of your child, leaning against the main door to your apartment block, his arms crossed and eyes closed as if it was a summer's day and he hadn’t a care in the world as he bathed in the sun.

You couldn’t begin to guess how long he’d been here out in the biting cold.

Anger flared deep within you, maybe just maybe, if this had been three days ago it’d have melted your icy heart but it was quite frankly too little too late.

Instead, it pissed you off something rotten; he thought this worked on his timeline.

When he was ready.

When he could deal with it.

It was a bitter way of thinking, but perhaps if your evening hadn't gone the way it had you’d be a little more open to alternative methods of conflict resolution.

Instead, you thrust the door fob over the scanner, the movement of the door giving way inwards jarred the man awake, somehow catching himself before he hit the thinly carpeted concrete, that in itself annoyed you a little.

Ever the special ops soldier, he shook the grogginess of sleep from his mind and his eyes focused in on you.

“...Y/N.” He muttered his voice gruff with sleep whilst standing and dusting off his jeans.

Forgoing the lift that would slow you down, you childishly took the steps two at a time, kicking off the heels along the way until two flights of stairs were behind you and you stood before your front door.

Out of breath, you huffed to realize he was right behind you, your heels under his arm.

Benny was fitter than you on a good day but three going on four months pregnant, you hadn’t stood a chance of losing him.

After unlocking the door, you stepped in and went to close the door behind you, but his boot caught it a centimeter from closing.

“Move.” You hissed.

The surprise was evident on his face; he’d never seen you like this. For the simple reason that you’d never felt like this.

You weren’t cruel by nature.

You had simply never had reason to be this angry at another human being and right now you fucking loathed the man who currently wore his baseball cap backwards as if he was a fucking fifteen year old.

You had half the mind to tell him as such, but you refrained, in what you would consider a great act of self restraint.

All you wanted was to take off your ruined dress and get into bed, you weren’t in the head space to weather his self destructive, idiotic tendencies right now.

However, the size 11 currently stopping your door in its tracks clearly felt differently. So you fixed its owner with a glare that would stop any sane human in their tracks.

The thing about Benjamin Miller was, he wasn’t completely sane.

So he placed a palm on the door, not pushing but not conceding to you just yet.

“Y/N, Please.” Those baby blues weren’t going to melt you, not this time. He’d pushed you too far and this fury was too fresh. So in a moment of pure pettiness, you pulled back the door, his eyes lit up at what he thought was your surrender.

Alas, when you used the momentum to swing it closed on his foot, well, Benjamin should just be thanking his lucky stars that he wore his work boots.

You on the other hand were cursing whatever foresight he possessed, as the lack of pain meant that your plan had been severely underwhelming and his foot remained in the door jam, only now he was pissed off.

So like the children you apparently both were, you struggled against one another, him pushing; not quite with his full strength, but just enough to slowly slide you back with the door.

Just as he nearly had enough space to slide his shoulders through the gap you gave in.

Suddenly moving out of the way of the slab of wood, the shoulder he'd been using to push it open gave way quickly, his only saving grace had been the measured force with which he pushed against the door as he had been unwilling to hurt you. This gave him enough control to stop himself in his tracks as he barreled towards your living room floor.

If he wanted to be a child, you could be too.

“Really?!” He huffed in disbelief throwing your heels onto the floor, his eyes wide as he stared at you as if you were a feral creature who’s next move he was attempting to predict. You quite simply weren’t acting like yourself, you were always calm and measured.

Always thinking before acting. Look at where that had gotten you.

So, to bring this infantile act to its crescendo you turned on your heel with a shrug and began phase two; Blanking him.

As it turned out, quite fantastically, that was a soft spot for Benny.

He tried over and over to get you to engage, but you carried on as if he wasn’t there getting ready for bed.

“Really, you’re not talking to me?” He sighed whilst he leaned against the doorframe of your bedroom. “You?”

“You call me immature, whilst you’re pulling this shi-” You pulled your dress over your head, your slightly rounded belly caught his attention bringing his sentence to a swift end.

He had seen you naked more times than he could probably count, though your swollen belly gave him pause.

He came forward as you stepped into your pyjama bottoms, it wasn’t until he went to place a hand on your tummy that you reacted.

“Don’t touch me.” It held half of the venom of the last words you’d hissed but it was enough to make him heed your words.

Reaching into your drawer, you pulled out a large tee and pulled it over, concealing your bump from those prying baby blues.

“So what, you’re never gonna talk to me? Not gonna let me see my kid.”

You ignored him.

It was difficult to ignore the bait, but you managed somehow.

So you got into bed.

As your head lay on the cotton pillow in the dark room, you heard Benny moving around your apartment.

He didn’t leave.

No, you heard him settle on the sofa and turn on the TV.

Even that made your blood boil.

“...just needed some time… acts like an asshole…” You hear him brokenly mutter under his breath.

Suddenly blanking him just didn’t seem like a punishment, smashing the Television over his head however, much moreso.

The swivel of your head was comical, though the onslaught of abuse that followed it, less so.

“I’m sorry? I’m the asshole?” Benny’s head swings around and searches for you in darkness, you know he’s suddenly cursing your studio apartment. You're sure the regret would be clear as day in his eyes, but it's not enough to give you pause.

“I-”

“-No, actually. You’ve had your turn to speak… you… fucking… fuck… prick. I have tried to be reasonable, I’ve tried to be nice, but I am done babying you Ben.” You throw the quilt off of you in fury and take a few steps to stand before him. You’ve stunned him into silence so you continue your tirade, letting out all the weeks of heartache. “Me… Asshole… You’re the fucking asshole, Miller! Maybe if you could act like an adult for once in your fucking life, you’d be able to see I don’t want anything from you. Nothing, not anymore. Running from me at the 7/11 - What are you 8?! Fucking face me like a fucking - .” You can’t help the heavy breath that escapes you at the stabbing pain that lances your ribs.

Ben’s out of his shock, over the back of the sofa and at your side in a matter of moments, his eyes wide and filled with fear.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t Call Me -” The sensation takes your breath away again “Its the baby, I’m not sure - I’ve not felt this before, I haven’t read that stupid fucking book yet.” You huff pointing to the pregnancy guide on the coffee table, the pain returns again and you can’t help yourself as you grab at the sleeve of his shirt to ground yourself. It feels like a bad stitch, but instead of breathing causing the pain it's sporadic and twice as painful.

“Hospital now.” He says sternly.

“I don’t need-” You gasp in a breath of air at the sharp pain - it’s not the worst you’ve ever felt but the risk it poses to your child terrifies you, finally your fear outweighs your rage “Okay, hospital, now.”

⇢ Next Part✨

TAG LIST:

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I'm so so sorry If I missed you off the tag list - please just remind me! It was hard to keep track on hiatus!

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Always You

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray (OFC) **Series masterlist**

Warnings: Post-movie anxiety and grief, arguing, some basic PiV sex stuff, nothing too explicit.

Words: 7,246.

Summary: Some months after the operation in South America, Santi shows up with coordinates and a plan. Frankie finally gets his way with something important to him.

A/N: This is the sequel to Only You and I started writing it after posting that fic over a year ago. Since then, the Frankie and Lady saga grew and evolved, and I kept rewriting this fic over and over again to fit. Now it's finally where I want it to be.

Taglist: @amneris21 @apascalrascal @kikis-writing-world @pazizz @paulalikestuff @rambling-in-purple

"Pope, good to see you!" Balancing Bianca with one arm on her hip, Jay embraces Santiago with her other arm and accepts his kiss on her cheek.

"You too, Jay. And this must be the little one?" Santiago smiles down at the five-month-old baby, who stares back with some skepticism. Jay grins at how unimpressed the baby looks, and presses a kiss to her head with its thick, dark curls.

“That’s right, you haven’t seen her before. This is Bianca.”

Bianca doesn't change a muscle in her face as Santiago extends a finger and boops her on the cheek.

“Cute. Even though she looks like her daddy. Poor thing.”

“Be nice now,” Jay warns him with a smile as she shifts herself to let him in. “Come on through. Everyone’s out back.”

He enters and closes the door behind him, then looks more closely at her. He’s had a soft spot for her from the start and tried to move on her years ago when she first joined the team, but she had made it very clear that she wasn’t there to fuck around. The knee to his crotch worked fine and he wasn’t even bitter when she started to connect with Frankie.

"You're looking really well. How are you doing?"

"I'm good," Jay replies truthfully. "Really good, in fact."

"And Frankie?"

She glances towards the living-room, where the door to the small backyard is open. The sounds spilling in through the open door are of Alma laughing and the guys talking. Frankie’s low baritone stands out to her, simply because it’s his voice. She feels it in her spine every time he speaks.

"He's much better," she tells Santiago in a low voice, then shrugs. "I mean, you know what he's like - " Santi nods quickly " - but he's not beating himself up about it as much as I feared."

"Glad to hear it." He looks pained for a moment and Jay puts her hand on his shoulder. "What about you?"

"I'm fine. You know."

"Yeah, I do." Jay gives his shoulder a little squeeze before gently pushing him onward. "Come on, we got cold beers."

He slept late that first morning after his return. Jay took the girls to see Molly and her daughters, and left Frankie a note on her pillow: ”Went to see Molly, be back at noon. Love you. J.” She could’ve sent a text, but Frankie likes old-fashioned notes. Molly was pale and her – Tom’s – daughters doggedly quiet. Bringing the kids was a good move, the now fatherless girls doted on Bianca and played with Alma. Jay could focus on Molly, who seemed more upset about the money than she was about Tom. It was the shock, of course.

”You should have some of the money, you need it, you have small kids.”

”No, Molly. It’s for your girls. I don’t want it. Tom didn’t make it home. Frankie did. I don’t need anything else.”

Molly had cried and Jay had nothing to say because no matter how horrible and wrong Tom’s death was, she was infinitely grateful that Frankie was alive.

He was still asleep when she returned home. Over the coming days, he moved around like he was in pain. It was like all the stress, the guilt, the trauma caught up to him now that he was home, manifesting in aching joints and limbs. Jay gave him massages and rubbed his taut muscles with liniment, but the relief was only temporary. He had nightmares about crashing the helicopter, killing everyone on board except for him. Trying to move on by himself, he’d always reach halfway up the mountain trail before he’d slip and fall.

“We talk shit out in this household, Frankie” she reminded him when his silence stretched on longer than she could handle. It was hard for her to show him anger, however. He had been through a traumatic experience, and he couldn’t seek outside help for it because of the illegal nature of the expedition.

He tried, she could see that. But he didn’t have the words.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow,” she asked him quietly. “Not again.”

He cried then. He’s always been the crying kind, she not so much.

“Please don’t give up on me,” he sobbed. Jay put her arms around him and let him wet her t-shirt.

“I won’t. I did it once, and I’m never doing it again.”

He got better after that.

Pushing Santi before her through the back door, Jay rejoins the others on the small deck out back. Greetings, hugs, and back pats are distributed. Alma barely acknowledges the newcomer, having only eyes for Benjamin: she's completely head over heels in love with him, mainly because he usually hangs her upside down by her ankles every time they meet. She's busy showing him her toys, having him chase her on the tiny lawn, and showing him the tree where there sometimes is a squirrel - and Benny gives her all his attention.

"Someone's got a fan," Santi notices, nodding towards Ben who's currently swinging Alma from her arms, making her scream with delight as she goes higher and higher.

"It's easy for him to make friends with kids," Will nods, taking a swig of his beer. "After all, he's one himself."

Frankie chuckles, taking off his hat and swiping his hair to the side, before putting the hat back on. The gesture makes Jay warm inside. It's one of those things that are so embedded into his being that she can’t even imagine him not doing it. She sits next to him, thigh against thigh, and tells Santi to help himself to a beer from the cooler.

"You look good," Will tells Santi. "Tanned."

"He does look a bit tanned, doesn't he?" Frankie agrees, looking from Will to Jay to Santiago.

"Okay, okay..." the object of everyone’s teasing sighs as he cracks open the can.

"How's the girlfriend, Santi?" Jay asks innocently.

"How do you know about her?"

Jay elbows Frankie and points her finger at him. "This one tells me everything, don't you know that already?"

"She is fine," Santiago tells her with dignity. "She likes Australia."

"How did you like Australia?"

“It was hot.”

"I bet," Jay winks at him as she hoists Bianca higher up on her lap. The baby makes a delighted little sound, so she bounces her up and down a couple of times. The conversation turns to the kids and their development as Santiago tries to redirect the attention away from his girlfriend and Australia.

This is the first time the whole team has gathered in a couple of years. Pope hasn’t even been in the country, but Jay and Frankie hang out with Will and Ben every once in a while. Tom wasn't a stranger either, but now his absence is a scab that no one can pick at just yet.

The meeting is not arbitrary, though. It was called by Santiago, and practicality made Jay invite everybody over to her and Frankie’s place so they wouldn’t have to arrange for a sitter. Frankie suggested they make a day out of it. Grill some steaks, catch up.

Jay had a bad feeling about the whole thing but said nothing as she made coleslaw while Frankie marinated the meat. There was no use stressing about it beforehand, but it was obvious that Pope had something he wanted to share. He hadn’t been stateside in years, except for that time a few months ago when he came with that fateful proposition to his former team.

But right now, Jay takes the time to enjoy the company. She’s missed her former team, missed talking to people who don't see her as just a mother. She and the guys share many memories, for better or for worse. They know what she’s been through, and they know what she can do, what she has done. They don't hold it against her, because they have done the same. Benny is playing with her eldest daughter and Bianca is now being passed between Will and Santi, weighed and admired. Surrounded by these people, Jay’s past and future make sense.

As if hearing her thoughts, Frankie suddenly drapes his arm over her shoulders and strokes her neck, throwing her a warm, loving smile. He’s enjoying himself just as much as she is, she can tell. He enjoys good company, good food, being surrounded by his family. Jay smiles back, and of course it's not wasted on their comrades.

“Aww, look at these two!” Will drawls. “It’s almost disgusting.”

"You're just jealous," Frankie states calmly, letting his arm stay exactly where it is.

"Well, obviously." Pope shakes his head. “None of us would have said no to that.”

“I’m right here,” Jay points out with a roll of her eyes. “Asshole.”

“Who's jealous?” Benjamin joins them on the deck, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Alma hangs after him, complaining about the break in their playing.

“These two fuckers,” Jay fills him in, ignoring the Really? In front of the kids? frown that Frankie gives her. "Alma, honey, let Benny take a little break."

“It’s alright, we just need to hydrate,” Benny tells her and reaches for the hard plastic cup of juice that Jay has put out for Alma. “Come here, baby girl, have some juice.”

Alma, who's no stranger to disobedience towards her parents but absolutely adores Ben, does as she's told immediately. She directs a huge, sunny smile at her idol as she accepts the cup, promptly drains it, and asks for more.

“You ever considered adoption?” Frankie jokes at the sight of Alma's adoration. “She comes pretty cheap at the moment.”

“You’d get a lot of action if you hauled her around with you,” Jay points out. “Frankie has to fend the ladies off with a broom whenever he takes her with him anywhere.”

“Can't help my charms,” he shrugs, his index finger stroking her neck slowly, making the light hairs on her skin rise.

“I don’t think it's you they're after, man," Santiago grins cruelly. "It's that little ray of sunshine.”

"Some days they can have her," Jay sighs and smiles at her energetic, headstrong little girl. She's four years old and comes up with new ways to say no every day. Jay loves her daughter’s independence, her inquisitiveness and stubbornness, but it's also a lot, especially when all those qualities manifest during the most busy times of the day, such as the morning when it’s time for daycare.

“I'm smart enough to know that she’s not like this all the time,” Ben laughs and tousles Alma's hair. “You're a force of nature, aren’t you, Almageddon?”

“Daddy says I have that after mommy,” Alma pipes up precociously, earning chuckles from everyone.

“You sure do,” Benny agrees.

“Unkie Benny, what’s a fucker?”

“There you go,” Frankie sighs, ignoring the rest of the adults who are trying to hide their amusement. He unfolds his arm from Jay’s shoulders and leans forward. “Almalita, it’s a bad word that mommy shouldn’t have said.”

“But what does it mean?”

“It’s a word adults sometimes use for bad people,” Frankie explains. “But we shouldn’t. Because we don’t call people bad names, do we?”

Alma shakes her head with conviction, puts her hands on her hips, and stares disapprovingly at Jay, who can barely keep her pokerface.

“Mommy has to say sorry.”

“I am very sorry, sweetheart,” Jay assures her, barely holding back her laughter. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

The girl is still looking suspicious but luckily, Benny diverts her attention back to the lawn and their games. Frankie shakes his head and gets up to take Bianca from Santi, who’s grinning widely.

“Little cups and small ears, huh?”

“The smaller the cup, the bigger the ears.” Frankie sits back down and holds Bianca up so that she can practice standing on his thighs. “This one hears everything. You can see that nothing gets past her. She was made for recon.”

“Babe, she’s five months old,” Jay points out, but she knows he’s right. Bianca has a quiet, observational nature for sure – the complete opposite of what Alma was at the same age.

“I can see that,” Santi nods. “She looks very focused.”

“I think she’s just pooping, man,” Will inserts, and having been around the kids more than Santi has, he’s right. A few minutes later, Frankie goes into the house to perform a diaper change.

Jay closes the door to the girls' room softly - Bianca's crib was moved to Alma's room after she was weaned only a month ago - and returns to the guys on the deck, where they stayed while she put the girls to bed. The silence is thick around the foursome and she senses that she’s entered in the middle of a heated discussion.

"What?" she queries as she takes her seat next to Frankie. He's got his arms folded across his chest and is looking uncomfortable. Santiago is leaning forwards, his lower arms on his thighs, and the Miller brothers are each staring in different directions.

Nobody gives her an answer, so Jay looks at Frankie. "What's going on?"

Will passes his hands over his face. "Fuck."

"What?"

"Pope wants us to go back," Frankie tells her in a tight voice. Jay stares at him, then at Pope.

“Go back where?”

Nobody says anything, and they don't need to, because she knows. She’s not stupid: they're going after the money.

"Oh hell no!"

"I've got the coordinates, the money's just sitting there, it's a simple search and rescue basically," Santiago tells Jay in a low voice. Ben’s chewing his lower lip and Will looks like he's going to explode.

“Is that so? Like last time was just a rec, huh?” Jay points out.

"That seventeen grand you got for it wasn't bad, though, was it?" Santiago asks dryly.

“Fucker,” Frankie growls, and there's no trace of banter in his voice.

“They know who you are,” Jay reminds Santiago, whose face is set with grim determination. “They saw your faces.”

“My sources tell me that Lorea’s men are too busy fighting amongst themselves about who’s going to pick up his crown to care about five men who have been gone for months. We only need a heli.”

Frankie scoffs. "And land it where?"

”You can land anything on a dime, Frankie, and you know it. It’s possible. Go to the quarry, lower someone down. Pull up one bag at a time.”

Will exhales sharply, leaning back in his seat. The outdoor lights cast shadows over his troubled face.

“She’s right,” he points out. “They could still be looking for us. How are we even supposed to get into the country?”

“Let me worry about that.”

“You can't be serious,” Jay tells Santiago, but she’s looking at all four of them. Her eyes land on Frankie and she can see that he is honest to God considering it.

”Francisco,” she warns him.

”He’s not coming,” Will interjects, earning a simultaneous What? from both Jay and Frankie. Hers is surprised, his is annoyed.

”You got a beautiful family, Fish. You can’t risk it.”

”That didn’t stop you from dragging Tom with you,” Frankie reminds him cruelly. Tom’s name makes everybody flinch and reminds Jay of Molly’s face, red from crying. The muted grief of his daughters.

”I’m working on a plan,” Santi holds up his hand to broker peace. ”It’s an in and out operation. We have the coordinates, it’s a few hours job once we’re there. There and back again in two days, three tops.”

”Like last time?” Will asks him in that calm before the storm voice. No one sounds as absolutely put together as William Miller right before he unleashes his anger.

”Are you in?” Santi counters. ”It’s a simple question, Will.”

”I’m in,” Benny establishes. Will frowns at his younger brother, clearly unhappy with the decision. “Will, I’m tired of getting punched for a living. We had that money in our goddamn fuckin’ hands – “

“Fuck,” Will sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay.”

Jay looks from one Miller brother to the other and finally to Pope.

”I’m coming, too.”

”You’re what?!” Frankie turns to Jay, eyes and mouth wide open in shock. The faces of her other three former teammates display the same astonishment.

”You need a fifth and moreover, you need someone light to lower into the quarry.”

”Don’t be ridiculous.” Frankie’s almost laughing but she can tell he’s not amused.

”What do you mean?” Jay crosses her arms in front of her chest.

”It’s been years since you were in active duty.”

”So? This is a quick in-and-out mission, right, Pope?” Jay looks over at Pope, whose face is asking her not to involve him.

”You are not coming!” Frankie sputters.

”Why not?” Jay stares at him calmly, waiting for a real reason, even though she knows this is only ending in an argument.

”It’s fucking dangerous, that’s why!”

”So it’s not dangerous for any of you?” She’s being glib but he’s getting on her nerves.

��Of course it is, that’s my point!”

”So why can you go but not I? I’m in better shape than you, Frankie, we both know that.”

”She has a point,” Pope says. ”She’s the lightest and –”

”She is not coming!” Frankie’s on his feet in the blink of an eye and pulling Pope up by his collar. ”You hear me?” He pulls Pope close, gets into his face. ”Stay the fuck out of this and stay away from my family!”

”Frankie!” Jay jumps up and pulls him back by the shoulder, digging her fingers into his muscles to make him let go. ”Stop it!”

The Miller brothers are pulling Santi away and as soon as Frankie releases him, Jay’s in front of him, hands on his shoulders, ready to push back if he tries to attack Santi again. She fixes his dark brown eyes with her blue ones, attentive for any move. But Frankie relaxes a little, and steps back.

“Pope was the one who orchestrated the whole thing,” he growls. “Pope told us he only needed us for a recon. But you had it all planned out, didn’t you? You always knew you’d ask us to do the whole thing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I did!” Santi agrees, raising his voice as well. “We all deserved that money – “

“We deserve a lot, but that doesn’t mean we should’ve done it – “ Frankie’s still fuming. Jay has never seen him like this: so angry, so frustrated.

“Everybody, shut the fuck up!” she shouts, successfully bringing silence to the company. She looks around at the men, stopping at Santi.

“You have no idea what we’ve been through,” she states calmly. “You don’t know how hard Frankie has worked with himself, what Benny and Will have done to support us. You just disappeared to South America to play cops and robbers, and you only reappeared here when there was a buck for you to make.”

An awkward silence has settled among the men, and Santi looks away, unable to meet Jay’s steely gaze.

“Frankie, Benny, Will, and Tom all made their choice,” she goes on, unwavering. Tom’s name makes the men flinch and Frankie puts his hand on her shoulder, but she doesn’t stop. “They chose to do it because they trusted you. They all knew the risk. I knew the risk when I let Frankie go. There was always the chance that someone wasn’t coming back. It just happened to be Tom.”

Now her voice drops and turns colder. “And you left all of us to pick up the pieces of that mess. I had to comfort Molly and the girls. We had to carry Tom to the grave. Where were you?”

Santi looks up now, face ashen with grief and pain. He looks at her, at the others. His mouth opens, but no words come out. With a deep sigh, he sits down and rubs his forehead.

Jay sighs too, her hand finding Frankie’s on her shoulder. His fingers close around hers in a reassuring squeeze.

“Frankie and I need to talk,” she tells the men. “We’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

”What are you afraid is going to happen?”

Jay looks at Frankie who is taking out the leftover beers from the cooler and putting them in the fridge. So typical of Frankie; doing something useful while having an argument with her.

”Don’t be coy, you know what I’m afraid of!” Frankie retorts. “I’ve felt it once, when you were injured on duty, and I never wanna feel that again!”

”And how do you think I felt when you traipsed off with the guys to South America on an illegal mission to rob a fucking cartel king? I was alone with two children, one of them an infant!” Jay rinses the last plate and puts it into the dishwasher, then starts on the glasses. Frankie’s industriousness is contagious.

“You don’t need to remind me of what I did.”

He sounds so despondent that Jay puts down the glass in the sink, dries her hands, and takes him by the shoulders, turning him to face her. His brown eyes are heavy with sadness and guilt. She wishes he wouldn’t have to deal with that but knows it will take him a long time yet to let go of those feelings. It’s been five months since he moved back home and two months since South America, and he has come a long way in dealing with his past actions. Jay is supporting him and he is accepting her help, and they’re more in love than ever – but he is still dealing with his shame.

“Baby,” she says quietly. “I know why you did it. I know it was your way of making up to me for using.”

“I just hate that I hurt you even more by going,” he confesses, his voice thick. Jay takes his hand between hers and places it over his heart.

“You feel that,” she tells him, softly but seriously. “You feel all of that. Because that’s what I felt every second of every day when you were away.”

“Jayne…”

“No. You don’t get to apologize anymore. You made a decision, and I supported it. Now I need you to do the same for me.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t. I just can’t, baby.”

Jay sighs. “I know.”

They finish up in the kitchen, then get ready for bed. Frankie makes his usual round in the house, checking the front and back doors before peeking into Alma’s room to make sure she’s still sleeping. Bianca, asleep in the crib, is the last stop before bed. He joins Jay under the covers and isn’t surprised when she kisses him: even when they’ve been fighting, or when things are hard, they seek physical comfort from each other. Her hands find all the familiar places on his body, caress him until he’s flushed and feverish, the only thing settling him is getting to sink into her warmth, all the way down to the hilt.

When they’re slumbering, entangled, in post-coital relaxation, Frankie hugs her to him.

“Okay, you can come with.”

“Not that I need your permission,” she mumbles, “but thanks.”

“On one condition, though. You’re marrying me.”

That wakes her up, and she raises her head from his shoulder.

“Again with this? What the fuck, Francisco?”

“The baby,” he reminds her, and Jay purses her lips, staring hard at him through the dark. Frankie looks back at her, just barely making out the contours of her face.

“Why won't you? I've asked you enough times."

“Why do we have to get married in order to be together?” she groans, tired of this same old routine. “We’ve managed fine for seven years without a piece of paper and a ring.”

"What kind of ring do you want?" He tries to wear her down, he has to admit it.

“I don't want one, Frankie, when have you ever seen me wear any other jewelry than the dog tags – ”

“You don't have to have a ring if you don't want to.”

“Thank you!” Her head slumps back down.

"So does that mean you will marry me?"

“That's not what I said.” She disentangles herself from him and rolls over onto her side of the bed, demonstratively turning her back to him. Frankie has to smile at the pure Jayness of it all.

“What is it that you have against marriage, really?” he wants to know, scooting up to her and spooning her. He kisses her neck like he knows she likes, laying it on thick to placate her. Her tense muscles soften immediately to his touch.

“If we get married, and I find myself ironing your fucking shirts in a house surrounded by a white picket fence, I'm going to scream.”

The thought is so precise and preposterous that Frankie has to fight the laughter bubbling up in him.

“You’ve never ironed anything in your entire life, Jayne.”

“Have too.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Shut the fuck up and let me sleep,” she mutters, pulling his arm tighter around her.

“Love you,” he articulates in his most ingratiating voice, pressing a final kiss to the back of her head.

“I love you too, you annoying fuck.”

Alma joins them later in the night, and when morning comes, Frankie wakes up to find himself pushed to the far side of the bed, the girl hogging a much greater portion of the middle than she needs to. A smile spreads on his face when he sees his firstborn with her flushed cheeks and little rosebud lips slightly parted in sleep. Her hair, curly like his own, is spread out on the pillow like a soft, dark halo, and she looks deceivingly angelic, like she never did anything to deserve the nickname Almageddon, that Benny once so wittily came up with.

Alma may have Frankie’s dark hair and eyes, but she’s all Jay: stubborn, resilient, tough – which in a four-year-old often manifests as strident, active, and exhausting. He wonders if Bianca, who already as a baby is completely different than her big sister, will be more like him. He’s been her main caretaker for the past couple of months, since Jay went back to work, so it wouldn’t be strange if she took after him.

He loves them so much. He wants to give them the world. He will never give up on them.

Jay is curled up on the other side of the bed. He watches her for a little while, admiring every little detail on her face, the light smattering of freckles that show up over her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose in May and disappear again in October, the light brows and lashes, her soft lips. Her hair has grown out and she keeps it in a pixie cut that gives her face a softness it lacked when she kept her head shaved, although it may also be age and motherhood that has smoothed down her jagged edges. It doesn’t matter which it is: she’s still his Jay, the only one for him.

Eventually, he carefully leaves the bed for a quick shower. When he comes back into the bedroom for clean shorts and a t-shirt, Jay’s awake, stretching carefully so the kid won’t be disturbed.

“I’ll make coffee,” he informs her in a low whisper. “There’s a clean towel on the rack in the bathroom.”

He leaves quietly, unaware of the thoughts he stirred up in Jay. She stares at the empty doorway, heart swelling with love from Frankie’s simple yet caring gesture. Coffee. A clean towel. He does these small things all the time, every day, and she has always appreciated them but maybe not always told him out loud. The last few months Frankie’s helpfulness and care has escalated, what with him being a stay-at-home dad and trying to make up for his absence during the last few weeks of Jay’s pregnancy with Bianca. She has seen it, but probably not thanked him as much as she should have.

He doesn’t do it for the thanks, though. He does it because that’s just who he is.

Silently, Jay slides out of bed and throws on her bathrobe before she leaves the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her. She finds Frankie in the kitchen, measuring up coffee for the machine.

“You shower already?” he asks without looking up from his chore.

“Frankie, let’s do it.” Jay comes up to him and puts her hands on his shoulder, making him turn around. Clearly losing count of the spoonfuls of coffee, Frankie frowns at her.

“Do what?”

“Get married.”

He drops the coffee spoon, but thankfully not the whole canister, and Jay feels the tiny coffee grounds spread over her bare feet.

“Are you… are you asking me to marry you?” Frankie asks hoarsely. Jay has to smile at his shock. It’s like he never asked her once a year for the last five years to get married.

“No, I’m not asking, I’m saying yes to all the times you’ve asked.”

She cups his cheek, his stubble familiar against her palm. “And you did ask a lot of times.”

“You serious?” He still can’t believe what he’s hearing, and Jay pats his cheek playfully.

“Do you want to get married or not?” she giggles, and now he’s caught up with her, and is pressing his lips to hers, not deterred by her morning breath.

“I do.”

“Okay, then. How long does it take to get a license?”

Frankie pulls back, a little taken with her sudden hurry.

“You know that they expire, right?” he points out. “We need to set a date first – “

Jay shakes her head as she cuts off his hopes and dreams. “We’re going to the courthouse, and we’re doing it as soon as possible.”

“But… what about our families? And a proper wedding?”

“I agreed to marry you. What more do you want?”

Frankie sighs deeply and takes a step back, grimacing when he feels the coffee grounds under the soles of his feet. “A beautiful wedding day to remember for the rest of our lives.”

“Well, you’re not getting it,” Jay shrugs, reaching for the dish rag and handing it to him. “You can’t have it all, babe.”

“Clearly not.” He looks so forlorn as he crouches to wipe up the coffee that Jay feels bad. She gets the broom and dustpan from the entry and helps Frankie clean the floor.

“Sorry I can’t give you a big wedding,” she tells him in a low voice. “I just find the whole idea so pointless. Why celebrate getting a piece of paper? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You are honestly the least romantic person in the entire world,” he laments dramatically while rinsing the rag in the sink.

“You knew that about me the first time you proposed,” she reminds him with a grin. Frankie smiles back.

“Yeah, and I can live with it. But you know I had to try, right?”

“Wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

She moves into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.

“I do love you, Francisco Morales,” she murmurs, “and I’ll marry you so we’ll have that piece of paper.”

“And I love you, Jayne Ray, and I’m so happy you want to get that piece of paper with me,” Frankie replies, kissing the side of her head. “And I’m gonna call you wife every day for the rest of our lives.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.”

Jay smiles as she moves in for a long, deep kiss that ends with Frankie being pushed against the counter. The canister of coffee falling to the floor, spreading its contents around them.

The next couple of weeks are filled with preparations. As soon as Frankie calls Santi to tell him that both him and Jay are in, Santi begins to plan how to get the company into the country. Will is in charge of the operation, and Benny takes Frankie and Jay with him to an outdoor obstacle course put together by other veterans, and a gym with wall climbing. Jay’s in good basic condition but hasn’t spent as much time in the gym after Bianca as she did after Alma.

“Climbing’s the main thing to master,” is Benny’s opinion, watching Jay scale the medium difficult wall slowly but steadily. Frankie, standing next to him and keeping his eyes fixed on Jay, is having second thoughts for the millionth time.

“You really think we can pull this off?” he asks Benny in a low voice. Glancing at his younger friend, he catches a tightness in his jaw.

“Would you and Jay come if you didn’t believe we had a chance?”

It’s a good point, and Frankie leaves it at that.

Jay’s mother has agreed to take the kids while they’re away. Jay told her a consultation job had come up, and both of them were needed, and that they money was too good to pass up on. If Dorothy believed her or not, Frankie doesn’t know, but Jay reported that there was no problem to be had from her.

A week before the planned departure, the couple announced that they were getting married, and that they needed witnesses. Once the congratulatory hugs and cheers were over and done with, the guys insisted on at least a post-courthouse barbecue, and Jay couldn’t deny that a good cookout was always a nice ending to any day, and so it was settled.

On the day, Frankie insists of going to the courthouse in separate cars. Jay rolls her eyes but accepts, seeing no reason to question his motives on this day. He leaves early, taking Bianca with him, and Jay packs up a couple of things before leaving the house with Alma.

Benny, Will, and Santi are waiting in the courthouse parking lot, and Alma squeals in joy when she sees her precious Uncle Benny. She runs up to him as soon as she’s out of the car, and he hoists her up.

“Let’s get your parents hitched, Almageddon,” he tells her, smiling at the little face crinkling into a frown.

“What’s hitched?”

Benny’s in for it now. Jay doesn’t pay attention to his attempts at explaining marriage, as Frankie’s truck pulls up. He gets out of the car, wearing dark blue jeans and a blue shirt. Without his trademark hat, his appearance seems much more formal than it actually is – and world more formal than Jay in her stonewashed jeans, Doc Martens, and simple blouse. Moreover, he’s had a haircut, and a clean shave. There’s just a small, neat mustache left, and a tuft of hair on his chin. The hair is tidy and a lot shorter than he usually wears it.

“Who would’ve thought that it would take a wedding to clean Fish up?” Santi jabs, and the others join in. Frankie ignores them as he lifts Bianca out in her car seat, and comes up to Jay. She looks him over, lifts her hand to thread her fingers through his hair, and passes her thumb over his upper lip.

“You idiot,” she murmurs with an affectionate smile, “I liked your hair and beard as they are.”

“It’s a big day, I wanted to look nice,” he smiles back, a light blush growing on his cheekbones.

“You always look nice to me.”

Jay brushes her lips over his, ignoring the hoots of the men behind them, before giving his hair a little tug. They go in, and wait their turn. Jay takes the bag she brought with her, and excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

“Don’t be long, it’s almost us,” Frankie tells her, fidgeting a little with Bianca in his arms.

“I wont,” she promises and ducks into the ladies’.

“Dude,” Will tries to ease up Frankie’s nerves, “it’s cool, you got this. It’s five minutes in and out.”

“I know,” Frankie grumbles a little. “I wish it was more. I wish we had a real wedding, with our families and her in a gown – “

“Jay in a gown,” Benny snorts as he turns Alma upside down in his arms, eliciting excited shrieks from her. “Not gonna happen.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Santi notes, looking down the hall. Frankie lifts his gaze and sees Jay returning.

She’s wearing a dress.

Frankie almost drops Bianca at the sight. It’s a white dress. An informal, loose, boho cotton summer dress, but a white dress all the same, with a lace trim along the hem, which reaches halfway down her thighs.

A short summer dress, like he always fantasized about her wearing. He never thought he’d see one on her. She still has the Doc Martens on her feet, but the combination looks great on her, gives her the edge needed to not look overly feminine.

She comes up to the group, a flicker of insecurity in her eyes as she looks at him, all of them unusually quiet.

“Well?” she prompts in a little bark. Frankie tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob.

“Baby. You look… fuck. Jayne. I love you so much.”

He balances Bianca on one hip and pulls Jay against him with his free arm.

“You’re making it weird,” she mutters, but the smile is there, pressed against his lips, as his hand slides down to the small of her back, fingers reaching further down to brush over the top of her ass.

“I’ve seen it all now,” Benny grins at Jay. “You look great, by the way.”

Jay smiles brilliantly at him and shoves her bag over to him, just as her and Frankie’s names are called out. Frankie hands the baby over to Will, and the company goes into the courtroom. The ceremony is short and impersonal, but the I do’s are spoken with firmness and certainty, and Frankie finds that despite his Catholic upbringing, that’s all that matters.

“Do you have rings?” the officiant asks. Jay shakes her head no, but Frankie pulls up a small box from his pocket.

“Hold on.”

He sees the hesitation on Jay’s face and has to smile. She should know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t get her anything she wouldn’t want. He opens the box and takes out a necklace with two small, golden dog tags on a thin gold chain.

“Here,” he says and unclasps the lock, moving behind Jay to put the chain around her neck. “One tag’s got your initial, the other has mine. And both have today’s date.”

Jay looks down at the tags resting against her skin, fingers plucking at them to turn them over and see the engravings. When she meets Frankie’s eyes, he knows he picked right. As soon as the officiant pronounces them married, he pulls Jay in for a kiss, barely noticing the hoots from their witnesses.

“Was that so bad?” he asks her in a low voice. Jay kisses the tip of his nose.

“Not with you, no.”

They sign the documents and Alma throws a tantrum when she hears that she can’t marry Benny on the spot. Bianca, unimpressed by the events, is asleep in Will’s arms.

“Guys,” Frankie clears his throat when they’re back in the parking lot, “I think the missus and I need to get a head start on the food prep at home.”

Jay rolls her eyes but goes along with it. “Yeah, you wouldn’t mind taking the kids to the park for an hour?”

“Food prep, is that what parents are calling it these days?” Will smirks and shakes his head.

“Sounds like you’ve planned quite the feast,” Santi fills in, “maybe you need some help?”

“I think we have it covered,” Frankie replies with dignity.

“An hour,” Benny agrees. “Consider it our wedding gift to you horndogs.”

“What’s a horndog?” Alma wants to know, and Jay immediately asks her if she wants to go to the park with Unkie Benny, which of course is a a given. Santi, having hitched a ride with the Millers, takes Jay’s car, and when the kids are strapped in, Jay gets into Frankie’s truck and they head home.

Forty-five minutes later, Jay rides Frankie to her second orgasm, the white dress still on, with Frankie’s hands up her skirt, holding onto her as she grinds down on him.

“Don’t stop, baby,” he pleads with her, so close to his own release, “little more, baby, that’s it…”

Moaning, Jay hides her face against his neck, hips rolling despite the sense of fullness and satisfaction. Bracing himself on the bed with one hand, Frankie fucks up into her, finally cumming in short bursts. He falls back against the pillows, groaning as his dick twitches inside her, and pulls Jay down over him.

“My wife,” he sighs happily, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

“I hope you’re not going to call me that now.”

“You are my wife. And a smokin’ hot one, too, in that dress.” He runs his hands up her thighs, underneath the fabric. “I’ve been waiting for years to be able to do that.”

“You are so easy to please.”

“And yet, you didn’t put on a dress until now.”

“Can’t give you anything at once, can I?” Jay teases him and gives him a long, toe-curling kiss. He twitches inside her and starts to grow hard again, but Jay reluctantly gets off of him.

“I need to clean myself, they’ll be back soon.”

“Keep the dress on, please?” Frankie asks her as she rises from the bed. Jay throws him a kiss as she leaves the bedroom.

“Sure.”

She uses the toilet and inspects herself in the mirror as she washes her hands. She’s a little flushed, but nothing obscene. The glimmer of gold around her neck catches her eye, and when she’s dried her hands, she lovingly adjusts the necklace.

Frankie comes in and join her by the mirror, wrapping himself around her and kissing her neck.

“You like it?” he murmurs, nibbling at her ear. Jay nods, hands finding his and clasping them.

“I do. It’s perfect, Frankie. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I love you.”

“I love you, too. You’re so good to me, baby. You’ve always been so good to me.”

He looks at her in the mirror, his smile suddenly shy. “It’s easy to be good to you, Jay. You’re my favorite person.”

“And you’re mine. Don’t tell Alma, though.”

He chuckles. “She would end both of us.”

They share a kiss; gentle but full of promises of pleasures yet to come – if the opportunity should present itself later tonight. They have two children, after all.

“Hey,” Jay tells Frankie, passing her fingers through his trimmed hair. “We’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“Even though we’re going to do something extremely illegal and dangerous in four days?” he tries to joke. Jay nods, absolutely certain.

“Yes. We’ve had our share of grief, Frankie, and we love each other and the kids too much to let anything go wrong. We’ll make it back, all five of us.”

Frankie nods, unwilling to think about the journey they’re undertaking in just a couple of days. Today should be about love and family.

“I wouldn’t want anyone but you by my side, Jay.”

“You got me, Frankie.”

[browneyes-issac]

Memphis pt 1 - the backstory.

Frankie Morales x Fem!reader

Summary: Y/N never knew she needed someone to save her from her past until she met Frankie Morales on a sunny day in Memphis, TN.

Warnings: Not very descriptive use of drugs.

Word count: 687

AN: Ok so this is my first fic I'm writing.. So bare with me.. 🙈💞 it's probably gonna be all over the place.. Cause that's how I talk and explain in general.. 🤣🙈 I posted it privately last night while trying to save it to drafts, sooo that is why it says it was posted hours ago.. 😆🙈

Frankie is one of my main comfort characters out of the Pedro boys and I've been to to Memphis, TN once and really wanna go back so I chose that as the town. Also this is kinda a therapeutic story. Some stuff happened today ( yesterday now because I'm posting it the day after lol) and I had an idea of Frankie coming to the rescue. 🥰 I'm gonna do parts, idk how many yet but this first one is gonna be some back story of our main lady and some about Frankie. 🤗 also, idk what town to pick for her home town and Frankie's, so you may pick it as you read, I'm gonna be very basic with description.

Thank you x infinity @stxrrylunatic for reading this over for me and encouraging me to start writing! 💞🥰😘

Y/N hated her hometown but still loved parts of it. She hated the good memories that have turned to bad ones after having to cut off people and the memories of them after things didn't work out. But the good memories were still there, there was a good size handful of them but as time went by she just kept seeing the memories of those people around town.

So she made a pact with herself at young age that as soon as she got a job she would start saving money to move out of the state once there was enough money saved.

The day has come when she is 23. Has her dream car (a 2014 Navy blue Impala), all she needs is what is in that car; the necessary items, the things that bring her comfort, a lotttt of cds, and food & water of course. Today she is going to drive to Memphis, TN to start her new life, has a small apartment and job at a vintage store ready for her once she settles in.

Her parents are sad to see her go, but are over the moon happy for her that she is doing something for herself and getting a fresh start on life.

The drive is about 20 hours. The trip went amazing, nothing troubled her at all, she gets to Memphis around 10 am. So perfect time for breakfast! There is an amazing restaurant call Ms Polly's on Beal Street that she heard amazing things about from her friend that went there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie has been living in Memphis since Colombia. Santi said that it would be perfect for him after his ex kicks him out when he gets back from Colombia, since he didn't come back with anything. She said that it was the only way he was gonna be able to still see their daughter. He was already on thin ice after relapsing after getting layed off from his long time job. He just couldn't take it anymore and had to have a taste of that bliss.

As soon as Santi found out he put him in the best rehab he knew of in town.

Frankie did so fantastic there! 🤗💞

He decided he needed to get a fresh start in a new town. An old friend told him that Memphis is a gorgeous place to live, so he looks into and decides to move there.

-------

Frankie decided to go check out Ms Polly's for breakfast after running some early morning errands.

He wasn't looking where he was walking.. All of a sudden he bumped into someone.

" My god.. " he thought to himself taking this gorgeous woman in. " Oh my goodness!! I'm so sorry I wasn't even paying attention to where I was going, are you alright? " he said nervously to Y/N while rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

**********

Y/N was starving so she was tunnel vision walking to the restaurant, not paying attention to any surroundings.

Next thing she knows she's bumping into someone..

" My god... " she thought to herself taking in this handsome gorgeous man. " I am so so so sorry sir. I swear I need a seeing eye dog or something because I'm always zoning out on where I'm going when it comes to food. " she says while blushing and thinking " why am I rambling so much, he probably thinks I'm crazy. "

Frankie laughs at what she said and has the brightest smile on his face.

Y/N thinks to herself, " oh my goodness, how is he so adorable?? That laugh and smileeee! "

" Do you - " both say at the same time. " you were saying? " Frankie asks while thinking " she is so gorgeous, and that shy rambling.. So cute. "

" I was going to ask if you wanted to share a table for breakfast? If not it's totally ok, I just wanted to offer it's the least I could d- " Y/N said before Frankie interrupts her..

" I would love to. " he says to her with the biggest cutest smile on his face, while once again rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

The end! For now... 👀💞🤗

I hope you liked this little intro to these two! I can't wait to explore the rest of the journey! 🤗

Np tags: @supernaturalgirl20 @prolix-yuy @heythere-mel @guess-my-next-obsession

Don't have read, just tagging some of my favorite writers on here that I think might be interested. 💞

If you would like to be added to the tag list when I decided put new parts out, just shot me an ask ( I'm pretty sure I set it up correctly,lol. ) or DM. 🤗

Main masterlist

[ohheyitsokay]

just a day

welcome to the poly frontier? 

listen absolutely no shade to the other authors who write triple frontier poly fics (I got permission) I just wanted to try my take on what relationships with this group of guys would look like - and I honestly think my execution is going to look really really different. This one’s just for me to explore and start to develop the dynamics, so I really hope you all enjoy!

note: I’m going to say this is an 18+ series, sorry!

pairing: triple frontier guys - Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco (Frankie) “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x (f) reader

wordcount: 2k?

warnings: obviously a poly relationship, which includes kissing, domestic intimacy with all of them (not just with the reader, but not in-between Will and Ben because nope), mild sexual themes

another note: I will not be fetishizing male/male relationships, nor will I be including any romance or sexual between the brothers

>>

You wake up tucked into Will’s chest, his beard tickling your hairline like he fell asleep kissing it. Hand on his chest, you feel the steady rise and fall of it, slow and peaceful in the murky morning light. His arm is around your shoulder, half tangled in your hair, and there’s another arm tucked around your waist from behind - Santi's.

Pressing a kiss to Will’s collarbone, you gently begin the process of extracting yourself, apologizing with soft squeezes instead of words. Their hands find each others in their sleep, and you almost think you made it, for once, before Will’s blue eyes find yours for just a moment. It happens every morning – they need to know you’re okay. 

Verifying the time, he gives a bleary smile before rolling, free arm searching for a pillow to hold against his body in your place during the precious few minutes he has before he needs to get up, too. 

Frankie is in the kitchen already, and of all of them, he’s the best at hearing your quiet footsteps. His arms wrap around your frame, gathering you into him as he relishes the feeling of just you and him, for a moment.

Your nails run over his back, and he shudders at the feeling, smiling at you a little as the two of you pull things out of the fridge. It’s unreasonable, how many groceries you all go through, but feeding them is important to you, a love language in itself. Frankie was the first awake – his coffee is already brewing. In half an hour, give or take, Will and Santi will wander out, and the smells in the kitchen will change, but not yet.

For now, it’s dark roast coffee and there are quiet crunches of the apple you tossed into his broad palm. It’s not enough for the whole day so you tuck a breakfast bar into his work bag for later, with and extra jacket and a water bottle. There’s no need for notes, with him, the slow kisses he shares with you at the door are more than enough to bring him home to you in the evening. Before he can give up his time with you his hand slips under the shirt you’re wearing, just running over your bare side like he has all the time in the world. 

Then his hat is firmly on his head, and he brushes his rough thumb over your cheek, looks at the stairs to the bedroom with just a touch of longing, and slides out the door.

You’re mixing peanut butter into a premade jar of overnight oats when Will wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his warm chest against your back. He’s tired – more than the others, and you let him borrow your strength for long moments. Santi watched from the doorway, giving them too you, his eyes fiercely affectionate, before he sandwiches Will between you half crushing you with their weight.

Laughter is a good way to start the day, even if it breaks the quiet. 

They bump into each other, happy, but silently arguing over who’s turn it is, before Santi relents and slips off to the shower. When you hand Will the jar, he kisses your temple before your mouth, and his hand is firm on your hip. He makes you eat with him, would make you pancakes if he had time, and asks what you’re working on today. His fingers flip the pen in his hand, but he’s too distracted by you to work through the paper like he did before. It’s new, all of you sharing the same space, and there are pros and cons. 

Then they trade places and Santi's body is damp and insistent as he kisses you, a little too needy for a man who has less than twenty minutes before he has to leave. You cant really deny him, though, indulging his touching while exploring him in turn, before pushing his distractingly bare chest away from you. He talks about his day a lot, considering it hasn’t happened yet, but his passion is contagious. He isn’t planning on telling you, but he fixed a bug on your laptop last night before he went to bed, and hid your favorite chocolate in your desk.

The kitchen smells like juice and granola now, and the ache of waking up is seeping out of your limbs.

When Benny comes out, you expect him to complain about the noise, but he doesn’t, just ruffles his hair and hugs Santi sleepily from behind.

His energy hasn’t quite built for the day, but he cant really sleep in like he wants to, and likes to see them off. He was restless last night, you could tell even with Santi between you on the bed, and you wonder if he relaxed at all. You give them space, retreating to get yourself ready and set up in your home office, pausing to send Will off with kisses and well wishes. When he forgets his timing and kissed down your neck, you hook your fingers in to his belt loops and he almost calls in sick.

It doesn’t happen, though, he’s too responsible without extra encouragement, and his eyes crinkle as he promises to continue, later.

Then it’s Santi and Benny’s turn, looking silly with the former prepared for tedious meetings and the other in his pajama's with a duffle bag, but that’s how it goes, sometimes. 

When Benny finishes at the gym, he finds you working away, lost in your music, and hovers at the door for awhile before his eagerness for you wins out. His hands are needy, but he doesn’t say words – his eyebrows speak for him and you nearly give in to his big, pleading eyes. 

He likes it when you run your hands through his hair, and you do, and press a promise into his cheek with your lips. You know today isn’t a day he wants to plan fights or check emails or update his socials, but he gets to it anyway, waiting for you, and needed to feel productive. They’re all too smart, beautifully, wonderfully overpowered with strength and mind and love and you know they cant help but direct it somewhere, Benny included.

As you finish your work for the morning your phone tells you the others are meeting up for lunch, and you thank them individually for the chance to give Ben a little extra attention.

Last night’s fight hadn’t gone great. The four of you had rallied behind him afterwards, patching him up while Santi yelled about justice and Frankie forced him to eat and drink, but now was time for something different. You were the center of this world they’d created, the one who’s undivided attention meant everything to them. 

Ben rarely wanted to talk about the pain, during, needed to punch it out at the gym or be soothed by Santi's validation before seeking you for heated, slightly painful kisses. Now, though, he’s frustrated with himself, and seeing it hurts in your chest like the cut across his skin.

You settle onto the huge bed in his corner, offering him your arms and a smile that soothes the throbbing in his bruises. This is a moment just for the two of you, and he takes full advantage, tucking his head onto the pillow of your chest and letting your hands wander his shoulders and hair and neck. Ben starts out ranting, but gets distracted along the way, soaking in your attention and the sliver of skin exposed on your stomach.

He kisses along the line, unable to resist half smiling at you as he licks it, almost losing himself to the temptation to go a round with you all on his own. They wouldn’t mind, really, but he doesn’t, just shifts back up to press your mouth against his. It’s slower and it’s nice for him not to have to be intense, with you.

The afternoon is spent quietly, both of you working diligently, knowing the others are doing the same, so you can cherish your precious free evening. You find a note from Frankie, a little inside joke that he knows will remind you of a story, and it makes you text him something that will make him laugh. 

At some point Santi calls you, frustrated, needing to verbal process, and the three of you on speaker phone navigate it with the gusto of heroes on a fantastical adventure. Will’s logic is absent with him, but you get the feeling it hardly matters, this time around. In truth, Ben is better at working the tightness out of Santi’s voice, and when you talk, you can hear him sigh like you’ve scrubbed a bit of darkness out of his day. 

When he gets home his mood is much improved and he picks Benny up with a grunt, spinning him around once, thick arms careful of the younger man’s sore spots. You get an equally soft kiss, and you smack him when he squeezes your ass, a glint in his eye.

There’s still a bit of shyness in Ben as he asks Pope to look over the videos from the fight, still a bit of awe and raw respect for the older man, and it makes you melt a little to see. The men are tentative sometimes, about the developments in their relationships with each other, but some things needn’t change. 

The couch is nice, a recent purchase, and you have a matching chair you like to settle in, mostly ignoring the distant voices and glancing out the window through the leaves of a large tree in the front yard. There’s a story on your phone you’ve been meaning to catch up on, and it’s peaceful, reading as the clouds float by.

There’s sounds of tires rolling over the gravel, and it makes you laugh when you open the door to see Ironhead and Catfish carrying no less than a small crate of take-out from Benny’s favorite Italian place. Unpacking it, Will spends more time invading your space, catching up, and flirting with you than Frankie does. He would never say it aloud, but he’s excited to see the reaction to their surprise.

He gets a perfect one – Benny yells when he smells it, and is jumping up and down, and the way Frankie’s chest puffs tells you it was his idea. Will gives you a squeeze and you know he’s proud, too, if for different reasons. He takes the moment of distraction, while the attention is on his brother, to slip his hand in your back pocket and kiss you without anyone noticing. If he had his way, he would yank you into the laundry room, but the idea of eating together keeps your feet planted and he sighs against your mouth. 

The boys eat like they’re starved, before they’re grabbing at you, coaxing you into the living room, and you’re beyond thankful there’s not really dishes to do. It’s not that they would make you do them, but it’s nice for all of you to be able to ride out the remarkably low-effort evening. 

Santi is insistent it’s his turn – the others have all had their time with you today, and only Will grumbles. They compromise, your legs over the later,  your side in the protective hallow of the formers chest. You choose a movie at random, knowing they’ll talk through it if you do. It’s nice, to listen to them banter from the cozy arms wrapped around you.

They get caught up talking about an old friend you’ve never met, and Frankie tries to explain things to you as they rapid-fire stories and bets on where he is now. You roll your eyes when you lose track again and again, but it’s full of joy, and he catches it before getting pulled into a ridiculous debate. 

Hands run over your calves, gently kneading, and you wonder if Will even knows he’s doing it – taking care of you is his second nature.

The film is finished but the talking hasn’t, now moved on to the inaccuracies in the movie as they try to outdo each other with random useless knowledge. There’s no real annoyance in their voices as they bite at each other, and you think that really, nothing has changed, and it’s good.

At some point you doze off.

There’s hushed arguing, and Frankie wins, scooping you into his sturdy arms and carrying you to bed. He likes the way you murmur your thanks, and his heart pounds as you sleepily pull off his hat and toss it somewhere. It makes him feel like you knew it was him, could feel it was, even in your mostly unconscious state. It’s a nice feeling, and he tucks it away in his mind, hoping to save it for if ever he get’s jealous. 

The sleeping arrangements are a mess – Will has tried multiple times to make cohesive charts, and none of them stick. It’s a tangle of limbs and everyone shifts depending on temperature and general neediness. Santi laments the choice of a movie over a long evening of unhurried lovemaking, and receives and smack on the stomach in return. It makes you wake, halfway, and when your arms reach for him, he forgets his previous complaints.

They settle at their own pace, quiet conversations floating in and out of your dreams, and the sounds of teeth being brushed and plans being made make you smile. Tomorrow maybe, you’ll be up without a thought, awake and talking or kissing with whoever else didn’t need as much sleep, but for now, you didn’t mind. It was just day, with many before and many to come.

>>

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[pascalpanic]

Sunscreen (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: You take a trip with Frankie and his three idiotic best friends. They find an interesting purchase in the gift shop.

W/C: 2.9k

Warnings: language, implied sexual content, lots of innuendo and flirting

A/N: HI!!! this is the first fic of the Beyond The Sea series Rach and I are writing! I can’t wait for everyone to read these! I also love @mandoalorian for doing this with me and putting up with my shit!

and happy birthday to the man behind it all!! lots of love for Pedro on this day <3

The moment Frankie steps off the plane and into the hot weather, he feels instantly at peace. He’d never even heard of St. Kitts before Santiago brought it up a few months ago, but as he looks around, he’s already thinking this might have to be the place he brings you on your honeymoon someday, once he gets the courage to propose.

Your bright laughter rings out behind him, a few steps higher as you walk down the stairs for deplaning. “It’s gorgeous,” you grin, wrapping your arms around Frankie’s neck from behind and pressing a loud kiss to his cheek.

“Shut the fuck up and keep it moving,” a loud voice calls from further behind Frankie- it’s Santiago, grumpy from the somewhat-long flight. The energetic man hates sitting still for too long. “You two can make out at the hotel. There’s a whole plane behind us.”

Sighing, you walked along until both you and Frankie had your feet on solid ground. Frankie pulls you into his side with a strong arm, kissing the top of your head and grinning at the way he can already feel a little sweat forming on his brow. God, it’s fucking hot. He loves it. It’s not the grueling heat that plagued the men when they were at boot camp all those years ago; it’s not the sticky humidity that makes Frankie’s curls turn to tufts of frizz beneath his ball cap. It’s just right, he thinks, as a cool breeze rushes through and moves the still heat of the tarmac. “Welcome to paradise, baby,” Frankie grins as he slides his hand down your arm until your fingers lace together.

-

The resort is beautiful. The lobby is open-aired and gorgeous, with high ceilings and marbled floors. You bounce excitedly alongside Frankie as the two of you walk in, the other three men trailing behind. Benny makes comments to Will about how the two of you are about to be insufferable, and Frankie turns and shoots him a glare.

After you check in, you drag your luggage up to the highest floor. The other three men go to their respective hotel room next door, and Frankie opens the door to your room for you.

As soon as you walk inside, your breath is taken away by the large window, showing you the expanse of the Caribbean Sea, glimmering turquoise. A hand reaches up to cover your mouth, eyes watering as you look up at Frankie. “Oh my god,” you murmur and drop your bags, rushing over.

Frankie had planned this moment. He knew you’d never seen the ocean before just moments ago, but knew you’d love it. You’ve always loved water, loved swimming in pools and creeks and any body of water you could find. The two of you had kept your little window shut during the flight, preventing you from any sneak peeks. “You like it?” he asks as he walks after you, where your face and hands are pressed to the glass.

With eyes sparkling from tears, you turn to him with a grin. “It’s gorgeous.”

“You know there’s a balcony right there,” he teases, putting a hand on your waist and pointing to the side where there’s a sliding glass door. “I’m an idiot,” you laugh and rush over to open it. You step out into the warm air once again, and the smell of sea salt fills your lungs. You can hear the rushing of the ocean, the way it crashes against the shore.

Frankie steps out after you, removing the flannel over his t-shirt. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I think you’re an ocean kind of girl,” he tells you quietly, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I think you’re right,” you agree and grin, kissing the side of his face.

The peaceful moment is interrupted, as always, by a loud whoop from Benny. The sliding door on the balcony over flies open and out rush the Miller brothers and Santiago. “It’s fuckin’ amazing!” Benny laughs as he grips the railing tight, leaning out over it.

“Calm down, Ben,” Will laughs but steps out as well, resting his forearms on the railing. “Look at that. The lovebirds beat us to it.”

“Ah, damn, so they can’t fuck out here now,” Santi teases, causing you to make a face of annoyance.

You lean back against Frankie and roll your eyes. “I was just telling Fish I’ve never seen the ocean,” you admit, placing your hands on his forearms and tracing the strong skin with the pads of your thumbs.

“Really?” All three men ask in sync, surprised.

You nod and shrug. “Parents never took me as a kid or anything, and I’ve never really left the Midwest before I met you fuckers,” you chuckle as you watch the white-capped waves rolling along out in the water.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Santiago grins over at you. It was his whole idea to come, and you’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it. “Could’ve mentioned it sooner though.”

“Didn’t think it mattered,” you shrug, smiling at the way you can feel Frankie’s chest bounce with a laugh. “Come on, let’s go to the beach,” you turn in Frankie’s arms and ask him with a grin, eyes wide with excitement.

“Sure thing, babe,” he nods and steals one more kiss before the two of you walk back into the hotel room.

There’s a voice from the other balcony before Frankie slides the door shut. “We’re going to the bar,” Santi yells. “Meet us there after!”

-

“What the fuck is this?” Will Miller’s gruff voice conveys across the gift shop, to where you’re admiring a shibori-dyed garment.

Looking up, you hear Benny’s loud laugh. “No way. Why would they even make this shit?” You wander over to where the four men have congregated, all staring at something in Will’s hands.

Santiago does the work for the three of you who have yet to see it and reads the label on the bottle aloud. “Seduction: pheromone sunscreen.” He laughs, absolutely in disbelief. “Awaken her passion with this pheromone-infused tanning lotion. Contains a masculine fragrance and the male pheromone, to attract a female. Damn. Does it work?” He asks the woman behind the counter, who shrugs in response.

Frankie picks up the bottle, and Will grabs another, reading the fine print. “Why in the hell did someone think this was necessary?”

You shrug and lean against him to read it too. “I don’t know. Probably for guys like Will who are desperate,” you tease, earning a playful shove that pushes you into Frankie and makes you lose your balance for a moment. “Fucker,” you mutter and steady yourself on your boyfriend’s arm.

“I’m buying it,” Santiago announces and puts it on the check-out counter. “Fish, I’m going to steal your girl with this,” he declares and pulls you into his side. “The power of the pheromone sunscreen.”

Laughing, you allow it to happen. “Maybe it’ll be irresistible, I don’t know.”

“Hey, don’t awaken my girl’s passion, man,” Frankie whines teasingly and pulls you back, wrapping both arms around you protectively. “If you’re using it, Santi, I’m using it too. It’s only fair.”

“It’s only fair if you don’t,” he shoots back. “She already loves you. It’s not like it’s gonna make her think you’re hotter. It’s only fair if I do it alone, and you’re the control.”

“Hi, I’m not a lab rat,” you speak up and push Santiago’s chest teasingly. “Try it on yourself and see if you can make other girls around here fall in love with you. Better yet, like I said, put it on Will. That’s a real test.”

The quietest of the men is your favorite to tease, mainly because of how he takes it. “You’ve never been in the ocean. I will personally make sure you never get to,” he threatens, lunging after you and making you squeal and dodge it.

-

“Is it working?” Santiago asks, giving you a full body twirl. You have to admit, the man is good-looking: you’ve always known it, and his glistening abs definitely emphasize it. Sadly for him, nothing about the pheromone sunscreen is making him unbearably attractive in your eyes. Your eyes are hidden behind mirrored sunglasses as you look at him, but you pull them down to roll your eyes at the ridiculous man.

“No,” you say with a sweet smile, taking Frankie’s hand from where it rests on his chest. He’s lying next to you in the two-seat cabana, wearing his swim trunks and ever-present ball cap. “I like this one still,” you grin as you run your eyes up and down his body.

Frankie grins back at you. “Maybe I’ll have to try that shit out,” he laughs, adjusting his hat. “If it’s so seductive, I wouldn’t mind having you all over me.”

Santiago makes a gagging noise and wanders down the beach, to where the Miller boys are playing sand volleyball a hundred yards or so away. “You know that you don’t need that for me to be all over you, baby,” you grin and lean over to give him a kiss. “Can we go swim?” You ask, sitting up and putting your sunglasses on your head.

Frankie sighs softly. This cabana was just getting comfortable. “I was thinking we could tan first,” he says, cracking his neck. “But if you want to, let’s go.”

You squeal and hop up, taking off the sunglasses before tugging on your bikini top and adjusting the bra. Frankie ogles your chest in the swimsuit and you smack his arm. “Francisco Morales, cut that out or I’m going to sit you back down and suck your dick right now.”

Frankie gulps. “Is that an offer, or-”

“Come on, Fishie,” you laugh. Grabbing his arm, you take off running through the sand, leaving him to follow. You both grin as the sand flies around you, the warm wind brushing against your skin. When you reach the edge of the water, you stand at the edge for a second and let the water rush over your feet and ankles. You look up at Frankie with big and confused eyes. “The water is so warm,” you laugh, slightly confused as you wade a little deeper.

“It’s the Caribbean Sea, babe,” Frankie chuckles, walking backwards and holding your hands, leading you deeper into the water.

“I guess,” you chuckle as the warm water surrounds more and more of your legs. “I suppose I just- Frankie!”

Note to self: never turn your back on the ocean, you mentally conclude as a wave hits Frankie from behind and knocks him over, into the salty and sandy water. You laugh a little as he falls over with a large splash, squealing as the water sprays you. He comes up a moment later, shaking his head to get the water out of your eyes. “Come on in, it’s really warm,” he tells you with a laugh, spitting the salty sea water out of his mouth. It’s only about thigh deep now, and you look down at him and wade a little deeper. He swims out and you follow, grinning.

“Hey, Frankie,” you ask, when the water reaches your navel.

“Yeah, babe?” he asks, confused when you drop your hands.

“Catch me!” You squeal as you jump onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms catch you, but he purposely falls backwards until the both of you are under the crystal-clear water.

When you surface, you wipe your face. “That wasn’t what I meant by catch me,” you laugh, swimming over to your boyfriend, who’s surfaced in a shoulder-deep area.

“Doesn’t matter. Now you went all the way under,” he grins at you. “Now you’ve really swam in the ocean- swam? Swum?”

“Have been in,” you offer, laughing and wading over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, then your legs, and his arms encircle your middle. “It doesn’t matter. I love you so fucking much, Frankie,” you tell him with a wide grin, looking over his shoulder at the waves further out.

“I love you too, baby,” he mumbles and kisses you. His lips taste like the salt water the two of you have been submerged in. His hands grip your hips as he wanders through the water, you hanging off of him like a koala.

You rest your face in his neck, admiring the scent of seawater and sunscreen and Frankie’s skin. Frankie starts singing a terrible version of the Piña Colada Song, making you laugh and press a loving kiss to the side of his face. “Is this your way of telling me you want to hit the bar?” You tease and squeeze him a little tighter.

“Maybe. You know I hate the flying part of getting here.” It’s ironic, you’ve always thought, but you suppose it makes sense that Frankie doesn’t really like airplanes. Helicopters are and always have been his forte, and it’s a feeling you understand: when he isn’t the one flying, he gets antsy. Things are out of his control, and he doesn’t like that. “I just need a strong drink and some lovin’ from you and I think I can finally relax.”

You grin and pull back, kissing him happily for a moment before pulling back and grinning. “Well, one part of that accomplished,” you grin. A realization hits you and you gasp. “Oh my god. You’re Fishie, and you’re in the ocean,” you laugh. “How did you ever get that name?” You ask, suddenly curious.

Frankie shakes his head, his hair starting to curl as it dries. The salty water makes it even wavier. “Doesn’t matter.”

You shrug and rest your head in his neck. You sigh and enjoy the feeling of Frankie’s arms and the warm water, the way a breeze rushes past and makes the back of your neck chilly from the drops of water resting there. Frankie mindlessly watches the other three men playing volleyball, wandering around the water with you. “Frankie?” You murmur into his skin.

“Yeah baby?”

“This has already been the best vacation ever, and it’s the first full day,” you tell him and remove yourself from his body, standing next to him in the water.

He grins and kisses you softly, wrapping an arm around your side to keep you close. “I fully agree.”

The two of you wander up to the shore a while later, plopping back down in your cabana. Will has gone to the bar and comes back with tropical drinks for each of you, which you hold in one hand and sip, your boyfriend’s hand in your other one.

A while later, Santi and Benny run back, covered in sweat from the heat and the game. “How about now, huh?” He asks you, flexing his arms, grinning.

You play into it, gasping and sitting up straight. “Oh, Santi,” you coo seductively, pouting. The face drops immediately. “Nope. Not working.” “Ah, should’ve figured. Anyone attracted to Fish would have weird preferences,” he shakes his head.

Frankie takes the alcohol-saturated lime from the rim of his drink and throws it at him, which makes a smack noise as it makes contact with Santiago’s chest. “Fuck off.”

“I will do no such thing,” Santi grins at him and plops down in the chair next to him. “My sole job here is to pester you two lovebirds and ruin your wonderful vacation.”

Benny, ever the prankster, sneaks up behind Santiago and pours a glass of ice water from the bar over his head. Santiago practically squeals at the sensation and Benny launches off into a run. Santiago follows. “You little shit! Just because you’re a fighter doesn’t mean I’ll kick your ass, Benjamin!”

The two of them occupied and Will up at the bathroom, you sigh as you roll over onto your stomach. “Frankie baby, will you sunscreen my back?” you ask him, propping yourself up on your arms.

“Sure thing,” he nods, sitting up and grabbing the bottle from your beach bag. He gets up and squirts some in his palms before working it into your lower legs, then your upper thighs. When he reaches your ass, he takes a few liberties in squeezing it. “That’s not how you put on sunscreen, flyboy,” you tease and giggle at the motions.

“Just got carried away,” he chuckles and works at your lower back, then your shoulders and arms. “There. All good.”

“Thanks, baby,” you coo and kiss him softly when he sits back down. “You want some too?” He nods, flopping onto his back. You repeat what he did, standing and working on his legs.

The further you get up his thighs, you can hear his breath hitch slightly, the wet swim trunks sticking tight to a hardening crotch. “Frankie,” you coo, working your hands up beneath the fabric.

“Sorry,” he winces, willing himself to force the growing erection down. Naturally, it doesn’t work.

You giggle softly, working some sunscreen into his stomach. “Don’t be. Pull up that shade, baby,” you tell him, referring to the shade that can completely cover the cabana when pulled up.

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckles as you pull his swim trunks down just enough. “Guess I didn’t need that stupid pheromone sunscreen,” he murmurs hurriedly as the shade covers the both of you.

-

Beyond The Sea Masterlist

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic

[writefightandflightclub]

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees​. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to  read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @casifer-is-king​ (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman​

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.  

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.  

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.  

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.  

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.  

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

[oogaboogasphincter]

Kinktober Day 18

💜my kinktober masterlist

pairing: frankie morales x gn!reader

prompt: c*ck worship💚hand jobs💚sex work/prostitution (prompt list by @the-purity-pen)

rating: E (explicit) 18+ only!

word count: 1.0k+

warnings: oral (m receiving), deepthroating, a lil bit of gagging, frankie’s stressed at the beginning but not at reader, inexcusable abandonment of good pizza in order to give a blowjob, a couple of swears, food and alcohol mention+the tiniest bit of drinking, reader is gender neutral and no use of afab or amab

author’s note: i want to start writing more gender neutral fics so that more readers can enjoy them :) i hope they’re just as enjoyable as my f! or afab! reader pieces. feel free to let me know if you liked it! also mechanic!frankie was directly inspired by @pascalpanic​‘s Miller Morales Mechanic Shop series, which i highly recommend you check out! :)

gif by @djarsdin​

Frankie had had a shit day. The most annoying customers had rolled into his mechanic shop; more than half of them questioned the validity of his recommendations. 

If you can fix it so well yourself, why’d you bother coming here? he grumbled under his breath after an apprehensive eyebrow at his diagnosis of a battery in need of replacing. 

Benny wasn’t much help. He had been KOed in a fight over the weekend, leaving him with a puffy purple eyelid, a crooked nose and a fat lip. Frankie didn’t blame Benny, he commemorated him for even showing up to work; but his lack of energy didn’t go unnoticed. 

Santi and Will had called at lunch. Instead of feeling warm from hearing his friends, they made him feel guilty for not being able to see them in weeks. Frankie explained that work was busy (Benny verified this) and that he was just too tired to go out like they used to. All Santi did was huff and brush it off as an excuse.

Now on the couch with a cold beer at his side, showered and changed from his coveralls to flannel pajamas and a sweatshirt, Frankie tries to relax. He has taken a few sips from the bottle but they haven’t done much to ease his tension. Running his thumb along the mouth of it, he can’t find the motivation to keep drinking, so he sets the beer on the end table. Frustrated he can’t muddy his crankiness with liquor, he tries to watch the baseball game playing on the television in front of him. He’s not fond of either team, but there’s nothing else on that is remotely interesting. After a few snail-paced pitches, his agitation is nipping at him more than before. Even the colors of the players’ jerseys are starting to piss him off.

Let’s gain some speed, he thinks. He searches for a hockey game, imagining the catharsis that is paired with watching a fight break out amongst skaters, but he comes up with nothing. Just as he’s about to call it quits and go to bed early, you come through the door.

“Hey Franks!” you shout through the house. His hand peeks up from behind the back of the couch in a wave as you turn to find the source of the mouthwatering scent that hit you in the face when you came in: his favorite takeout pizza. 

“Ooh, nice!”

You grab a slice and plop down on the couch next to him. Heat radiates off of him in waves, but it’s not the alluring kind. You’ve learned sometimes it’s better to let him wallow in his emotions, but in instances like these you feel that you could help, “What’s wrong?”

He shrugs, running a weak hand through his damp hair, “Just a shitty day at work.”

You lean forward and set your uneaten pizza on the coffee table to attend to something that caught your eye when you sat down. Your fingers skim over Frankie’s pajama bottoms and wrap around his half-hard cock gently. Lips find his neck, peppering soft kisses up to his ear, where you whisper, “Can I make you feel better?”

He turns and gives you a kiss, parting with a tired grin and crinkled eyes, “I would but I’m fucking exhausted, honey.” 

“Who said anything about you doing the work?”

His eyebrows raise at that statement, his smile widening. He chuffs, “Well, in that case...”

The room is filled with laughter as you take your place on your knees, on the floor in front of him. He lifts his ass up so you can pull down his pajamas just enough so that his cock springs free. The man wears at least two layers on the daily, you have no idea how he can be so cold all the time, and it only gets worse when he’s tired.

You begin by licking over every square centimeter of his dick. Testicles, shaft, frenulum, head - the whole region is covered in a layer of saliva. Your palms find his hips, gaining leverage. Then, ever so slowly, you fit his entire length down your throat. His fingers intertwine with yours on his lap, a swear flowing out of his mouth in an intoxicated breath. You hum around him before retracting; your tongue flicks his tip over and over again. Brows furrowing in pleasure, the grip he has on your hands tightening, you lower to swirl your tongue around the delicate skin of his balls. He looks to the ceiling, knowing that if he watched you devour his cock for any longer then he would cum instantly. Stretched tendons in his neck beg you to leave his cock and suck love bites onto them, but you keep to his lower half and just admire.

Assuming a pattern of gagging on his length and focusing on the tip, you can tell Frankie’s dangerously close to cumming. His fingers stutter around yours, his moans are getting louder and, every now and then, he can’t stop his hips from bucking into your mouth, pushing his cock deeper down. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

Releasing him, you tease, “Yeah?”

He nods frantically, licking the inside of his bottom lip, “Yeah.”

You take his cock back in your mouth, you take it back deep. Deeper than before. So deep that when you wiggle the tip of your tongue, spit leaks onto his balls with a tickle of your wet muscle. His earlier warning soon proves to be true when thick white ropes spurt out of him. 

You choke on his release but are committed to doing whatever it takes to keep up those ecstatic groans clawing their way out of his chest. Any trace of pain in your throat is overtaken by searing pleasure when you feel his hand on the back of your head, keeping you in place. Despite all of the action going on in your mouth, you moan with him; the vibrations only add to the intensity of his orgasm. With a wiggle of your head, rubbing his overstimulated tip against the back of your throat, you release him.

You tease him again, “Do you feel any better?”

The aftershocks of his orgasm are making him feel all warm and sleepy. His head lolls to his shoulder, eyes almost closing in bliss, “Fuck yeah, I do,” he leans forward to cup your cheek, “Give me 15 minutes and I’ll return the favor, honey.”

💘taglist: @pascalpanic

[prettylilhalforc]

Hello lovely darling!

I have come with a prompt for some possible feel goodness? Flirting with your lover from across the room + our Daddy Santi? Perhaps they're at a party with the rest of the crew, their relationship is new, they're keeping it a secret for now (but let's be real, it's going to be pretty obvious since they're going to be eye-fucking from across the room)

Thank you for being such a wonderful, caring person. I appreciate you!

Wifey, my love, kardia mou, a thousand apologies that this is so delayed. I am having quite a difficult time trying to write a solid fic, so I hope that a head canon drabble will suffice. This turned out to be a lot more angsty to begin with but it gets better, I promise!

TW: 18 + ONLY!!!!! Allusions to military service, potential PTSD, reference to Tom's death, readjustment into civilian life, angst, grief, SMUT, P in V sex, F!reader x Pope (blank canvas), desperate Pope, cheeky Reader.

Length: 730 words.

It began after Colombia. Born from the grief and guilt that followed from Redfly's death. Both of you left adrift, questioning what next?

Benny threw himself back into MMA. Will had his fiancé and work with the VA. Frankie had Bella and the prospect of piloting once more. But with your self and Pope? Neither of you had an anchor.

Fish had always claimed the pair of you were proverbial peas in a pod. Bull headed, idealistic, with a restlessness that couldn't be sated.

The two of you floated listlessly upon returning home. It became habit. At each gathering, the pair of you the last ones remaining, wistfully reminiscing about what was. Jaded but hopeful. Swapping war stories of the unsettling re-entry into civilian life. The banality of it all. The lack of connection. Unaccustomed to being without use.

Harden hearts slowly cracking until one humid summer's night, everything spilled forth and overflowed. Fueled by cheap tequila and all the 'what could have been's ' the two of you fell into each other. Clinging desperately to stay afloat after all the blood and bullshit.

It began as an urge to sate the hunger for something more. All teeth and tongues. Viciously tearing the other apart, shedding your skin to be born anew.

That first night, Santiago took you right there on the grass. Knees bruised, skin scored; left writhing in the dirt. For the first time in what felt like eons, the pair of you felt whole. Each thrust of his cock piercing to the heart of you. Burying himself within your warm, wet cunt. Attempting to anchor himself at your very core.

For the first time in eons, you felt like you were home.

Breathless and panting, you spoke not a word. Terrified to acknowledge what had happened for the fear of losing the only mooring you had left.

It became habit to fuck away the pain. Falling into each others arms again and again after each gathering. After each failed interview, every lackluster date. Nothing could give either of you the same sense of fulfilment. The connection.

A seed was planted that night. It took root and unknowingly bound you together.

Each time it became harder and harder to disguise the need to touch, to taste. To feel and intertwine.

Bastard knew it too. It soon became a game. The both of you seeking that rush. Each daring to out do the other.

And tonight you felt particularly bold. Spirits were high on the back of Benny's last bout. New faces intermingled with old.

It was the perfect opportunity for mischief. Deliberately teasing at the hemline at your chest while chatting with Will's fiancé. Each pull of your lips between your teeth. Every subtle stretch and glance designed to drive him over the edge.

It did not go unnoticed. Eyes blown black, Santi sits and stews in it. Letting it boil and bubble over until it threatens to consume him.

"How long hermano?" Fish manages to interject with a knowing grin plastered on his face, pulling Pope from his sordid daydream.

"No tengo idea de lo que estas hablando." Santi remains stubborn as ever. I have no idea what you're talking about.

"No me mientas, prácticamente la estás follando desde el otro lado de la habitación. ¿Cuánto tiempo la has amado?" Frankie hardens. Don't bullshit me, you're practically eye fucking her from across the room. How long have you loved her?

The immovable object to Pope's unstoppable force.

Just like Santiago is unmoored. Leave it to Fish to dig through the bullshit and cut to the heart of the matter.

"I- I don't know." He flounders, swept up in the tumult of all things left unsaid. Raw emotion flooding through him.

Fuck.

You're the only thing that has kept him from drowning after all these years.

"For as long as I've known you, you've never hesitated. What are you doing just standing here, cabrón? We all know. Now go!" Fish pushes Pope forward, rolling his eyes.

Santiago downs the dregs of his beer. Waddling through the crowd feels like trawling through mud. With each step, the fear swells, threatening to drown him.

But your shy, knowing smile is a beacon. Beckoning him back to shore. His arms anchor themselves around your waist while you're deep in conversation.

There's no hesitation in your eyes.

Just warmth. It blossoms in his chest.

For the first time in eons, he feels like he's home.