#pope garcia x reader

[tropes-and-tales]

Fairy Godmother, Part II

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader)

CW:  Slight angst, fluff.

Word Count: 2757

AN:  This was originally requested by an anonymous person, and it is the sequel to this.

Christmas morning comes far later than Santi would have thought.  Sophie sleeps in—exhausted, he guesses, from all the excitement.  He wakes around six, makes his way to the kitchen and starts the coffee machine.

A beat later he hears the quick click of the guest room door, then the creak of floorboards as you make your way towards him.

“Morning,” you say behind him.

“Merry Christmas,” he replies.  He holds out an arm, and you pause for a second before you tuck yourself against him in a side hug.

“Kiddo’s still asleep?  I’m shocked.”

Santi jostles you against him.  “She’s wiped out.  Her favorite person came home yesterday and she was exhausted.”

“I’m hardly her favorite person,” you reply, and he hears the smile in your voice.  “Soph is a daddy’s girl through and through.”

“But I’m the guy who makes her brush her teeth and wear shoes when we go out.  You’re the woman who sends her fun gifts from faraway lands.”

“The faraway lands of airport duty free shops.”

You have a quiet moment in the dawn light.  Santi pours your coffee, pours his own, and just as he’s gearing up to perhaps ask you about Tom and his interference in your lives, there’s a shriek and a thump down the hallway.  A second later, Sophie’s bedroom door flies open, and Christmas morning starts in earnest.

-----

He can’t bring it up until that evening.  The day is a flurry of activity.  Sophie attacks the gifts under the tree like a rabid animal, and breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes courtesy of you—only amps her up further on sugar. 

Frankie and his wife and son stop by for a quick visit on their way to Frankie’s parents’ Christmas get-together, and Santi watches as Frankie gives you a big hug and welcomes you home.

“Thanks, Frankie,” you reply.  “It’s good to be back.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Just through the weekend.  Then I fly back.”

Frankie’s wife shakes her head.  “You can’t stay longer?  It’d be nice to have another women around here.”

You smile and glance between Frankie and Santi.  “They do get obnoxious when they’re all together, don’t they?”

Santi makes a noise of mock-outrage, but he notices that Frankie only smiles a bit, then tilts his head as he studies you.  He’s quiet for a moment before he replies, more seriously, “you know, you’d make a lot of people happy if you moved back here.”

You miss his meaning entirely.  You laugh lightly, wave him off.

“Oh, no,” you tell him.  “Sophie would get bored of me soon enough.”

It’s Frankie’s wife who glances between the two men, the three of them sharing a knowing look that you miss entirely too.  Santi lifts his eyebrows at them, lifts his shoulders faintly, as if to say, “I’ll fill you in later.”

By the time the Morales family leaves, it’s time for lunch.  Santi is no slouch in the kitchen, and with your help, you whip up a feast.  Which is largely lost on Sophie, who is so hyped on sugar and new toys and visitors that she’s unruly, in that space where she can’t focus and hears but doesn’t listen.  And Santi usually has endless patience, but he’s hyped up on things too, nervous and anxious, wanting to talk to you but afraid of how the conversation may turn.  He gets snappish with his daughter, which makes her cry, which makes you intervene, which makes Sophie wail, which makes Santi feel like a monster.

“It’s okay.”  You pull Sophie into your lap and let her cry.  You rub her back and rock her a bit, and you look at Santi.

“It’s okay,” you say softer.  “She’s just tired.”

Santi huffs.  He knows she’s tired.

“Maybe you’re just tired too,” you add.

Maybe.  He hasn’t slept well, pretty much since he knew you were coming to visit.  He worked, took care of Soph, then spent his nights and weekends cleaning, preparing for you.  He laid in bed awake, imagining how the visit may go.  He laid in bed and tossed and turned and remembered every single moment with you:  the long nights when Sophie was a colicky baby, the lazy days when you sat with Santi and took his mind off of Julie.  Every moment large and small, monumental and mundane.

“Why don’t I get her down for a  nap, and you lie down too?  I can clean up from lunch,” you continue.

Santi huff again.  “No way.  You’re a guest—”

“And I know where everything goes.  And you’re exhausted too.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Let me put Soph down.  You lie down too.”  A beat, and you grin at him, add, “unless you need tucked in with a story too.”

He smiles back; it feels just like before, just like before you left.  “Yes, please.”

You stand up with Sophie in your arms and turn towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.  “Go lie down, Santi.  I’ve got this.”

He stands up and follows you down the hallway, but he does as you say.  When you turn left into Sophie’s room, he keeps going until he’s at the end of the hallway in his own room.  He lies down on top of the comforter, and he thinks he’ll only rest his eyes, but as soon as he closes them, he’s almost immediately asleep.

He’s snoring softly twenty minutes later when you creep in the room and look down at him, a bemused smile on your face.  You take a folded blanket from the foot of the bed and shake it out, then place it over him.

“Sweet dreams,” you whisper, and you have no way of knowing it, but he’s dreaming of you, like he does many times when he sleeps.

-----

Santi doesn’t get to really talk to you until evening, then.

He wakes up from his nap grumpy:  too warm, his mouth dry, and with the general discombobulation that comes with sleeping too long off-schedule.

Not unlike how Sophie wakes up—a fact you tell him with glee when he stumbles out of his bedroom and finds you quietly reading on the couch.  Sophie is already awake, coloring just as quietly where she lies on her stomach on the floor.  A cartoon is on the TV, but the volume is low.

“You know, you never need a DNA test,” you tell him.  “Because you and the gremlin both kinda do this thing?”  Here you mime Santi and his daughter, rubbing your eyes messily and grumbling.  “You both do that when you wake up.” 

“Untrue,” he says, his voice husky from his dry throat.

“And your hair both gets messed up in the same way.”  You close your book and stand up, make your way over to him.  You gesture at his head.  “All corkscrewed bed-head.”

“Some women might find that charming.”

You snort.  “Some women might find that it gives you a mad scientist air.”

“How are you not tired?  You literally traveled here from halfway around the world.”

You shrug, then head into the kitchen.  Santi follows, and he watches as you pour him a glass of water and hand it to him.  He nods in thanks and drinks it down.

“It’s not that I’m not tired,” you reply.  You lean against the kitchen counter.  “I guess I’m just used to it.” 

Santi glances in the living room.  Sophie is still there, engrossed in her coloring, so he leans against the counter opposite where you stand.  “You ever think of giving it up?”

“The traveling in general or the job?”

“Both.  Either.”

“Eh.”  You move your eyes past him to look out the window over the sink.  It’s late afternoon, and the sun is lower in the sky.  Long shadows cross the backyard.  “I’ve never really thought of it.  It was fun at first.  I’ve been literally everywhere.”

“But it gets lonely.”  Your eyes slide back to his, and Santi gives you a knowing nod.  “I’ve been there.  Done that, sweetheart.”

“It does,” you concede.

“So why not give it up?  You could work anywhere.  Why not come back here?”

Your eyes move back to the view outside the window.  The lengthening shadows, the setting sun.  Golden hour, it’s called, but you told him once you found late afternoon a sad time of day.  The last gasp of daylight before night.  The time of day when people should be making their way home.

“Maybe for some people, loneliness is less a state of where they are,” you answer him, and your words come out slow, like you’re measuring the weight of them.  “Maybe it’s a part of who they are.”

It surprises Santi to hear you say that.  You never struck him as a lonely person, and he tells you so. 

You slouch a bit against the counter.  Your eyes find his, and he admits that he can see it there.  A loneliness.  A sadness.  You don’t say anything, and the moment stretches to the point where he can’t not bring it up.

“Have you…always felt this way?” he asks, and he says it slowly too, chooses his words with care.  “Or is it because of Tom?  What he said last year?”

The corners of your mouth turn up into a sardonic smile.  “Do you want the truth here?”

“Always.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“You don’t know that.”

You nod and take a breath.  Your eyes shift to the window again, but now it’s like you’re looking not at the landscape but back into time.  Back to a year ago, and even further than that.

“Tom wasn’t wrong,” you tell him softly.  “I mean, the underlying idea…he wasn’t wrong about that.  He was actually dead-on.  When Julie first took off, I felt so guilty, like I was responsible for her somehow because she was my best friend.  And I felt like I owed it to you and Soph, since I’m her godmother.  That’s kind of the point of a godmother, you know?  To step in when the parents aren’t around.  Julie wasn’t around, so I stepped in, and it was tough because I had, like, no idea how to deal with a baby, but it felt right to be here and help.”

You pause, shake your head faintly.  You take another breath.  “But it didn’t take long for it to start to feel like my life, you know?  Like, at the start, I was just stepping in to help, like a fairy godmother.  Popping in to help out in an emergency with the intention to pop back out once everything was square.  But it start to feel like it was my life, and you got your legs under you and didn’t really need me anymore, but I stuck around anyway.  Because I got used to pretending that Julie never happened, that Sophie was my own daughter and you...."  You trail off and shake your head again, harder.  “Well, you know.”

Santi’s throat is dry again, and he realizes that he’s been holding his breath.  He exhales heavily, says, “you never said anything, sweetheart.”

Your gaze finds him, and he can see the pain there.  “Of course I didn’t.  It was humiliating.  But I thought I was keeping it subtle until Tom pulled me aside.  I figured if that idiot could see it, it was only a matter of time before you saw it.  So I left.”

“I never saw it.  If I had—”

“I didn’t want to hear it from you, Santi.  I didn’t want to hear you let me down.  Because I knew you’d be so nice about it, all apologetic and sweet, and it felt like that would hurt more than you yelling at me and telling me to get out of—”

What can he possibly say to convince you?  How can he explain how he fell for you too, how he never said a word for basically the same reason you never did?  How he was afraid that you’d let him down gently, just as sweet?  How he imagined the pain in your eyes as you explained that you cared for him, as a friend, as only a friend, as your goddaughter’s father?

He can’t think of anything to say in the moment; he can rely on words later.  Now, he only cuts you off by bridging the distance between you, lunging really, and clumsily kissing you because you are talking, and he half-misses your mouth.  He cuts off your words by kissing half of your mouth, and his teeth click against yours, and you cry out in surprise and pain.

All told, it’s a terrible first kiss.

An awful first kiss:  you look at him in shock, and you lift your hand to your mouth.  When you move it away, there’s blood there—just a little, but for fuck’s sake, the first time he kisses you, he makes you bleed, so he moves to the sink and dampens a paper towel, hands it to you.  You press it to the inside of your lip.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask.  You keep your voice low for Sophie’s sake, but there’s more than one emotion in your tone.  Bemusement, bewilderment, both.

How can he begin to explain it?  “You got it all wrong,” he tells you.  “And so did I.”

“Which part?” 

“All of it.  Every bit of it, sweetheart.”

You smile at him, rueful.  You remove the paper towel, daub at your mouth again.  It looks like it was a little cut, and it looks like it’s stopped bleeding. 

“You’re insane,” you say.

“Probably.” 

“Oh, most definitely.”  You twist the paper towel in your hand, and your voice goes small on him.  “What are you trying to say, exactly?”

He could rehash the past.  He could talk about Julie, but his ex is so far in his rearview mirror that he rarely thinks of her.  He could call Tom an asshole or an idiot or both, but he can do all of that later.  For now, he goes with the simplest explanation.

“I’m trying to say, I miss you.  I’ve missed you since you left.  I want you to come home because I love you.”  He watches your face as he says it, studies how his words hit you, and it’s like watching the sunrise—the way the light spreads over everything.  He also sees the way you try to school it, how you try to temper what you’re hearing versus that loneliness you feel—

“And this is all independent of Sophie,” he adds.  “She loves you too, but I’m speaking for just me here.  I love you, for you.  Not for what you do for my daughter or how she feels about you.  For you alone.”

“Santi—”

“And I’m sorry I fucked up kissing you.”

You start to smile, start to reply, but there’s a small gasp nearby, and you both turn to see Sophie standing there, staring in dread.

“Daddy said a bad word,” she whispers in horrified awe.

You glance at Santi then turn to Soph.  You hold out your hand and she takes it, her wide eyes fixed on her father’s face like he might be struck down by a vengeful god for saying “fucked.”

“He did, didn’t he?” you ask. 

Sophie nods gravely.

“Think he should be punished?”

Another nod.

“Maybe some time in the time-out chair?”

“Five minutes,” Sophie whispers. 

You nod seriously, then turn to Santi.  “Five minutes in time out,” you tell him.  “So you can think about what you’ve done.”

“Fair,” he replies, just as seriously.

Five minutes is enough time to pull himself together.  To calm his hammering heart, to will his blood to cool a fraction.  Because he’s amped, twitchy with nerves and excitement, and the next time he kisses you, he wants to get it right and not make you bleed.

Five minutes is plenty of time.  When he’s done with his time out, he helps you pull together leftovers for dinner.  The two of you work in tandem in the kitchen, an orchestrated movement of reheating dishes, doling them out, pouring drinks, gathering silverware.  But once Sophie has her plate in front of her, you and Santi both return to the kitchen for your own plates, and that’s when he kisses you the second time, and it goes better.  It goes so much better, because you see him coming this time, and your eyes go soft as you meet him halfway and kiss him back.

[fettuccin-e]

Forever Feels Good

A/N: So yeah. its more santi smut. I rewatched triple frontier recently and yknow how oscar and pedro look absolutely scrumpdiddlyumptious so i had to write some happy, domesticated santi because HE DESERVES SOMETHING GOOD

Description: Sometimes, Santi can't believe that he's actually yours, that you're his. And, as a good husband, he just wants to make his beautiful wife feel good. (w/c: 3.1K)

Tags: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x reader, afab!fem!reader, Santi really likes that she's his wife, pretty domestic, alcohol consumption, oral (r!recieving), unprotected piv (pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids), breeding kink like quite a bit of breeding kink i may have a problem

Santi sometimes forgets that he’s actually married to you. That it’s his ring on your finger, that he lives in a home that the both of you share. 

There’s a part of him, a big part, that looks at you and knows that you’re too beautiful to really be his. With your bright smile and glittering eyes, smoothing out his rough edges and giving something to live for again. It doesn’t feel real, even after years of being married, introducing you as his wife to all of his coworkers and friends, fixing up a house you bought together, living a perfect little white picket fence life that Santi had only thought was a fantasy while in Delta.

He watches you with rapt attention across the bar, grabbing your fruity drink from the bartender while you chat with Frankie at the pool table.

You’re laughing hard to a story that Frankie is telling, Santi’s beer clutched in one of your hands while you brace the other on Frankie’s shoulder. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are crinkling at the corners with your grin, and Santi can’t imagine anyone more perfect. 

As your laughter eventually dies down you gaze at Santi across the room, probably unaware that he was already staring, and the breath is nearly knocked out of his lungs as your eyes meet. Your wide smile melts into something softer, intimate even in a room full of people, and his already weak knees want to give out.

He forces himself to walk on shaky legs across the room, setting your drink on your table, fingers itching to touch your soft skin. He spins you around when he reaches you, pinning your back to his front and wrapping his strong arms around your waist while he tucks his face into the crook of your neck.

Your perfume is strongest there, the smell of you invading his senses and swimming through his desperate mind. He vaguely senses Frankie walking away to talk to Will, but he couldn't care less at the moment. Not when he has his wife in his arms, your hair tickling his nose and you giggle echoing in his ears.

Santi presses a kiss to your neck, unable to help himself. “Look so pretty tonight, princesa. Y’wanna let me take you home?” he murmurs quietly into your ear, hearing you suck in a soft breath.

“I don’t know how my husband would feel about that, handsome,” you giggle, and he tugs you just a little bit closer.

“C’mon, baby, I’m sure he won’t mind one bit,” he chuckles lowly. “Can’t let a pretty thing like you go without being taken care of like you deserve.”

“Hm,” you sigh, leaning back against his strong body, “you drive a hard bargain, don’t you?” You reach a hand back to wind your hand into his hair, tugging him up to meet your lips in a sticky kiss. “Promise to take care of me, baby? I’ve been told that I can be greedy. Gonna need you to make me cum as many times as I want.”

Santi feels lightheaded, his vision blurring at the edges. “Fuck, hermosa, anything. Anything you want, you’ll get it, promise I’ll-”

“Hey, lovebirds!” you hear Benny call from the pool table, stick clutched in his hand. He’s disarmingly loud even in a room full of people, your head snaps ahead from Santi’s lips, and you can feel the groan rumble in your husband’s chest at the loss. You smirk to yourself involuntarily, pride blooming in your chest at the fact that you’re the one that can bring Santiago Garcia, ex-military grump with a will of fucking steel, to his knees with a something as simple as a little kiss. 

“You guys gonna get a room or what? Think of the kids!” Benny continues, laughing. Frankie chuckles with him, Will smacks him on the back of the head.

“Turning a little green there, Miller!” you fire back, smiling all the while. “Been a while since you got any? Celibacy is not a good look on you, man.” Frankie laughs harder at that, and even Will chuckles, and it’s Benny’s turn to smack his brother on the back of his head.

You turn your head again to whisper up into Santi’s ear, “As much as I hate to admit it, he might be right.” You shift your hips back, just a little, pressing your ass tight against the bulge of his dick in those tight pants he always wears. Santi curses. 

“You wanna get out of here handsome?”

“Please,” Santi groans, and you laugh softly at his eagerness before you’re grabbing his hand and walking him to the door of the bar, nodding a goodbye at Frankie as you do.

He’s on you the moment you walk through the door of your shared home, pressing you hard against the door with a thick thigh between your legs, pressed tight against your hot cunt through the material of your panties under your skirt. He licks into your mouth like he’s starving for it, like he’ll never get to again, like it’s not the cold metal of his ring on your finger, pressed against his cheek as you cup his jaw.

“So, so fucking pretty for me hermosa, my god. Got everyone in that bar looking at you, but you’re mine, yeah? My wife, fuck-” Santi says into your mouth, choking on the last word, bucking up into you. 

“Bed, Santi, please,” you whine, head spinning with the taste, the smell, the feel of him under your fingertips. Six years of marriage, and you’re both still obsessed with each other the same way you were when you both first met. Clutching into each other like the other will disappear at any moment, like every second together has only been a wonderful dream. He grins into your mouth before taking your hand again, breaking into a jog through your little house and into your bedroom, the both of you giggling like teenagers.

You make him feel young, Santi thinks, laughing into your mouth as he lays you gently onto the mattress. Even with his creaky knees and graying hair, you manage to make him feel young. He presses himself against you, and you mewl, your hips moving in desperate little grinds against the bulge in his jeans. 

“Santi, please,” you choke, gasping softly as his zipper catches on your clit through your panties. You’re clenching around nothing, suddenly so unbearably empty that you could cry from it.

Santi shushes you gently, running his hands under your shirt, rucking it up over your chest. You raise your arms to help him along, and Santi wastes no time in divesting you of your shirt. He tosses it behind him carelessly before leaning down again to lick into your mouth, utterly addicted to the taste of you. 

There’s something about Santi that brings out this part of you, this desperate, needy part that you’d never felt before knowing him. He makes you feel ravenous, animalistic as he towers over you, kissing you like a man possessed.

You reach down to grab his shirt in a fist, shoving it up his stomach until he finally smiles against your mouth, breaking away from your kiss to yank his shirt off, tossing it in the same direction he threw yours. He moves down, trailing hot, sticky kisses and bites to your neck, your collarbone, right between the valley of your tits. 

His thick hands curl around your back, his calluses scratching along your soft skin, raising goosebumps in their wake as he unclasps your bra, dragging it down your arms and leaving you bared to him. It should feel vulnerable, exposed, but you hear Santi groan softly under his breath at the sight of you, and you feel anything but vulnerable. Fuck, you feel powerful, stunning under Santi’s burning gaze.

He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it feverishly while his other hand, warm and rough, tweaks the other harshly. You can’t help how your back shoots up, how a choked moan escapes your throat. Your hands tangle in his hair, a terribly sexy mess of grey and black, holding him to your chest.

“Fuck, oh God, Santi, Santi, need you so bad baby, please. Please,” you mumble, your mind already hazy as Santi switches nipples, his eyes closed and lost in you. He brings his free hand down, down, under your skirt, and presses a thumb harshly over your clit through your panties. The friction of the cotton is harsh against your throbbing clit, but Santi rubs quick little circles into you, reveling in the whines that escape unbidden from the back of your throat.

“So fucking pretty, princesa. Mi amor, god, mi vida. You’re my fucking life, you know that? So gorgeous, angel, and all mine. Fuck, can’t believe you’re mine, baby.” Santi mumbles against your skin, finally releasing your nipple from his mouth. He continues peppering tiny kisses down your stomach, staring up at you as he does. His mouth doesn’t leave your skin even as he brings his hand up from your clothed cunt, tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You can feel how soaked you’ve gotten, the way your thighs are slick with your arousal.

“Fuck, hermosa, what’s got you this wet, huh?” He grunts, his voice gravelly and rough.

“You, Santi, it’s all- it’s all you. Since the bar, baby, since before the bar. Fuck, always want you, Santiago, ‘m ready for you all the time.” You tilt your hips up with your words, your entrance throbbing and so desperate for his touch.

“God, bebita,” Santi groans. “Such a fucking slut, huh? You would’ve let me fuck you right in that bar, yeah? Just let me tug you into the bathroom and fuck you as hard as I want. Would've done it too, sweet girl, you get me so fucking hot. In these,” he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, and you twitch as you feel him breathe a warm gust of air right over your desperate pussy. “In these fucking little skirts you like to wear, god. Got the sexiest girl in the fucking world, yeah? Everyone wants you, but I’m the one who gets to have you. I get to have you for the rest of our lives, mi amor.” He’s so close, so fucking close to wear you need him most. “I get to fuck this sweet pussy for the rest of our lives, baby,” Santi breathes.

You nearly scream as he licks a long stripe up your cunt, lapping up some of the mess you’ve already made of yourself. He sucks your clit into his mouth, sucking at it hard and unrelenting. The sensation of it is almost too much, and your thighs clench around his head quickly, before Santi brings a hand up to grab at your inner thigh. He pulls you apart, keeping you spread for him as he licks and sucks and plays with you until you’re already shaking. He keeps you spread with only one of those strong hands, pressing his tongue harshly against your sensitive little clit, and you suddenly feel the thick presence of his other hand, a calloused digit sinking slowly, so slowly into your cunt.

“Santi, Santi, oh fuck, Jesus fucking Christ baby, it’s so- shit, it’s so,” you can hardly get the words out, especially as he crooks his finger up and presses it against your g-spot without any trouble. Santi groans against your clit, sinking yet another finger inside you along the first.

You should be used to it by now, after so long together, but every single time Santi fucks you, it’s like he’ll never get to do it again. He throws himself, his mind, body, his fucking soul, into only making you feel good. It’s nearly sacrilegious, how he worships you, praying with his tongue at the altar of your body.

But it’s not enough, not when you know how it feels when he’s inside, not when you’ve been thinking about his thick cock stretching you out until you feel like you’re about to break. You tangle a hand back into his hair, tugging him harshly away from your pussy. He keeps his fingers inside, spreading you apart as he looms over you, meeting your lips in a sticky kiss. His lips are sticky with your arousal, but you can’t bring yourself to care, gasping, “Please, baby, Santi fuck me, ‘m so empty, need to be filled up, need you to stuff me full.” 

Santi grins, smug against you as he presses a third finger into your tight cunt, relishing in how your body jerks hard in response. “Just a little longer, baby,” he mutters, “Gotta make you cum first, right? Wanna feel this pretty pussy clench around my fingers, fuck baby, you’re so sexy. Want you to cum, princesa. Cum like you fucking deserve.”

You choke on a gasp as he hammers hard into you, overwhelmed tears filling your eyes as he abuses your g-spot with a practiced hand. You can feel your orgasm building inside, threatening to drown you in it’s severity, as Santi leans down again, whispering harshly, like it’s a threat, “Be a good little wife for me, baby, and cum. Now.”

And you can’t do anything but that, whining high as your pussy clenches and gushes all over Santi’s hand, your hips jerking wildly. Santi is murmuring little praises into your ear, but you can hardly hear him over the ringing in your head, the effort it takes to breathe properly again. 

“You okay, mi amor? Need to stop?” Santi whispers, petting his hands across your thighs, calming, but your eyes snap open all the same. 

“Santiago Garcia, if you leave me here without getting fucked, I’m filing for divorce.”

Your statement shocks a quick laugh out of your husband, but he leans down to kiss you all the same. “So greedy, mi amor,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you giggle as he stands quickly, shucking his pants and boxers off before kneeling between your spread legs again.

You gasp softly as he notches the head of his cock against the entrance of your abused cunt, winding your arms around his neck to tug him close. He presses in slowly, agonizingly slow, and you gasp against his mouth. 

You’ve had Santi for years, but taking his cock always feels like the first time, all over again. He groans so lowly it almost sounds like a growl, holding your hips up to meet him as he finally bottoms out inside you. So deep he feels like he’s in your fucking stomach.

“Shit, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he groans over you, his eyes clenched shut. He draws his hips out and shoves back in quickly, and you can’t do anything but gasp wetly, nails digging into his shoulders as he breaks you open around his cock. “So tight for me, always so fucking perfect.”

“So big, Santi,” you slur dazedly. “Stretching me out so good, it’s so fucking deep, baby.”

“You like me deep, bebita? So deep I’m in your fucking guts? Gonna fill you up, princesa, shit. Get through that fucking birth control, yeah? Get you,” he fucks into you again, hard, “get you fucking pregnant, sweetheart.”

“Oh God,” you whine, mind swimming with the overwhelming mixture of Santi over you, surrounding you, inside you. Fucking you full of him, enough to render your IUD useless, get you pregnant no matter what. “Fuck, Santi, please.” He works himself in and out of you, his thick hands holding onto your hips hard enough to bruise.

“You want it, baby? Want me to fuck a baby into this little pussy? Shit, you’re sucking me in baby, so fucking desperate for it.” He shifts closer, just a little, lifting your hips further into the air to throw you hard onto his cock, and he can’t miss your sweet spot like this. His perfect cockhead just jams into your g-spot at an angle like this, and Santi knows it. “My needy little wife, you wanna cum on this cock? C’mon, do it. Wanna see it baby.”

Tears are finally escaping, leaking slowly from your eyes as Santi fucks into you like only he can, practiced, harsh, unrelenting. You can faintly hear yourself babbling, a mixture of praises, and pleases, and Santi’s name. 

Santi brings a hand from your thigh to press a thick thumb to your over-sensitive clit, and you want to fucking scream. “C’mon baby, show me how good I’m giving you this cock. Show me how good I fuck this pretty pussy.”

“Yes, yes, yes, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good, gonna cum, oh god, gonna give you a baby, Santi, oh god, oh my fucking god-” you gasp, unable to get a full breath into your lungs before you’re cumming again, nails digging hard enough into Santi’s back that there will be marks, marks that Santi will tease you about later when he looks in the mirror, but you can’t care. Not when it feels like your body is on a live wire, muscles and nerves strung taught and pulled apart.

“Just like that, sweet girl,” Santi groans above you, his hips stuttering into you. “Fuck, just like that, so fucking tight for me. Fuck, you’re mine,” he mutters, barely even speaking to you at this point. “Can’t believe you’re fucking mine, mine forever.” 

He’s lost in it, muttering to himself, and you tug him down, trying to ground him back to Earth against your lips as you whisper, “yours.”

Santi kisses you hard as he cums, emptying himself inside you. He wraps you in his strong arms, the both of you shaking softly against each other as you breathe through the aftershock of both your orgasms. He slips out of you at one point, and Santi takes the opportunity to roll you onto your sides. It’s quiet between the both of you for a few minutes as you brush a hand through Santi’s sweaty curls, and he brushes a thumb over your cheek, wiping any tears away.

“Love you so much, Santi,” you whisper after a while, and Santi smiles wide, wider than he ever had before he met you.

“I love you too, baby, more than I can describe.”

“Do you- do you think we could start trying? For a baby?” you whisper, tentative. There will be a bigger discussion tomorrow, about the future, especially if you throw children into the mix. But you need to know, for now.

“Mi amor, mi cielito,” Santi whispers, pecking you softly on the lips. “I would love nothing more.”

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My You-niverse: Santiago "Pope" Garcia

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader, throughout the series: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Warning: some violence

A/N: sorry it's been a while. my heart hasn't really been into fic writing, but im determined to finish this series eventually so here you go

Series Masterlist

You felt a little bit more like yourself in this universe. It seemed like you were in some sort of military group? The only woman, surrounded by men. The men, your colleagues, seemed to respect you and valued your opinion, which was very nice.

When the hostiles were taken care of you, you all met at the rendezvous point where you all piled into a heli, piloted by your friend in the Standard Oil hat.

'Pope' plopped beside you, nudging your knee with his, "You good? You look a lil' dazed."

You give him a lop sided grin, "Think I hit my head too hard when you tackled me to the ground, but I've had worse."

Pope lets out a hum and leans back in his seat, "You called me Marc back there. Who's Marc?"

You shook your head, "I-Someone I knew. Guess I just got confused for a sec."

Pope pulled out a flashlight and pointed it towards your eyes. You tried swatting it away, "What're you doing?"

"Trying to make sure you're not concussed."

"I'm fine!"

"What's my name?"

"Pope."

"My real name."

"Santiago." His name rolls of your tongue and you're surprised that you know his name.

He hummed and narrowed his eyes at you, "You're still getting checked when we get back."

You rolled your eyes, "Whatever." You let out a deep breath, but the action made you hiss.

Pope cocked a brow at you, "What's wrong?"

You rubbed your side, "I think I got a few cracked ribs."

He snorted, "'I'm fine' my ass."

You stuck your tongue out and Pope tried to grab it. You started swatting his hand away, but you were interrupted by a fake gagging noise.

You look across the heli to see Will fake gagging.

"What's up with you?"

"You guys are such a fucking couple it's disgusting."

"You're just jealous you haven't found your person yet," Ben smirked, nudging his brother.

You shrugged, settling in your spot, resting your head on Pope's shoulder. Your eyes started fluttering close, sleep taking you a lot quicker than you expected.

"Rosie," Ben nudged your foot and you slowly woke.

"Hm?" you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You looked around and noticed that the helicopter had landed. You were back on the airstrip and the only one left.

"I told you I'd get her," Pope flicked Ben's ear and pushed him to the side. He then looked to you, "You need help getting out, baby?"

You slowly maneuvered out of the aircraft, trying to keep your breath steady as your ribs screamed at you in pain.

You winced as you stepped out, Pope catching you as you fell forward, "I gotcha, baby. I gotcha." he turned to his young friend, "Help me out, Ben."

Both men wrapped your arms around their shoulders and escorted you to the van. All of the men insisted on getting you to the hospital first before heading home.

"We take care of our own, remember?" Will reminded you as he started the drive to the hospital.

_______________

You definitely had a few cracked ribs. You were prescribed some pain meds and plenty of ice packs. After making sure you were okay, the group of you headed back home.

Well, you thought you and Santi were, but he wanted you to heal more to ensure you're okay to travel back home. So he graciously reserved a room at a nice hotel on the beach. There, he played the dutiful boyfriend; making sure you iced your ribs, you took your medication if the pain became too much; and overall made sure that you were comfortable.

You couldn't be completely active, but he did take you on walks on the beach. He kept his arm around your hip to keep you up and he matched pace with you.

"This is nice. Kinda like a mini vacation," you say as you slowly lower onto a beach chair, "Sad we'll have to leave this place soon. Back to reality." You sigh, rubbing the side where your ribs were injured.

"I know," Santi decided to sit behind you on the beach chair, you settling between his legs, your back against his chest, "I wish we could stay longer too. Maybe in a few months, we could ask for some time off. Come back here or go somewhere else? A romantic getaway?"

You look over your shoulder, "Romantic getaway? Who are you and what have you done to my stone cold lover?"

"I'm not stone cold," Santi says with a snort.

"You kinda are, babe. It's okay," you pat his shoulder, "I still love you."

Santi chuckles and wraps his arms around your waist, "I love you too, my beautiful rose," he kisses your neck and proceeds to rest his chin on your shoulder.

You close your eyes, relishing in the warmth of your lover, the slight breeze of the beach, the sound of waves crashing. You take in the moment. For once since this whole universe thing started, you felt truly content and at peace.

______________

You hear the sound of your name and you open your eyes. You look around and notice that you're in a jail cell.

You sit up and look at the door. A man, familiar, similar to your previous loves, but more plump, held out an envelope to you, "Your cousin wrote to you again."

You stood up, walking over to your cell door and taking the envelope from him, "Thank you, Officer," you eye his name badge, "Garcia."

His lips go into a mini pout, "I told you, Y/N, call me Richard."

You nod, "Richard."

He nods back and continues on to hand out mail to other inmates.

"Interesting," you say to yourself. It seems you're an inmate at a prison in this universe and your husband's doppleganger is an officer at said prison. Very interesting indeed.

[mlmxreader]

The End of Love | Santiago Pope Garcia x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Could u write for reader who's in army with the triple frontier. Frankie always caring u and u thought maybe he does like me too. And when y'all succeed the mission frankie catfish invite the triple frontier gang and u to his house, so u planningto confessur feeling. But turns out he did that to introduce u all to his fiancé.

U heart broken and being depressed (sorry for being drama but dude it does hurt so bad) and santi pope always there next to u accompany u to accept the reality until one day he confess his feelings and how he likes u since the first time he saw u??? Please

summary: he's doting, he's caring, he's kind, and he's always there when you need him... it's just a shame that you have no idea how he feels about you.

tws: swearing, smoking, mentions of death and torture (it's the American military. they're war criminals.)

When you first joined the army, you thought it would be all fun and games; just messing around and being the big man on the battlefield. Nobody ever told you what it would really be like. Seeing Americans murder children in the streets and find the most cruel and unjust ways to kill those they saw as the enemy. Seeing the American army weep over civilians they willingly chose to brutalise and slaughter, treating them like less than animals and speaking of them as if they were little more than objects. You could never go back; even when Catfish and Pope asked you to go along with them, you refused at first, point blank telling them to shove it. You didn't want to see more civilians die. You didn't want to see soldiers begging for their lives as they looked at the barrel of an AK-47. Tears in their eyes as they pleaded with an army who was more than merciless towards them; pleading with an army who were little more than monsters. Nightmarish bastards sent over seas for little more than to secure oil and power and wealth, at all costs. You didn't want to go back to that at all.

You were glad Catfish was there, same as you were glad that Pope was there, as the two of them had always looked after you and had always been your support systems more than anyone else; you wanted to think that there was something there between you and Catfish, as you had always caught the lingering glances and the softer touches. You thought maybe once all this was done and over with, you could finally confess to him that you thought there might be more to your relationship than what was on the surface; when things were finally over, mostly everybody back home, you had hoped that you could get that chance when he invited you to his home for a party.

You were devastated and gutted when he gleefully introduced his fiancé; he was clearly in love with them, from the way he kissed them and the way he was so doting towards them. You couldn't bring yourself to stick around, and left the party before things had really even begun. You didn't speak to anyone for weeks afterwards. For weeks, all you had was Pope coming over to see you; he would cook and clean and wash your clothes and do all those things you just couldn't bring yourself to do during the day, and at night, he would watch a film with you, cuddled into your side, before kissing your forehead and promising to be back the next day.

He always arrived at eight hundred hours, sharp.

He always brought daffodils, bright yellow ones, and he always brought cans of Monster energy with him; once a week, he would bring thirty grams of Golden Virginia tobacco. If anyone looked after you, doted on you, it was Pope; he didn't even ask if he could, he immediately took it upon himself when he realised that something wasn't right after you didn't call him on your way home from work. You always called him after work, even when you were shivering and being battered by wind and rain. You always called when you were walking home. Always.

You were always in bed when he arrived, except today; while he was putting the hoover around in the kitchen, you had dared to escape your bed, and crept around for a cigarette. Pope couldn't help but to smile as he watched you for a moment; getting up on the stool at the breakfast bar as you lit up your cigarette and looked at him with a cocked brow.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, still smiling. "It's just nice to see you out of bed."

You nodded, grumbling softly as you sighed and stared at the ashtray. "Was I an idiot?"

Turning the hoover off, Pope sat up on the breakfast bar as he looked at you, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips. "What do you mean?"

"I really thought there was something going on between me and Frankie," you explained quietly, "and then he introduced his partner and I'm... just thinking maybe I was a fucking twat for thinking that way."

He shook his head, humming softly as he chewed at the inside of his lip and dared to reach for your free hand, holding it tightly as he cleared his throat. "I don't think you're an idiot... not in this case."

"Really?"

"Really," Pope agreed softly. "You just fell for the wrong person, happens all the time... I did it, too."

"No, you haven't," you scoffed. "You're perfect, Santi, who the fuck is ever gonna reject you?"

"Well, there was one person," he started, "from the moment I saw them, I fucking knew I loved them, but then they fell in love with someone else. I still love them, though."

"They're an idiot," you grumbled. "A guy like you... I'd be surprised if nobody fancied you."

"Trust me," Pope stole the cigarette from you and took a long drag before giving it back. "There's one person."

"Why haven't you told them?" You asked. "I mean, surely, you'd want 'em to know, right?"

"They're not in the right place," he admitted. "They've just had their heart broken and... y'know. Y'know how these things go."

"Oh..." you fell quiet, leaning against his thigh as you sighed and gently patted his knee. "Y'know, if you ask me, I'd say all your shirts are made from boyfriend material."

Pope rolled his eyes, even if he couldn't keep the smile from his face, as he leaned back a little and let out a quiet yawn; you were so oblivious, and maybe he liked it that way, maybe he liked you thinking that he had his eyes on someone else. But it wouldn't be fair to leave you in the dark for too long. It just wouldn't be right. So he cleared his throat, and he ran his hand down his face.

"Just for the record... I was talking about you... I get it, if you need more time."

"I do," you admitted quietly. "But, uhm... but I could always, y'know... fuck. Maybe if we could go slow?"

"I can do slow."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[thugbiscuits]

october fic rec list 18+ ONLY MDNI

please note: none of these fan fictions were written by me. when you read please make sure to like, comment, and reblog. IT MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE. (also go check out their blogs because they have way more delicious writing that you’re looking for 👀)

HEHEHEEHEE thank you for keeping up w/ my monthly recs, honestly. it’s so cool to see writers get recognized for their creative skills and to meet likeminded people on this app ! i love it here sometimes. anyways, enjoy this beautiful spread of fics. love you all MWAH. ageless blogs / minors get blocked

logan howlett fics

➺ swallow (oldman!logan howlett x reader, smut) @strangererotica

➺ hurricane (series, ex bf!logan howlett x reader, smut) @bpmiranda

➺ young rich & in love (dbf!logan howlett x reader, smut) @prettycoolgirl

➺ swipe right, bub (mutant!logan howlett x human!reader, fluff) @shybluebirdninja

➺ big bad wolf (logan howlett x fem!reader, smut) @not-neverland06

➺ verona (boyfriend!logan howlett x reader, fluff) @lanadelreyscokewhor3

➺ size difference (logan howlett x reader, smut) @l0vergirlsw0rld

➺ nameless as a river undiscovered underground (logan howlett x reader, smut) @moonlight-prose

➺ fuck or nothing (logan howlett x reader, smut) @adelliet

➺ be nice! (logan howlett x reader x wade wilson, smut) @hotgirlslovecyclops

➺ like animals (logan howlett x mutant!reader, smut) @areyouwell

➺ logan taking care of drunk reader (fluff) @mcrdvcks

➺ baby fever (logan howlett x reader, smut) @silverskyeline

wade wilson (deadpool) fics

➺ his favorite slut (mean!wade wilson x reader, smut) @softfem-dom

➺ dialed in (deadpool x reader, smut) @tteotlma

➺ involuted (wade wilson x reader, smut) @inklore

➺ blowout (wade wilson x fem!reader, smut) @baka-bakeneko

➺ deadpool as your boyfriend headcanons (deadpool x reader, fluff/smutty) @titaswrld

➺ knee deep in the passengers seat (deadpool x reader, smut) @runawrites-blog

➺ high sex w/ Wade (wade wilson x reader, smut) @lillian-gallows

➺ kinktober #21 (gunplay) (wade wilson x reader, smut) @avocado-writing

bucky barnes fics

➺ fri(end)s (bucky barnes x fem!reader, smut) @buckymorelikefuckme

joel miller fics

➺ maple hazel (joel miller x reader, fluff) @razrbladekiss

➺ seeing pink (joel miller x reader, smut) @gutsby

➺ a burning desire (series, firefighter!joel miller x reader) @honeyedmiller

➺ bdsmaid (series, joel miller x reader, smut) @mountainsandmayhem

➺ howl-o-ween (joel miller x reader, smut) @covetyou

➺ harder (joel miller x f!reader, smut) @toxicanonymity

➺ sweet cherry (joel miller x f!reader, smut) @aurorawritestoescape

santiago ‘pope’ garcia fics

➺ think about it (pope garcia x reader, smut) @fettuccin-e

➺ when you move, i move (santiago garcia x reader, smut) @noisynaia

cooper adams fics

➺ pretty little princess (cooper adams x reader, smut) @steph-speaks

➺ stockholm syndrome fic (cooper adams x reader, read tags!) @thebutchersbitch

dividers by @/saradika-graphics <3 header by me!

lovey’s note: what do you guys think of the header i made fr? 😭 cause i tried to make her cute ! also please check out all the series on here, im HOOKED seriously

[eyelessfaces]

say yes?

santiago garcia x reader

summary: the first time he asks, you say no. the next few times become a game to him.

warnings: refused proposal, angst (with a good ending), mentions of the operation from the movie, tom is mentioned like once or twice (yes this counts as a warning), brief mentions of ptsd and unhealthy ways to cope with it (drinking), a tiny smut scene

tags: gn!reader, fluff, santi being silly, the first few scenes are really angsty but I promise it mainly gets silly and cute after that!!

please mind that for artistic reasons (lmao), the first few scenes are not following a linear chronology (I wanted to point that out in case it gets confusing)

word count: 3k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

The tip of your fingers drum nervously against the counter; the sound is awful mixed with the aggressive rumbling of the coffee machine. Like every other morning, you watch the birds outside the kitchen window, pecking through the bowl of mixed seeds, and like every other morning, you feel Santiago’s hand gently resting over your lower stomach as the prickle of his stubble scratches your cheek when he kisses it.

You hear him pull the stool to sit at the bar table, like every other morning, and like every other morning, you give him the coffee you just made – though hesitantly, this time – before you make yourself one.

And just like every other morning, he checks on his phone as he waits for his coffee to cool down, the smoke curling up in the air, swirls visible through the ray of sunshine piercing through the kitchen.

You gaze at him, at the way he scrolls through the news page on his phone, your stomach churning at the fact you’re both trying so hard to act like yesterday was an evening like every other one and like this morning is the natural follow up of a perfectly normal situation.

Then, all you can hear is the coffee machine, your coffee pouring and the birds outside, chirping.

“Are we gonna act like nothing happened?” 

He looks up from his phone, to you. 

“Isn’t that what you want?” he quirks an eyebrow at you, his morning voice deep and raspy.

You huff out a small breath through your nose. “No” the coffee machine stops, but you remain facing Santiago. “I want things to be clear between us.”

He puts his phone down onto the counter, with a small chuckle as both of his hands rub the sleep off of his face. “You made things clear sweetheart.”

—

Your body was curled at the edge of your side, your arm hanging off the bed, fingers brushing the cool floor. Sleep had been hard to find, for the both of you; you felt Santiago move behind you across the bed, turning to face the opposite direction. 

How could either of you possibly sleep tonight?

Your heart ached inside your chest, your mind full and feeling like your head was about to explode, so you couldn’t even imagine how he must feel.

“Santi,” your voice was weak, quieter than you had anticipated. 

He hummed softly in response, just enough to let you know he was listening. 

You waited an instant. It all burned your tongue, everything you could possibly say to him.

“I love you” you reminded him, as if innocently trying to press a bandaid over the wide crack you had managed to create earlier. It felt stupid. You knew this wouldn’t fix the broken pieces.

Maybe it was even making things worse.

Santiago could hear the beating of his own heart reverberating through his ears; for you, the room was dead silent, and it remained like this for what seemed to be an eternity, during which you considered leaving the bedroom to take a breath outside, before he finally said, 

“I know.”

—

The ride back home had been oppressively quiet. Santiago's playlist, though playing at the lowest volume, had somehow managed to mingle with the shitload of thoughts running through your mind, and the rhythmic drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel felt like a desperate attempt to ease the sickening tension between the both of you and to make it feel like it all wasn’t awfully awkward.

Back at your shared home, you watched as he slid his jacket over the coat rack like he was on autopilot before you followed, hanging yours beside his. 

You glanced at him as he mindlessly tossed his cap over the couch. It felt like the right moment to address the elephant in the room – though you weren't truly sure there was a right moment to talk about this.

“Santi I–” you started, words dying in your throat, unsure where you were even going. He turned and sat against the back of the couch, knowing where the conversation was headed, his hands shoving into his pockets. “It’s alright,” he said quietly, his voice low, resigned. “You don’t have to explain anything. I get it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to marry you.” you affirmed. His gaze hardened, his lips pressing into a tight line as he looked at you. Out of all the things you could say, he hadn’t anticipated this. 

You could distinctly see the hurt and confusion in his flickering eyes. “Then what is this? Because that’s sure as hell what it felt like tonight.” 

You hated this. Hated to see him ache, knowing it was all your fault. Hated to hear the self defensive sarcasm in his voice – hated to see his conflicted furrowed brow. “It's just– not the right time.” you explained. You took a breath, stepping towards him, getting closer, but not too much. You could already see the frustration building up inside him, you didn’t want him to feel cornered.

“You don't know what you're doing. You're still processing what happened in South America” 

It had only been a month; he was still having nightmares, was still dissociating at random times, was still pouring himself a glass at random times of the day, more often than he should.

You knew you were right. You wondered if he thought you were. 

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, and you talked again when you started to see the defensiveness, the way his mouth gaped slightly as he searched for his words.

“You’re not doing this for us. You’re doing this for you, because you’re scared. You’re scared of things slipping away from you, so you jump head first into things to feel like you have control over your life. That’s what this proposal felt like” 

He rubbed the stubble of his chin, nodding, not like he understood or agreed, like he acknowledged what you were saying. His hand buried in his jeans pocket again. "You think this is just because of what happened? I’ve been sure about this for a long time. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t." his eyes darkened, his jaw working as he processed the conversation. “You think I don’t mean it.” he said quietly, more of a statement than a question.

“I'm not sure,” you pinched your lips, stepping towards him, desperate to make him understand. “I mean, I know you mean it. I know. But Santi… Ever since you came back–” you shook your head. His jaw tightened, the crease of his brows becoming more visible. “You’re trying to hold on to something, to control something, because so much of what happened out there was out of your hands. That proposal– it felt like a reaction to everything, like you’re trying to ground yourself, to finally have control over something in your life.”

He shook his head, a small sigh leaving his mouth. “It wasn’t. I just didn’t want to waste any more time.” he nodded, a pleading look over his face. Your heart clenched inside your chest. “I know it may seem rushed after what happened, with Tom and everything, but–” he stopped when he saw you wince. “I want to make the most of my life. With you”

The confession should make you feel all giddy, just like the proposal was supposed to. It just makes your heart tighten inside your chest.

“So, I’m right.” you raised your eyebrows at the way he just proved your point. “You’re doing this because of the operation.” 

You sighed with a shake of your head, your hand trying to rub away the ache lodged inside your skull. “So no, I don’t want to marry you out of emergency. Ask me again when we have it all sorted out, and I’ll say yes”

He nodded, biting his tongue. He knew he didn't have room to talk back on this, because he knew you were probably right.

“Jesus, Santi” you sighed, shaking your head once again, before you disappeared through the hallway. 

—

“I don’t want you to feel like shit over this,” you say, turning away to pick up your coffee. His lips tighten into a sheepish smile before he brings his own cup to his mouth. 

A soft frown grows over his face as he points a finger at you, his mouth still full. “So, next time,” he starts, having barely finished swallowing his sip. “Bigger ring, better speech, delivery?” he asks teasingly, testing the waters. 

You huff out a small, genuine laugh, relieved he’s taking it lightly, and an easy smile grows over his face when he sees yours.

You lean in against the counter, onto your forearms, humming in reflection. 

“Ring is perfect. Speech, delivery… I’d say save your talent in smoothness for our vows” you grin.

“Okay,” he chuckles, “So we're really getting married at some point” he grins, sliding his hand into yours.

“At some point,” you shrug playfully, gently squeezing his hand. “It just has to be the right time” you nod, more serious now.

“The right time…” he hums pensively, nodding slowly.

—

It starts rather innocently, at first, before it becomes a silly little game to him. 

The tension regarding the proposal has gradually eased between the both of you, and you have managed to find your regular dynamic again, not needing to sleep on opposite edges of your shared bed anymore.

It happens for the first time two weeks after the proposal, while you are getting ready to go to work; you’re almost done brushing your teeth, Santiago standing by your side doing the same, when he asks, out of the blue, “Would this be the right time?”

You frown at his reflection in the mirror, unsure what he means, leaning above the sink to spit out your foaming toothpaste. 

“What?” you ask, turning to him – his toothbrush is hanging from his mouth, his hand holding an open ring box. You freeze, once again, the same way you did the first time. 

“Marry me?” he asks, the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth moving as he speaks, his toothpaste-full mouth making the question almost unintelligible. You would think he’s being serious if he didn’t go back to brushing his teeth with his free hand as soon as he asked the question, and if he didn’t immediately follow into breaking into a laugh, rushing to empty his mouth full of toothpaste in the sink. 

“Very funny,” you sigh, your heart still thumping inside your chest as you watch him rinse his mouth.

“Oh you should have seen your face, babe” he chuckles facing you again, a playful grin plastered over his face. 

“Too bad you will never know my answer to the question,” you tease. He huffs out a laugh, wiping away the bit of dry toothpaste in the corner of your mouth before he kisses you. 

The next time it happens is more spontaneous, less staged on his part and more subtle – though still somewhat gently pushy. 

You’re trying to assemble a shelf, reading over and over again the instruction manual that might as well be written in another language; Santiago’s sighing as he checks every side and angle of the half built piece of furniture, trying to figure out where it went wrong, when he confidently affirms, “If we can get through this, I think we can go through marriage.”

And from there, it goes on, and on. 

It's little jokes about it thrown randomly through the weeks, making you playfully hit his chest with the back of your hand.

It's him getting on one knee, looking up at you with soft eyes, before he eventually just ends up tying his shoe.

It's him opening the ring box at the most random situations.

It all gets so frequent you don’t even get surprised when he kneels to grab something from the shelf when you're out for groceries, then shifting to one knee and dramatically pulling the ring box out of his jacket to present it to you.

“Santi, c’mon, your knees!” you urge him up, offering your hand for help, giggling like a teenager as you look around making sure no one actually thinks he's serious. He laughs and gets up, putting the item he was originally grabbing in the cart. “Are you really carrying that ring everywhere with you?” you scold him, pulling on his arm as you cling to him.

He shrugs. “You never know when it might happen,” he grins playfully.

He's not, in the slightest, kidding. He even does it in the middle of sex once.

He's under you, his grip hot and firm over your hips as you roll against his lap, small gasps leaving your lips swollen from kissing; he pulls your upper body down to his, silencing your desperate moans by licking into your mouth as he fucks up into you, one hand pressed against your back, the other gripping your side. 

His hand comes to rest at your neck once he pulls away. “If this doesn’t make you wanna marry me, I don’t know what will” he breathes out, reaching to his bedside table to grab the small box resting there.

You grip his wrist. “Don’t do that to me. You know I’d say yes to anything right now” you whine, drawing a huffed laugh out of him. “You’re not playing fair”

He laughs into your neck, planting a kiss there.

Spring quickly fades into summer, so it gets more and more frequent for you and Santiago to spend your weekend evenings at the boys’; it is at Will’s place this time, so like each time you’re there, they play poker, and because Benny is a sore loser, he ends up hanging out with you by the firepit, further away from the group. 

“So, are you actually gonna say yes one day?” Benny asks, handing you your glass refill, pulling the empty chair by your side to sit down next to you.

You smile, amused as you take your glass from Benny’s hand. You know the subject is no secret to anyone, but it still manages to make your heart leap inside your chest each time someone mentions it.

“It would require him to actually ask” you say with a tilt of the head before you take a sip of your drink.

Benny hums thoughtfully. 

There’s a silence between you before you can hear a sudden commotion of laughs further away and Frankie’s familiar bragging sneer, breaking the prior focused mood of their poker table. You smile as you watch them, your attention drifting back to Benny when he nudges you with his bottle of beer. “You know, for as long as I’ve known Pope, he’s always had commitment issues.” he nods, a small scoff breaking through. “Could rarely keep a girlfriend long enough for us to see her twice. Hell, you should see how many girls he’s had casual sex with, it’s–” 

“Okay Benny, you don’t have to–” you scoff, holding a hand up to stop him.

“I know, I know, it’s not something you wanna hear” he laughs, shaking his head. 

“What I mean is if the Santiago Garcia I know is asking you to marry him, he means it.” he shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.

“I know,” you mutter casually, like he just said the most banal thing ever when in reality your stomach flutters at Benny’s words and you suddenly feel like a teenager with a crush. 

The night goes on and quiets down until eventually, everyone ends up leaving or going to bed; Will offered his sofa bed for you and Santiago to sleep on, and you both agreed to accept, admitting you were too tired to drive back home. 

“So how many games did you win?” you ask him, sliding underneath the thin cover to press yourself against him. 

He chuckles, extending his arm so you can slot close to him. “Only one” 

“You suck”

He grins at your teasing. “I’ll never be worse than Benny” 

You chuckle, pressing your lips against his stubbled cheek. His hand slides down your back, pulling you even closer against him before he slips it underneath your shirt, his thumb dragging back and forth against your bare skin. 

Your mouths meet when his other hand cups your face, his broad hands roaming onto your sides and back when you fully lie over him, the kiss deepening as his tongue slips into your mouth and you start full on making out; you would be fucked if anyone came by the living room to use the bathroom, but either of you could care less.

“Hm, I could ask you to marry me right now” he hums, barely pulling away from your lips; he’s still so close, so close that you can feel him smile. You chuckle, your hand burying into the short curls at the side of his head. “No, I mean it,” he affirms in a serious whisper, adjusting his position under you. “Look, I’m done joking. Marry me”

You back away, enough to be able to read his expression. 

Something in his eyes tells you he might be serious, this time. “Really?”

He nods. “Yes. Fuck, I don’t even have the ring right now.”

You grin softly, shifting to rest by his side again. “You’re good. You’re really good.” you prop yourself onto your elbow, your other hand resting against his chest. “Because you’ve done it so many times throughout literally months and I’m actually surprised now that you’re asking for real” he smiles at that, his hand resting over yours. 

“You know, I’m still waiting for my answer” he grins. 

You shrug playfully. “Eh, you don’t have any ring, so I don’t know–” you tease, stopping when he rolls over you and presses his mouth to yours. You kiss him back, your hands burying into his hair again. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

He smiles contentedly, his eyes softly roaming over your face.

“I meant it the first time I asked” he admits, pinching his lips into a small smile. You mirror it, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone.

“But I get why you said no. And you were right to. But it’s kinda crazy that it’s now happening in Will’s living room” he snorts up a laugh, and you burst out laughing, before you quiet yourself with the palm of your hand against your mouth.

“I know, right? But it could have been at Walmart, so”

He chokes up a laugh, burying his face against your chest. 

“Yeah, it could have been at Walmart.”

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

triple frontier taglist:

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @alexxavicry 

@grxywindd @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @luxisluxurious @dowbastan 

@unear7hly @pigeonmama @mari-thesimp

& @missdictatorme :p

[clazaries]

The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)

Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders

w/c: 6.6k

Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?

a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)

ENJOY!

***

“Frankie. Sit rep?”

“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.” 

“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?” 

You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.” 

Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.

You readjust yourself nervously.

It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do. 

Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order. 

Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.

This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered…

First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful. 

“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”

“Copy that.” 

The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best. 

“Stay sharp.” 

You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.

The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it. 

In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests. 

You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military. 

Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.

“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.” 

Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.” 

“Then why isn’t he out?” 

“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.” 

You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm. 

“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?” 

“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.” 

The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…” 

“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.” 

“I’ve got a shot on two of them.” 

“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume. 

“Why the fuck are we here then?” 

“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.” 

You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--” 

“Frankie! Do you copy?” 

Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup? 

“He needs help!” 

“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?” 

You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?

“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage. 

“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!” 

You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle. 

“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--” 

“We can’t leave Frankie!”

“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”

“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…

“I’m going in.” 

A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos. 

“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.” 

~~~~

Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago. 

The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself. 

Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.

But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud. 

“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?” 

You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?” 

“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.” 

“Could’ve,” you mutter.

He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?” 

“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily. 

“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.” 

“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”

Low blow, Midge. 

Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece. 

Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.

He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear. 

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”

With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?” 

You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.

“You wouldn’t.” 

Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?” 

You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots. 

The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?

It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him. 

“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers. 

It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised. 

He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot. 

“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--” 

“No! No, I-I want to stay.” 

“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.” 

“I am. I was promoted for a reason.” 

“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.” 

“How?” 

“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?” 

Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him. 

Your thighs press together beneath the table. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes…what?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.

“Nervous, soldier?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“A…A little, sir.” 

“Good, you should be. Take off your top.” 

With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had. 

“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”

“Minor wounds.” 

“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”

Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you. 

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.

Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified. 

It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer. 

“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?” 

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily. 

“Yes, sir!”

Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.

Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating. 

His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority. 

“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”

Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit. 

“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”

You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt. 

Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in. 

“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.” 

A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum. 

What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.” 

“I can’t hold on,” you splutter. 

“You can and you will. Fuuuck…” 

Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off. 

You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens. 

Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself. 

“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts. 

“So wet. So needy.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!

“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”

“Santiago, please.” 

“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?” 

“No, but--” 

“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.” 

“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close. 

Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes. 

You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.

Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him. 

“Stand up.”

“I…I don’t think I can.” 

“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”

Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes. 

“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.” 

Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise. 

“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway. 

“I’ll break if you touch me.”

“Perfect.” 

Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior. 

Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries. 

The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years. 

Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you. 

It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly. 

“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point. 

You sigh. “I know.” 

You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.” 

You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—” 

This again. “But Frankie--” 

“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.” 

“But I didn’t die.” 

“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.” 

Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that. 

A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.” 

“I promise.” 

He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.” 

For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.” 

“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.” 

[tokkiwrites]

𝓣.he darkest cravings (dilfs)

𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟒 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 © a spookytokki special

▪︎𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏 : Jazz, pearls & older men. ⎯⎯ ᴀ͟ɢ͟ᴏ͟ʀ͟ᴀ͟ᴘ͟ʜ͟ɪ͟ʟ͟ɪ͟ᴀ with Logan Howlett

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Logan shows you that jazz clubs aren't so boring.

➜t̲h̲i̲s̲ ̲s̲t̲o̲r̲y ̲a̲l̲s̲o̲ ̲i̲n̲c̲l̲u̲d̲e̲s̲: sex with a stranger, sir kink, sex in a public space.

▪︎𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟔 : Sit & Look pretty. ⎯⎯ ʀ͟ᴇ͟sᴛ͟ʀ͟ᴀ͟ɪ͟ɴ͟ᴛ͟s with Santiago 'Pope' Garcia

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Santiago works most days, so that doesn't leave a lot of room for the two of you. but he always finds time to teach you a lesson when you're bad.

➜t̲h̲i̲s̲ ̲s̲t̲o̲r̲y ̲a̲l̲s̲o̲ ̲i̲n̲c̲l̲u̲d̲e̲s̲: masturbaton, orgasm denial, voyeurism, cum eating.

▪︎𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟐 Say 'Ahh!'.⎯⎯ ʙ͟ʀ͟ᴀ͟ᴛ͟ ᴛ͟ᴀ͟ᴍ͟ɪ͟ɴ͟ɢ with Joel Miller

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Joel (your dad's best friend) hates it when you talk back to your father.

➜t̲h̲i̲s̲ ̲s̲t̲o̲r̲y ̲a̲l̲s̲o̲ ̲i̲n̲c̲l̲u̲d̲e̲s̲: daddy kink, spanking.

▪︎𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟗 : Collar.⎯⎯ ᴘ͟ᴇ͟ᴛ͟ ᴘ͟ʟ͟ᴀ͟ʏ with Wade Willson (Deadpool)

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You're caught off guard when Wade calls you 'puppy'. He's even more shocked when he realizes how much you like it

➜t̲h̲i̲s̲ ̲s̲t̲o̲r̲y ̲a̲l̲s̲o̲ ̲i̲n̲c̲l̲u̲d̲e̲s̲: dumbifiaction (of reader), choking, dry humping.

▪︎𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟔 Tears/Tears.⎯��� ᴅ͟ᴀ͟ᴄ͟ʀ͟ʏ͟ᴘ͟ʜ͟ɪ͟ʟ͟ɪ͟ᴀ with Sergei Kravinoff

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You can tell whoever whatever you wantㅡ You already know who you belong to.

➜t̲h̲i̲s̲ ̲s̲t̲o̲r̲y ̲a̲l̲s̲o̲ ̲i̲n̲c̲l̲u̲d̲e̲s̲: stalking, breath play, degradation.

[pygmi-cygni]

kisses - headcanon list

different oscar characters and their preferred kisses!

Including: santi, leto, basil, cecil, moon boys, poe, nathan and blue

Poe likes little kisses, on his face and his hands. A quick peck on the cheek makes him smile for the rest of the evening, or a flurry of smooches on his forehead before you leave for duties. He likes to smother you with affection in the few minutes between meetings.

Basil prefers shy kisses, ones where he can close his eyes and get wrapped up in a hug. On his hair after a long day, or pressed to his jaw when he's feeling down. Slow, gentle, reassuring.

Santi's favorite are meaningful kisses. Short, maybe, but they have a message. Get home safe, he presses firmly to your mouth before you depart. I missed you, he kisses long and slow after a heinous trip away. He does it careful and he does it right, not too needy, just soft and intimate enough to remind you how much you matter. He'll grab at your waist or your hands, needing to squeeze gently.

Cecil doesn't care, he just needs attention. Did you move your head too fast and accidentally brush your lips on his shoulder? He'll take it. Absently kissing his forearm while you cuddle? Amazing. His favorites to give are ones that make you giggle; pressed under your ribs or your ear.

Leto's favorite kisses are private kisses. In bed before duty calls, where he can hold you as tight as he wants. Frantically in the meeting chambers after a strenuous debate. Ones where he is safe enough to peel back his armor and rest comfortably as himself, preferably in your arms.

Nathan needs subtle kisses. Dropped on his brow to smooth out the creases, or slow and soft after a frustrating dead-end. A reminder to slow down, take a breath, maybe lay down for a bit. Nothing showy, nothing intense (though he does enjoy a makeout session), just something he can hold close if he gets lost.

Marc enjoys romantic kisses. Closed eyes, hands on your waist. Ones that make your knees buckle a little bit and tint his ears a rosy pink. His eyes will go soft and he'll smile a bit and then boom. He doesn't give them out very often, but they're like a golden treasure when he does.

Jake likes happy kisses best. Tickling your tummy or lips clumsily as you laugh at his joke. A nibble to his cheek when his dimple pokes through. His nose scrunches when he laughs, and you'll kiss the bridge until he does it again. Once you complained of a tummy ache, and he kissed your face so many times it actually got worse from all the giggling. But it was okay, he'd just kiss it better.

Steven likes passionate kisses. Messy, full of teeth and tongue. Or, slow and sensual, but all of them needy. He reminds you that he wants you, forever and ever, and you remind him back. It's rare that a quick kiss is actually quick, unless one of the boys intervene.

Blue likes needy kisses. He'll play a little game, sitting stone faced while you tug and suck on his lips, pawing and asking for attention. Then he'll snap out of it and devour you, much to your delight. Sometimes he's the needy one, frantically reminding you that though you dance for all to see, you still belong to him.

tags:

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love @unear7hly

@purple-amaranthe @chaithetics

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Tit For Tat

Santiago Pope Garcia x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 15: Against a Wall

Summary: You and Santi sneak off.

A/N: This was meant to be for kinktober 2023 (I'm so sorry). A massive thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for saving my butt yet again and beating.

Warnings: oral sex (m!receiving), please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 460

Santi moans loudly, his head thrown back, his back pressed against the wall. His jeans are down by his thighs from where you tugged them, low and nearly at the knee. There’s the beginning hint of one of his surgery scars just peeking out at the edge of the material. 

His unbuckled belt taps rhythmically against the fly as you bob your head, sucking him as deep into your mouth as you can.

You jerk him in time with your mouth, caressing the inches you can swallow down while you lightly knead and squeeze his heavy balls. 

“Baby,” he groans, biting his lip as he bucks weakly into the heat of your mouth. “Please, I’m gonna…” He sucks in a deep breath as you moan lightly, the sound reverberating along his skin. 

He wants to hold off, wants to let you play with him as long as you wish, forever if you wanted. God, he would do anything you wanted. 

He knows he’s meant to be keeping vaguely quiet. The walls aren’t that thin and pretty much everyone is in the garden outside, but even so, he’s getting dangerously close to too loud. But he just can’t help himself, can’t gather together enough brain cells that haven't been overloaded by the feeling of your lips and tongue along his cock to care. 

His balls tighten, drawing up as his length pulses and grows impossibly harder. 

“Gonna come…” He whines, his breath catching in his throat. 

He’s not used to this, not used to being given things so completely. Not used to being the one that’s pressed against surfaces and pampered with pleasure. 

Not used to someone not expecting anything in return. 

But, oh boy, how he was going to return it. 

He was going to get you down completely flat on your back on the floor with his head between your legs and make you come and come and come and-

He cries out softly, bucks weakly as his orgasm floods his veins and he spurts hot, thick cum into your eager mouth. 

You moan around him, swallowing eagerly as he shivers and shakes. Only pulling back as he sighs and slumps forward ever so slightly. 

You’re grinning up at him when he looks at you. 

“You trying to let everyone know you’re getting your dick sucked?” You tease and he scoffs, grinning.

“Maybe.” He shrugs, still breathing deeply. “Was I that bad?” 

You shake your head. “There’s still some plausible deniability.” 

He snorts, slowly sinking down onto the floor next to you. His heart warms when you reach out to help him. “Yeah, well, there won’t be.” 

“What?”  He grabs you, making you chuckle as he pulls you into a searing kiss. “‘Cause I’m about to make you scream.”

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes ho

@steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood 

@pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23 @sub-aro @killerdollz

 @maplemind  @mwltwo @loonymagizoologist @dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious

@homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus 

@mandytrekkie @lounilu @avengersinitiative2012 @pigeonmama @marcsb1tch 

@iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @DowBaStan @faretheeoscar@lonelyisamyw-0love 

@queerponc @twwcs @Spnwhore2430 @mari-thesimp @ominoose

@ierofrnkk @have-you-seen-my-sanity @klillah @mystic-writings

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[tropes-and-tales]

The Fourth Year

For the super-late Winter Prompts (2023 Edition)! The master list can be found here!

This one was requested by the lovely and supportive @justreblogginfics (I mean, honestly? Is there anyone more supportive than this lovely person?)

"From Under The Mistletoe prompts: #13 (snogging and not realizing other people are present) with Santiago Garcia"

CW:  Light angst (talk of Tom's death); pining (mutual); kissing; lot of typos.

Word Count:  1839

The Miller brothers put on the same party every December, a chaotic blend of their large and extended family and their friends.  Two disparate groups who somehow blend together seamlessly:  Tom and his wife have an easy friendship with a Miller sister and her husband.  Frankie, ridiculous as it seems, always falls in with a great-aunt, a crotchety old woman who has a soft spot for Frankie and his big brown eyes—and Frankie enjoys the benign flirting, the old woman’s stories, and most of all, her famous rum-laced chocolate cake in the shape of a Yule log.

Santiago?  He has his own benign flirting with you—a cousin of the Miller boys.  He sees you once a year at this party.  For three years now, he’s pined after you.  It’s the same cycle, over and over. 

November comes, and he realizes he’s a month away from seeing you again.  He hypes himself up.  He gives himself pep talks in the mirror, feels like an idiot afterwards, but he gasses himself.  Tells himself that he’s smart and funny and good-looking, that of course you’d love to go out with him sometime.

Three days before the party, he gets a haircut, gets his curls trimmed up. 

The day of, he feels a rare buoyant hope.  He showers, shaves.  He dresses and hopes he looks good but not like he is trying to look good.

The drive over, he plays his hype-playlist.  This is the year, he promises himself.  This is the year I get my shit together and make a move.

Three years of this cycle.  Three years of promising himself that he’ll make a play for you, and three years of that promise disintegrating the moment you see him and call out, “hey there, handsome!” as a greeting.  The moment he turns and sees you, every plan flows out of his brain and Santiago Garcia is struck dumb, his tongue clumsy and heavy in his mouth and unable to form coherent words.  You’re beautiful to him, and trolling your social media throughout the year can never prepare him for seeing you in person.

Smiling as you walk towards him.  Then the sudden feeling of you in his arms as you hug him, on your tiptoes as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him on the cheek.  The scent of you—your light perfume, your shampoo, maybe a bit of wine on your breath.  The lovely sound of your laughter as you joke around with him, then the feel of your hand on his arm, steering him deeper into the Miller home as you ask all about his year.

Three years of Santiago Garcia going chicken-shit and letting the moment pass him by.  His courage always fails him.  He always leaves with that sick feeling in his stomach, and he wakes in the morning with the depressing realization that he has to wait a whole year to see you again.

-----

This is the fourth year.  Santi could lie and say he finally has the courage he’s been missing, but the reality is that the driving emotion is sadder.

He’s not brave.  He’s just tired.

He’s tired of this game.  Tom is dead.  Frankie is in recovery.  He feels adrift in his own life; he takes contracts overseas, but only because he doesn’t feel like he has a home. 

The fourth year goes differently.  He skips his usual haircut, so his curls are a little longer, slightly unruly.  He feels less buoyant hope and more steely determination.  He drives to the Miller home in silence, the window down and his arm out the window as the warm Florida evening turns into night.

And the moment he crosses the threshold of the door, you’re there.  You’ve changed it up too:  you don’t shout “hey there, handsome!” 

Instead, your face lights up for a moment before you school your expression into something more somber.  You walk up to him, and you pull him into a hug—but this hug is tighter, longer.  And you whisper into his ear that you’re sorry about Tom, but you’re so glad he’s okay, and when Santi parts from you, he can see the way your eyes glitter with unshed tears.

“Don’t scare me like that again, okay?” you ask, and Santi wonders if his pining has been one-sided, as he always assumed.

-----

The fourth year.  Tom’s absence seems to take up some space.  The party is slightly subdued, less raucous than in years past.  Frankie settles in with Great-Aunt Roseanne and her boozy chocolate cake.  Benny and Will circulate with their sisters, all four of them in felt reindeer antlers.

Santi leans in the doorway between the living room and kitchen and just watches.  It’s the remainder of his found family, the Millers and Frankie.  He doesn’t want to lose the lesson in Tom’s death, which is that life goes on but can end in a blink.  Santi gets lost in his thoughts (those memories of South America, the slack, heavy weight of Tom’s body), and he startles when someone touches his arm.

He turns and sees that it’s you.  You smile at him, tentative, and ask if he’s okay.

“Yeah, great.”  He clears his throat from its roughness, then smiles back at you.  “How are you?”

You shrug, make a dismissive gesture with your hand.  If Santi roams the planet on contract work, you are the opposite.  You have a steady job, always in the same spot, and you have all the trappings of a stable life.  You have a home and a mortgage, a dog, a fish tank full of tetras, a garden where you grow four different types of tomatoes and six different types of hot peppers.  You belong to a hiking club, and you organize litter pickups with the local Girl Scout troop.

In other words, you have a full and robust life, and Santi yearns for even a tiny bit of space in it.  He feels like he could curl up at your feet like a dog and be happy just to be near you.

The two of you chat, and maybe this is the result of Tom’s death too:  you get a bit behind the surface-level chatting you usually do each year.  When you ask about his work, he’s honest:  he tells you it’s lonely and dangerous and how he wants to stay in the States. 

When he asks about your year, you admit that your parents divorced, and that it hit you harder than you thought it would.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, and you do something you have never done in front of him:  you laugh, and it sounds bitter.

“Please, Santi.”  You roll your eyes and shake your head.  “I have a charmed life.  Whining about my parents divorcing, especially with me being an adult myself?  People have it worse.”

He’s never heard you sound like this, and he’s never heard you be self-deprecating.  He puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into a side hug, and a moment later you wind your arm around his waist.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t hurt too,” he chides you gently.  “Suffering isn’t an Olympic sport.”

You don’t reply.  You rest your head against him, and he likes the weight of it, the casual intimacy of holding you like this.  Maybe you like it too because you don’t pull away.  You keep your arm around him, and after a long moment, your head lolls to look up at him…but your gaze falls on something else.

“We’re under a bunch of mistletoe.”  Santi glances up and sees the sprig of silvery-green leaves and white berries, and then he glances down at your upturned face.  You’re smiling at him, and there’s a teasing quality there that is familiar from the previous three years.  It hits him that you aren’t just the gorgeous, teasing woman from years past.  You’re also someone who’s been hurt by your parents’ failed marriage, and someone who feels like you can’t really mourn it, and you’re far more complex—and human—than he ever realized.

It makes his superficial infatuation slide right off the cliff into wonderful, terrible love, just like that.

So Santi doesn’t tease you back.  He leans down towards your upturned face, and he moves slow enough to watch your reaction.  You don’t recoil or pull away.  Your eyes widen a bit, but you smile up at him…and you move towards him, meet him part way.

The first tentative press of his lips to yours, closed-mouth.  Quick.  Over before he realizes it.  But then a second kiss, bolder, lasting longer.  Closed mouths again, but the third is where you part your lips against his, where he breathes you in, and the awkward side hug ends as he turns you gently towards him and you lay your hands against the back of his neck.

Then the fourth kiss, and Santi stops counting them because he feels the soft press of your tongue against his, and you taste like the tart wine you like to sip and he hopes you don’t mind his own hoppy, yeasty beer-breath and you must not because you deepen the kiss, lick against the inside of his mouth.  Santi realizes that you’re actually the one leading this, not him, and he’s grateful that you are braver than he is.

The rest of the party fades away.  The low roar of laughter and music and conversation fades and Santi is left with just the roar of blood in his own ears, the barely audible whimper you make as his hands find your hips, as he pushes you gently backwards into the doorway—

“Pope, Jesus!” 

It’s Will…no, it’s Benny, and then it’s laughter and good-natured groans, and when Santi breaks away and turns to look in the room—startled out of his reverie of kissing you—Frankie raises his hands to his mouth, hooks his fingers there and lets out a piercing wolf-whistle that makes the Miller sisters clap and cheer at the show you and Santi have put on for them.

Only Will and Benny look peeved.  Will shakes his head, crosses his arms over his chest.  Benny calls out, “that’s my cousin, asshole,” which makes a wave of laughter rise and sweep towards where the two of you stand.

Santi turns and looks at you.  You look sheepish but not guilty, and you grin up at him, give him a shrug.

“Sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be.”

“I wanted to do that for, like, the last two years.”

He tries to play it cool, your admission.  It’ll hit him later, how he could be two years further along with you if he’d just been a bit braver, but Santiago Garcia will never be able to summon up much regret about it, in the end:  because now, in the fourth year of knowing you, you shrug again then take his arm in yours, lead him to a more private part of the home, and you kiss him again.

[fandxmslxt69]

@romanarose YOU HAVE THE BEST RECS EVER I WILL NEVER BE MORE GRATEFUL??

i am once again asking the lord and universe to give me a man who can fuck me so good i will forget abt every bad day thank you ameen.

the way this was sooo....so yummy. fucking delicious best shit in my lifetime oh my god foaming at the mouth i need him righ right right now pleaseeeeeee

IT WAS SO HOT YET SO GENTLE BUT HE WAS SO ...SO DADDY (Powerful, commanding, dominating) BUT ALSO SO...DADDY! (gentle soft caring) LIKE WOW OKAY I . LIKE WOW IM SO UNWELL ABT ALL OF THIS

anyway guess what im NOT doing tonight (sleeping)

Hey, congrats on over 1.2k followers! This isn’t from the prompt list, but could you use the prompt “be a good girl and spread your legs” with Santiago Garcia (and if possible, use Daddy kink + Creampie as well)? Love your writing 🥰

hello??? omg daddy!santi i literally can't breathe rn,, i want him to take care of me bestie and I think he would so well,,, honestly i think that he's def one of those guys that's like "i'm gruff and angsty but i'll do anything for my girl" he is such daddy material thank you for the prompt bestie i hope you like this

A Night Like This

(Tags: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader, daddy kink, fem!reader, unprotected piv, dom/sub dynamics, oral m&f recieving)

Santi knows what the night is going to look like the moment you stumble through the door of your shared home, your face flushed and eyebrows furrowed. There’s a fire behind the tiredness in your eyes, a lingering anger from your day at work that you usually make an effort to leave behind before you get home. But sometimes, he knows, circumstances can’t be helped. 

Santi knows this, he knows you. He understands what you need right now, he’s seen it before. His wife is beautiful, intelligent, independent, but you need to be taken care of sometimes, even when you refuse it.

“Welcome home, baby,” he murmurs, capturing you in his arms while you nestle your head into his broad chest.

“Daddy?” you whisper. It’s a short question of permission, an unspoken please take care of me that Santi is all too eager to follow.

“Yeah, baby? You want daddy tonight?” He says, stroking a hand down your back and relishing in how you shiver under his touch. Needy. Fucking desperate.

“Please.”

Santi doesn’t need you to ask twice. He pulls your body toward him, rough and unforgiving. “Alright baby. I want you to take off your clothes and go kneel by our bed, okay? Can you do that for me?” You nod quickly, but it’s not good enough for Santi. A gentle grip around your jaw, he forces your eyes to meet his. “You know I need words, sweet girl.”

“Yes, daddy, I can do that,” you mumble, and Santi smiles at you softly.

“Good girl,” he says, and your knees nearly buckle right then and there. He pecks you quickly on the lips before nudging you toward the bedroom, a not-so-subtle command that you are more than happy to follow.

It doesn’t take long for you to strip yourself bare and get into position at the edge of the bed, kneeling quietly while you wait for Santi. He always gives you more time than you need, not wanting to have to punish you if he can help it. Of course, there are the nights that you need to be punished, that you purposefully strip extra slow, that you lay on the bed instead of kneeling beside it. Those nights live behind your eyelids, in your dreams; scathing memories of red handprints on your ass and Santi refusing to let you cum burned into your soul. Those nights are wonderful, painful and real, but you don’t want to be punished tonight. 

No, tonight you want to be good for Santi, for your daddy. You want to follow all of the rules, make him proud of you. You want him to pet your hair and give you his tongue and fingers and cock and make you cum until tears are dripping down your cheeks and your voice is hoarse from screaming. You want to be the best you can possibly be, a good girl for your daddy.

You resist the urge to look at Santi when you hear your bedroom door open and close, knowing what awaits you. You know that Santi is stripped bare, just like you are, but while you feel vulnerable and delicate, Santi radiates heat and dominance above you, strong and unyielding.

“Perfect job, baby,” he says into the quiet of the room. “You look so pretty for me, princesa.” He crosses in front of you to sit on the bed, and you finally allow yourself to rake your eyes over the expanse of his body. His strong shoulders looming over you, his broad chest, littered with dark hairs. His stomach, softer after years of marriage and eating many meals together without the threat of being shipped off on another mission. His thighs, thick and hairy, spread beside your head. And his cock, god, his cock. It stands hard and huge and dripping just before your mouth, practically begging for your touch. 

“Go ahead, baby,” he says, noting your flushed cheeks and pupils blown wide with arousal. “Suck daddy’s cock.”

You surge forward in an instant, capturing the tip in your hot mouth and reveling in Santi’s choked gasp of surprise. You sink down slowly, taking the time to run your tongue over every vein with every inch. He’s thick and musky on your tongue, his precum salty in the back of your throat, and you can already feel everything drifting away, your eyes fluttering shut.

Santi winds a hand into your hair as he watches you sink down onto him, your pretty mouth hot and sticky wet around his cock. It never fails to make him throb, the way the tension seeps out of your shoulders while your lips stretch around him. So pretty, so needy and good for him. “Gonna start moving now, okay sweetheart?” You moan softly and nod around his cock, not wanting to drag yourself off him, but thankfully, Santi doesn’t make you. He uses his grip in your hair to drag you back, before forcing you just as quickly back down until the tip budges against the back of your throat. You moan again, the vibrations moving up Santi’s spine in overwhelming pleasure.

He uses you like a fucking toy, dragging your hot mouth up and down while your nails dig into his thighs. You feel far away, so far, in a world where there’s only this room, where there’s only you and Santi and Santi’s cock in your mouth. You focus on breathing through your nose as Santi nudges himself down the length of your throat, whispering little praises of “Mierda, sweetheart, so fucking hot and tight, shit.”

Santi doesn’t realize he’s about to cum until his cock is already throbbing with his impending orgasm. You’re already too far gone, happy to suck and lick at him for hours, but when you look so pretty and good and soft for him, Santi knows he can’t last. It takes every ounce of strength for him to drag your mouth away from him, the length of him slapping heavily against his thigh while you look up at him, your eyes drooping and mouth messy with your spit. Santi has no idea how someone can look both sweet and fucking sinful at the same time.

“Get on the bed, princesa,” he murmurs at you, and you blink slowly at him before standing on shaky legs and moving to lay yourself back on the sheets. You look edible, Santi thinks as he moves to loom over your shaky body. You look at him like he’s hung the moon and the stars for you, and though he would, in a heartbeat, it still shocks him to the core how much you trust him, how much you love him. The look in your eyes always makes Santi’s heart beat harder in his chest, makes his skin buzz. He’d do anything for you.

“Be a good girl and spread your legs for Daddy, baby,” he murmurs, placing his hands on your knees to press them apart. Your pussy is positively dripping, red and puffy for him. Your cheeks burn as you realize how wet you truly are; your thighs feel sticky and you can feel your wetness dripping down your slit onto the bed sheets below. But Santi’s pupils are blown wide, his tongue licking absentmindedly at his plush lips.

“What do you want, baby?” he asks, even though he already knows what you want. You both know. But Santi wants you to ask.

“Daddy,” you whine, but Santi shushes you, kissing at the insides of your thighs. So close, and yet, so terribly far.

“What baby?” 

“I want, fuck, want you to eat my pussy, Daddy. Please?” you mumble. You would be embarrassed, except for the fact that Santi doesn’t give you any time to be ashamed as he dives into your dripping cunt like a man starved. The slurping of his tongue into your soaked slit is obscene, but you can barely hear it, too drowned out by your own whines and cries. Your hands grip Santi’s hair, keeping him glued to your pussy, as if he’d want to be anywhere else. He licks into your throbbing entrance, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can, before moving up to latch onto your clit. He sucks hard, and your body lurches up in response, choking on air.

“Daddy, daddy, oh fuck, oh God,” you mumble incoherently, barely able to remember your own name. Santi eats your pretty cunt like he’ll never get the chance to do it again, licking and sucking on your clit as one of his hands leaves your thighs to sink two fingers into you. Your walls flutter with your heartbeat, overwhelmed and stuttering.

Your head thrashes against the soft sheets as Santi spreads his fingers apart and stretches you open oh-so-slowly. His fingers are thicker than yours, calloused and pressing into your sticky walls. 

He uses his strong arms to keep your twitching hips on the bed as he continues to suck feverishly at your clit, moaning softly into your cunt as you whine for him.

“Daddy, please, please fuck me,” you manage to choke out, tears starting to leak down your cheeks. “Gonna, fuck, I’m gonna cum Daddy. Don’t wanna- don’t wanna cum without your cock in me.” Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic and wrecked. 

Santi finds it in himself to pull away from your pretty clit for just a moment to grunt out, “Go ahead and cum, sweet girl. I’ll give you my cock, but only if you cum for me.”

With his permission and his fingers still driving harshly into your sopping pussy, it doesn’t take long at all for you to gush hard over Santi’s mouth and fingers, your stomach cramped up and thighs twitching. Santi watches in awe, enraptured by the sight of your writhing body. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles against you, and you can only sob in response. With a last little kiss to your sensitive clit, he rises over you again, bracing an arm over your head while the other grabs at his cock. You flinch away, too sensitive when he rubs the sticky tip against your entrance, but Santi just kisses you, slowly and deliberately, as he sinks in.

“Don’t run from me, baby,” he murmurs into your mouth. “You can take it, hermosa. You’re my good girl, right? You gonna take Daddy’s cock?”

You can barely answer him, only able to mumble, “daddy, daddy, daddy,” like a prayer as he finally bottoms out against you, his heavy balls pressed tight against your ass. 

“That’s it, honey,” Santi breathes. He grabs at one of your thighs to drape your leg over his shoulder, spreading you wide. He’s so fucking deep like this, thick cock stretching you out, ruining your little pussy.

He doesn’t waste a moment, knowing that you need to be fucked hard, harder than usual. You don’t want to think on a night like this, Santi knows, you want to be fucked until you can’t possibly have a thought in your pretty head. Santi drives into you, harsh and unrelenting, bullying deep into your little pussy without remorse. Your nails dig hard into his shoulders as he ruts into you, forcing little moans from your throat with every thrust.

The world seems hazy like this. You’re only able to feel Santi, see Santi, fucking smell him and taste him. He fucks you like he wants to destroy you, leave you wrecked and open for him to take again and again and again. You can’t speak anymore; you can barely think past the feeling of Santi breaking you open on his fat cock. 

“Fuck yeah, baby, take it. Take it. Take daddy’s cock,” Santi grunts, sounding like an animal. “Gonna fill this pussy up, right princesa?”

“Yes, yes, daddy, yes.” You gasp, and you can feel your tummy cramp up again, your pussy fluttering.

“Cum, hermosa. Cum right fucking now.” Santi snarls, sounding dangerous and savage as he fucks into you, and how could you possibly refuse him?

Your body tightens like you’ve been struck by lightning, your back lifting off the bed in an almost painful arch as you shake and cum over Santi’s cock. 

“Yeah, baby, that’s so good. You’re so fucking good, mi amor, fuck-“ Santi’s orgasm follows quickly after yours, his broad body slumping down you gather you in his arms, every inch of your sweaty bodies wrapped together. He holds your body close, tucking his face into the crook of his neck as his cock pulses and floods your pretty pussy.

Even as you both shake, coming down slowly, so slowly from your orgasms, Santi doesn’t let you go. He never does on nights like these. He just holds you, keeping you pressed close as your breathing returns to normal. 

He speaks softly into your hair, “you alright, amor?”

He grins when you giggle softly, your eyes opening to gaze at him. “Never better, baby,” you whisper, your voice raspy.

“You wanna talk about your day?”

“To be honest, babe,” you laugh again, voice raspy but so filled with love you can barely choke the words out. “ I barely remember it now.”

[wardenparker]

The Stars Re-Align, part 1

Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.1k Warnings: Reader is given an age and a grown daughter. Starts out as Santiago x reader. Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mentions of military service (obviously), glancing mention of Tom's death, past drug use, off-page abusive relationship, panic attacks, complicated relationships, family drama. Summary: When your daughter and your boyfriend talk you into having a birthday party, you are not prepared for all of the surprises that come your way. Notes: A little love triangle and 'one that got away' vibe for your Feral Frankie Friday!

“Rachel!” Calling from the kitchen is an old, unbreakable habit by now, but dinner is almost ready and you know your daughter is in the living room studying. She has plans with her boyfriend tonight which means she’s getting her reading out of the way, and you’re proud of her for having such good habits and steady resolve. It’s not at all what you were like at her age, and you’ve worked hard to make sure that she has opportunities that you never could have. Being a young single mom was rough, but every second you have with your little-girl-turned-young-woman is worth it. “Supper’s ready, honey. Find your bookmark!”

“Sure thing!” There’s no point in reminding you that her book is a digital copy, no bookmark needed, but she dutifully saves the spot and closes her laptop. “It smells good.” She compliments, walking into the kitchen and over to the fridge to bust out the bottle of wine that had become a habit with dinner since high school. Nothing fancy, just a cheap sangria, but it was a ritual that both mom and daughter enjoyed. “Are you going out with Santiago tonight?” She asks as she gets down the glasses to pour.

“He might come over to watch a movie since you’re going out.” Your two-month-old relationship isn’t deeply committed or deeply anything yet, really, but you like him. He’s attentive, handsome, and funny, and deeply — okay there’s one deeply — good in bed. “Do you want the good parmesan, or the shaker can? We have both.” Spaghetti with onions, peppers, and sausage isn’t necessarily gourmet, but it’s a family staple. Something your dad used to make you when you were growing up in New York City and you have made for your daughter her whole life afterwards.

“Good parmesan.” She hums. “Let’s be fancy tonight.” Bringing the glasses over to the small kitchen table, she moves on to set out the silverware. A chore when she was younger, it’s now just become habit when you eat together. ‘Working together as a team’ is how you always phrased it and it’s something she loves about her relationship with you now. You’re a team. “I’m going to stay at Ben’s tonight, so you and Santiago can have wild sex.”

“Be safe.” She’s twenty-four, so you’re not going to quibble about her sleeping over with her boyfriend, but you do give her a meaningful look when you set down the plates on the table. “Don’t make me a grandmother and I won’t make you a sister.”

Rachel laughs, it’s the same statement you have been using since she was first dating boys after puberty. “But Mom!” She pouts playfully. “I really want a baby sister!”

“Think I’m getting a little too old for that option, honey,” you huff, but laugh anyway. “Ask Santa for one at Christmas.”

She grins at you, bringing over the basket of breadsticks that are an Olive Garden copycat. Plain frozen ones that you brush with butter and garlic salt. So many of the meals you have together are mocks of the restaurant meals she had wanted when she was younger and you couldn’t afford. As an adult, it’s humbling to see the lengths you went to in order to make her happy.

“You’re coming back tomorrow, though, right?” Though you typically aren’t one to make a big deal out of such things, Santiago had offhandedly mentioned to your daughter a few weeks ago that it was a shame you weren’t doing anything for your birthday and Rachel had jumped on board with talking you into a party. The backyard barbecue will be small, but a chance to meet your boyfriend’s friends and have a few of your own friends from work come over. “It was half your idea, after all.”

“Yeah, I’m going to be there.” She promises. “Oh, is it okay if I bring Ben?” She asks. “He’s got another party to go to if not, but he said he would rather spend time with me.”

“Yes, you can bring Ben.” He’s a few years older than Rachel and has had a very different life experience, but you like Ben Miller. He’s doing his best to make an honest way in the world and he treats Rachel with love and respect. And probably in ways that you want to know absolutely nothing about. “There’s going to be plenty of food. Santiago and I are managing that end.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “Of course you are cooking for your own party.” She huffs.

“Get sassy with me and I’ll send every stitch of leftovers home with other people,” you threaten, though it’s hollow and comes with laughter.

“Not like you won’t make enough to still bring home food.” She shoots back with a grin. If there was ever a party, you always made too much food. It might be pasta salad, but you and she would be eating it for a solid week after everyone had gone home.

“Nothing fancy,” you assure her even though you know she’s right. “Burgers and dogs. And veggie burgers for the few people that skip red meat. All the accoutrements. Santiago is in charge of the grill, which he’s very happy about. And I’m making that cheese dip you like along with my guac. Salsa is coming out of a jar despite protests.”

“Let Ben bring the salsa.” She volunteers immediately with a grin. “He’s got some recipe he got from friends he used to serve with.” She explains. “He was going to make it for their party but we can hijack it and bring it to yours.”

“Deal.” That’s one more thing off your checklist and you’re fine with that. “And the cake is coming from an actual bakery, not a supermarket. I do listen to your protests most of the time.”

“The buttercream is far superior.” She huffs happily and lifts her glass when you are both sitting down at the table. “To a wonderful birthday weekend.” She offers. “One you never forget.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You tap your glass against hers and smile. “Forty-two feels like it will be a good one.”

******

“We have the cake, the burgers are all ready to throw on the grill. Fish is bringing the baked beans, Ironhead is bringing the potato salad and you said Rach’s boyfriend is going to bring the salsa?” He arches a brow in concern. “What do you know about this guy? Is it good salsa? Because I’m going to be offended if it’s Pace.”

“I was told he has a recipe from somebody he served with.” The Pace is in its jars in the cupboard where Santiago can’t be offended by it, and you slip past him to look at your checklist taped to the cupboards one more time. “Coleslaw is made, cheese dip is made, and you filled up the outside fridge last night so that’s all set. I think we’re okay. The last thing is the guac and that only makes a few minutes.”

Santiago slides behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach and hums. “So we have time to go back to the bedroom?” He asks playfully, even if he would haul you back there if you said yes.

“Only if you’re planning on disappointing me,” you tease, knowing he never has and never would. Not on purpose. Still, you twist to kiss away the pout that has certainly formed there. “People are going to be here any minute.”

“We could always tell them to go the fuck away.” He laughs as he suggests it and then the doorbell peels out right afterwards. “That’ll be Ironhead.” He predicts. “Will’s always early.”

“Is that his real name? Will?” You call back when Santiago goes to open the door. You can make guacamole with your eyes closed due to the fact that you’ve had this recipe longer than your daughter has been alive, and you go to the fridge to get the ingredients.

“Yeah!” He calls back over his shoulder before he opens the door to find his friend on the doorstep. The smiles are genuine, almost guilty considering the shit they’ve gone through for the past five months since South America. Grief and sorrow have pulled at them, but it also has finally started to let them live again. “You made it!”

“Of course I did. You didn’t think I’d miss out on seeing your ass do something domestic, did you?” Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller slaps Pope’s shoulder. “Nice place she’s got. You tried to move in yet?”

Pope chuckles quietly and shrugs. “Maybe in another month.” He jokes. “Gotta get in good with the kid first.”

“Right, the kid.” With another friendly slap, Will Miller steps inside the house. It’s well-appointed, clean, and obviously loved. “She coming today?” He thinks so, but he can’t remember. Although a barbecue and pool party seems like a kid thing. But somehow Will remembers the kid not being kid. Teenager? He can’t remember now.

“She spent the night with her boyfriend, but she’ll be here.” Pope nods. “Although she’s already said she won’t call me daddy but I can take her for ice cream.”

“Nobody ought to be calling you ‘Daddy’,” Ironhead huffs.

Santiago laughs and shrugs. “You’re right.” He admits, knowing that he’s not father material. One of the reasons you were an attractive option was that your kid was grown. He didn’t have to play daddy, although from what he’s understood, the dad was your first love and was too immature to stick around. “Benny didn’t ride with you?”

“His girlfriend’s got a family thing today.” Will shrugs slightly, but honestly he’s impressed. His kid brother is crazy about this girl. It’s six months in and he’s starting to use some very committed language — which is fucking thrilling to Will as it signals Benny finally starting to grow up where sex and relationships are concerned. “He’s gonna come by later.”

“That’s good. I want him to come and have a few beers. Fish should be here shortly.” Pope will be happy to see everyone, it’s better than just checking in and having a beer. This will be a good time to really catch up. “How’s things with Marie?” He asks Will softly, knowing that Frank has been a little closed mouth about things between him and his lady. South America hadn’t been great for their relationship, although no one really likes her, she’s the one who was dabbling in drugs and got Fish hooked on coke.

“She was throwing some fit last night about Fish being out with another woman.” Which is obviously bullshit. Frankie would never step out on the mother of his child. But living in the apartment next to Frankie and Marie means he overhears plenty of bullshit. “All he was doing was asking if she wanted to come today. So who knows what kind of mood he’ll show up in.”

“Shit.” Pope sighs and shakes his head as he escorts Will though the living room and towards the kitchen where you are. “He needs to just bite the bullet and leave her.”

“We all know that. But it’s Fish. Too loyal for his own fucking good.” Will hadn’t been expecting to see anyone standing in the kitchen, let alone you, and he clears his throat. “Um—sorry, ma’am. Soldier’s habit,” he apologizes.

“It’s fine,” you promise him, actually laughing at the sheer display of manners. “I survived my daughter’s teenage years. You want to know who swears more than soldiers? Teenage girls.”

It’s been a long goddamn time since Will has been around teenage girls, but he just nods politely and offers his hand. “Will Miller.” He introduces himself. “Santiago has talked you up to be some kind of Wonder Woman, and it looks like he was underestimating your worth.”

"That's very kind of you, Will." You take his hand and introduce yourself easily enough, reflecting momentarily that Santiago has pretty friends. Blonde and blue-eyed isn't your type, but good looking is good looking. "Would you mind helping us get the last few things outside? And the pool is open, I hope Santiago told everyone."

“Absolutely, ma’am.” Like any good solider, Will is going to follow orders and he immediately picks up the heavier items to carry outside. “You have a beautiful home.”

"Thank you." It's something you worked hard for, and you continue to work hard for every day. Everything in your life has been to make sure your daughter is healthy, happy, and well taken care of. It was a lucky break that you got a well-paying job in your field to boot. "And you don't have to call me ma'am. Though I appreciate the manners."

“We need to give her a nickname before Taz does.” Will snorts.

"Taz?" You haven't heard that name before, and it piques your interest as Santiago helps you set things out on the table on the deck.

Will chuckles. “Youngest in our team.” He explains. “Short for Tasmanian Devil. Brother’s like a whirlwind of stirring up shit.”

"Got it." The Army nickname thing had taken you a second to get used to, but you're on board now. It's a brotherhood thing, and you like that Santiago has such a tightknit group of friends still. It's not something you've really had much of in your life, so you're glad to see when it happens for people you care about it. "Well, I told Santiago, but whenever your friends get here just let them into the backyard. The bathroom is off the living room, but everything else worth getting at is outside."

“Yes ma’am.” He smirks slightly when he says that again before disappearing out of the sliding glass doors.

"Are all your friends polite and helpful?" You glance back at the man you've been seeing for the last few months and crack a smile. "I'm glad you invited them. It's about time we started to meet each other's friends."

“Until they are assholes.” He jokes, giving you a bittersweet smile. “We lost a friend half a year ago and it seems like we’ve had a hard time getting back in the routine. Thought this might be the little jolt we needed.”

"Then we'll make sure it's a fantastic day." He hasn't confided too much about his years in the service or about where he was before moving back to Florida a few months ago, but this is probably a large part of the reason why. Either way, you slip your arms around him for a comforting hug. It's the least you can do, when he's gone through something terrible and is willing to open about it a little.

“It’s your day.” He protests, turning and kissing your lips. “It’s supposed to be good for you, not me. We will have a few drinks, have a few laughs and then…” He waggles his brows. “Well kick everyone out and I’ll make you cum until you pass out.”

The hum that forms in the back of your throat is as pleased as it is dirty, and you kiss him once more before your doorbell rings again. "I'll get it," you nudge his nose with yours and step back, albeit reluctantly. "Go hang out with your friend."

People trickle in little by little. Friends from work, mostly, and the one mom from Rachel's school days that you stayed friends with despite Rachel and her son never actually having been friends. Eventually the text comes through from your daughter that she's a few minutes away and that makes you smile brighter than just about anything else today.

Pope pulls out his phone and texts Frankie, wondering when he’s coming – or if he’s going to come at all. He is worried about him, knowing that he’s under a lot of pressure. Marie blames him for losing his license and then going down to South America for two weeks when it was only supposed to be one. He couldn’t even tell her what happened and that was causing issues.

Had to wait for the babysitter. On my way now. Says the text that comes through a few minutes later, but there is a temporary distraction from waiting for Catfish: Rachel's car pulls up and parks outside the house, expelling both your daughter and her boyfriend onto the front lawn.

“Come on, Ben.” Rachel grabs his hand and rushes him towards the door. They are running behind because of the pre-party activities he had talked her into and while she’s not regretting that in the least, she wants to get inside and wish you happy birthday.

“Sounds like everybody’s out back, baby,” he steers her toward the fence surrounding the backyard instead of the front door, but when that brings him closer to the actual driveway of his girlfriend’s house he frowns — deeply — in confusion. He shouldn’t recognize the two vehicles sitting behind Rachel’s car and her mother’s, but there they are: Pope’s slick vintage Corvette right next to Will’s jacked up picked up truck. There’s no denying the two vehicles, he’s seen them together far too often. “The hell?” Benny breathes, but Rachel doesn’t hear him. She’s too excited to see her mom and moving them through the gate before he can hang back to do a double take at the cars.

“Mom!” Pope looks up at soon as he hears a familiar happy cry but then he’s immediately frowning. Watching as Ben Miller moves through the fence gate with Rachel. “What the fuck?”

“I told you she was bringing her boyfriend, didn’t I?” Santiago’s level of confusion is confusing in its own right, but you ignore it in favor of meeting your daughter at the edge of the porch to give her a massive hug. “Hey sweet pea!”

It helps that Benny looks just as stunned as Pope does, Will stopping short when he sees his younger brother and doesn’t hesitate to call out. “You made it!” He huffs out and shaking his head at his brother’s fickleness. “Girlfriend’s family already kick you out?”

“Nooo…” Benny blinks against the sunlight, having left his sunglasses in his truck. “You’re at the wrong party, assholes.”

The ball busting smirk immediately slides off of Will’s face, due to the knowledge that there is no way they could be at the wrong party. “Benny…” He glances at a stunned Pope and sighs heavily. “We’re at the right party.”

It only takes about a second more, but by the time Benny breathes “Ohhh shit.” He’s also cackling with laughter. “Are you telling me—” The younger Miller brother looks around and drops his voice for the sake of not embarrassing the girl he adores. “Are you telling me Pope is banging my girl’s mom?”

Will snorts and shakes his head. “Looks like.” He agrees quietly. “Hell of a birthday surprise.” He hopes that it won’t change your daughter’s mind on dating him, Rachel has been fantastic for Ben.

“Fuck….” Pope snickers quietly, shaking his head at the irony. He should probably go spell this out for you so you don’t take it the wrong way. No one knew. Even after hearing about Benny’s girlfriend for months, only Will and Fish had met her so far.

Rachel pulls back and gives you a beaming smile. “Happy Birthday Mom.” She hums, winking at you. “Santiago spend the night last night since I was with Ben?” She’s not been paying attention to the guys, too focused on you.

“We fell asleep watching our second movie.” It’s mostly true — true enough that you can play it off as innocent because you did technically nod off during the second movie — but the empty bowl of popcorn and wine glasses in the living room had waited until this morning to be cleared away once you hauled each other off to bed. “Did Ben have a fight last night or did you guys just go out?”

“No fight.” She shakes her head. “Next weekend, so we just got to go out. Although he wants to know if you would like to come to the fight.” You’ve met Benny and she thinks you like him, but she wants you to get to know him better. Which is why she had suggested they go to your party today instead of his friends’.

“If you want me to.” You don’t feel too excited to watch your daughter’s boyfriend get beat up, but you do want to get to know him better. Rach is so obviously head over heels for him.

“It’s up to you.” She smiles and looks back at Ben, curious to find Will here. “Um— what’s his brother doing here?”

“Whose brother?” Turning to follow her eyes, your head tilts slightly in interest. Santiago and Will are deep in conversation with Benny already. “That’s one of Santiago’s friends. Will.”

“Mom…” Rachel’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s Will Miller…Benny’s older brother.”

“That…” You swallow, slowly registering the situation as you watch the men interact. “That makes things interesting…” You’re dating a man who served with your daughter’s boyfriend…this is going to get complicated…

“Oh god.” Rachel bites her lip as Benny and Pope quickly break away and come over to the two of you. “So…”

“So, this is interesting.” You repeat the phrase almost disbelieving.

“Kind of a funny coincidence, huh?” Benny wraps his arms around Rachel and plants a kiss in her hair.

“I didn’t know.” Rachel promises you with a small shake of her head. “Shit, Ben. I can’t believe I didn’t know it.”

“I think I know why.” You observe, clearing your throat and accepting the comfort of Santiago’s arm around your waist as you look up (and up) at Ben. “I’m going to guess that your nickname while you were serving together was Taz?”

“Yeah.” Benny nods and looks back between all the other men. “Oh fuck, we’ve been just using our nicknames and they didn’t know.” He groans. "I'm sorry baby." He turns to Rachel with an apologetic look. "Pope was talking about his new girl and spending as much time as possible with her, so he missed the last fight you were at."

“It’s a little unconventional,” you admit, wondering what Santiago thinks of all this. “But not terrible, right?” As close in age as you and Rachel are, it wouldn’t be the first time you have had mutual friends. Just the first time you were ever dating mutual friends.

"He's a good guy." Pope assures you, like it's the first time you've met Benny. "And we can kick his ass if needed."

Benny snorts and rolls his eyes. "You wish, old man."

“Rach?” Your fingers run through her loose curls gently and you give her a questioning look. While this isn’t the day you want to have — after all, you do like Santiago — it’s ultimately up to her. Everything is and always has been in your life, and you made that decision for a reason.

"I don't think that you need to stop seeing Santiago just because he knows Ben." She rationalizes. "I think it's fine, what do you think?"

“Just as long as you’re comfortable with it.” That goes for the men involved, too. But they don’t seem to mind beyond being apologetic.

Rachel snorts and shrugs. "Just as long as they don't share sex stories." She giggles and shoots Santiago a smirk. "And we won't either."

“I was not planning on it, sweet pea.” You might be close, but that’s a step too far even for you. “Never ever.”

Agreeing completely, she walks up to Pope and gives him a hug. "So if you make my mom cry, I'll have my boyfriend beat you up." She teases.

“Got it.” She’s a grown woman, but he can’t resist the urge to mess with her thick hair, watching her face wrinkle in disapproval before she moves back to Benny, who smooths the familiar curls with care. “Now we just need Catfish to get here and we’ll have everybody.”

"I'm here!" A hand appears over the fence before he opens it, hat pulled low, and he grunts when he picks up the cooler full of ice and beer that he had stopped and picked up on the way. "Sorry I'm late."

“Fish!” Benny kisses the side of Rachel’s head before peeling off to grab the cooler from him and take it to the porch so his friend can catch his breath. He doesn’t see the tick in the tilt of your head or the way your eyes widen just a second later.

'Fish', or Francisco Morales, looks up and smirks at Benny when he grabs the cooler. Thankful, although he wouldn't make too much of a fuss about it. Getting older sucked and he's still feeling the effects of that workout he helped the other man do just two days ago when his normal sparring partner was sick. "'Bout time you made yourself useful." He huffs playfully and looking towards Pope to wave. Freezing with his arm halfway up in greeting when he sees someone that he had never expected to see before – you.

The way you shrink into yourself immediately is instinct. As much shock as anything else. But within seconds you’re stepping forward to block Rachel from view and shakily a demand an explanation. “What the shit is going on?” You hiss, though you’re not exactly sure who you’re talking to, you just don’t want to make a scene in front of your coworkers. They consider you to be such a calm, collected woman.

Frowning, Pope turns towards you, reaching out to touch your arm and stepping closer to you. "Babe— what's wrong? What are you talking about?" He follows your gaze back to Fish and he grunts in confusion. "Fish? He's another teammate. One of my best friends."

“Fuck.” Deflating on the spot, you feel like you could just collapse where you stand but that wouldn’t help the situation any. “We—we, um—know each other,” you explain quietly. “But it’s been a long time.”

Feeling like he's been kicked in the chest by one of those fucking mules, Frankie stumbles forward and murmurs your name softly. "I— what are you doing here?" He asks, frowning slightly.

“This is my house.” You wonder if Santiago even explained where he was inviting him, or if you have a nickname to their group just like they all do to each other. “I wouldn’t expect you to still remember my birthday.”

All the blood drains from his face and it falls into a wounded look. Realizing that you have to be Pope's girl. "I— remembered." He murmurs quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Seven billion people in the world. Figured someone else would have the same day too." It's almost a kick in the teeth, that comment of yours. Considering he had a fight with Marie because he had said your name this morning when he was talking to himself after waking up. You were the reason he had fought, again, with the mother of his child and she had pitched a fit and left. Making him wait on a babysitter so he could come to this party. To find out that it was for you. He's so fucking lucky that Marie isn't here. He clears his throat roughly and bites his lip. "Happy birthday, gatita." He uses the nickname from a million years ago and steps back. "I should go."

A press of overwhelming guilt and the instinct to stop him makes you reach out, grabbing his arm before you can stop yourself. “No. You shouldn’t.” You admit, even though it hurts.

"No," He shakes his head and gives you a wry smile. "I should." He sighs softly and looks over at Pope. "This is your girl, huh?" He asks, confusing the other man even more. "Keep her and take care of her." He tells him. "You'll regret it if you don't." He reaches for your hand and pries it off his arm gently, squeezing it before letting it go.

“Where’s Fish going?” Benny returns from the deck just a second too late, but just in time to watch Frankie leave again and see the bewildered looks on his friends’ faces.

"I don't fucking know." The entire day has been one big bag of surprises and Pope doesn't particularly like surprises. He turns towards you for some kind of explanation, although the nickname gatita sounds familiar, like Fish has mentioned it before. "You know Frank?"

“We grew up together.” It’s the best you can hiccup out before you take off like a shot, following Frankie through the gate. “Frankie!” He’s already down at the street, but he pauses when you call his name and it gives you time to catch up.

Waiting for you as you rush towards him, Frankie takes off his Standard Oil hat and scratches his hair. Struck by how nostalgic the moment is, waiting for you to catch up to him so many times once upon a lifetime ago. “Look, I’m sorry.” He sighs when you are closer. “I didn’t know, okay? I’m going.”

“I think you should stay.” Not as fit as you once were, you puff a little and put your arms around your waist. “We, uh—for Santiago, if nothing else. You’re his friend and I—I’m somebody you used to know.” And there is so, so much to tell him…

The idea that you might want him there makes him pause and he frowns slightly as he stares at you for a moment. “Only if you’re sure.” He still hesitates. “It’s your birthday after all.”

“It is.” And you’re not sure. You’re really not. But since he’s reappearing in your life almost twenty-five years later, the lump in your throat is winning over logic.

“Last time I saw you was on your birthday.” Frankie frowns, wondering how he could have been such a shit head back then. “Seems like the circle is complete.”

“Eighteen was a long time ago.” It was right before he left for boot camp, and you’d been pushing him to commit to you before he left. A stupid thing to do at such a young age. You know that now. But you were so stupid in love with him back then and there was so much going on.

“Yes it was.” He can admit that, biting his lip and shuffling slightly. “And I was an asshole.” He had broken his own damn heart, even if he hadn’t known it at the time.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” Squeezing your eyes shut makes you feel like your heart is going to burst, but the universe has decided that it’s time to finally time to come clean. “I was scared. And I’m sorry.”

“I was stupid.” Frankie has so many regrets from that time of his life, just compounded over the years and he almost steps closer to you, but he doesn’t. He can’t, he doesn’t have that right anymore. “I proved you right. I didn’t come back.” The argument is still confusing in his memory, just as much as it had confused him then. You had pushed to get married before he left and he had wanted to wait. It had become a sticking point and in his stubbornness, he had broken up with you.

“You didn’t come back and you didn’t have a cell phone…and then your parents moved.” With their only child moved on, Frankie’s father had accepted a transfer upstate from the Standard Heating & Oil Co that both of your fathers worked for. “I had—I had no way to talk to you. To—to tell you—” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, surprising you since you thought you had cried every last tear you had over Frankie Morales.

“Tell me?” Frankie frowns and he does step closer, hating to see tears in your eyes again on a birthday. Especially because they seem to be because of him again. “Tell me what, gatita?”

“Fair warning.” Wiping at the corners of your eyes, you can’t quite look him in his even when you straighten out again. “You’ll hate me. And you probably should, at this point.”

“I don’t think I could hate you.” Frankie admits quietly, unable to even imagine a world where he would.

“You might.” Wiping your hands down your face and breathing out a deep, frustrated groan, you look up again to see the eyes of the boy who was your first everything looking back at you, and you crumble. “I didn’t have any way to contact you,” you repeat again, knowing you could and should have tried harder anyway. “And I was scared of losing you because — because I was pregnant.”

The way his brows pull down is instantaneous and he immediately puts his hands on his hips and twists around as he absorbs your news. “You— you were pregnant?” He chokes out, looking back at you with a wounded expression. “I— what? No? What— pregnant?”

“That’s…that’s why I was pushing you so hard to propose.” You admit, eyes cast down at the ground.

“You didn’t say a word.” Frankie shakes his head. “Why— why didn’t you tell me? If I had known—”

“I thought if I told you that you’d only run away from me faster.” Which, at eighteen years old, had seemed like pretty sound logic to you. “By the time I was scared enough to just want you there regardless, it was too late. You were…you were gone.”

“By the time—” he shakes his head, eyes wide and he swallows harshly. “What happened? Don’t— I— what are you saying?”

"I'm saying that you have a daughter." A fact which sticks in your throat now like you had tried to swallow a pinecone. "Who is smart, and kind, and headstrong, and stubborn as hell. But she's doing so well for herself that a lot of that stubbornness just slides right by."

Frankie blanks out for a minute, staring at you before he turns away. Grappling with his emotions as he bends over and tries to take a breath, groaning slightly in disbelief. “No.” He shakes his head, turning back to you. “No! Don’t tell me that!”

"I'm sorry." It isn't worth much, as apologies go, but you kneel down beside him on the grass and wonder if he'll be mad enough to strike out if you put a hand on his back. "I really am. You should have known a long time ago."

“Twenty-four,” he chokes out. “You are telling me I have a twenty-four year old daughter?” His face screws up in the regret and tears. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”

"I had no way to tell you." It's a lame excuse, or at least it feels lame, and you do rest your hand on his back but it's so gentle you don't even know if he can feel it.

“Oh fuck….fuck, fuck, fuck…..” Frankie moans, closing his eyes and his fists bunch against his thighs. “I-I-I— don’t— I can’t –”

"Frankie?" His breathing sounds panicked, and you soothe one hand in circles around his back. "Breathe, okay? Just breathe. Everything's okay. She—she's grown. She's raised. No one is asking you to do anything."

“I—I missed it.” He manages. “I missed everything.” Closing his eyes as he realizes that his trajectory of his life would have been vastly different if he had known.

Oh. It's the opposite. The exact opposite. He's not panicked that you're going to expect him to stay, like you thought he was. He's upset that he missed Rachel's childhood. "There's...there's still the whole rest of her life ahead."

“I— I should have been there.” He drops his head down even more. “Fuck— you must hate me. She must hate me.”

"It's my fault you didn't know. Why would I hate you?" As much as it has ever hurt to lose him, you've never actually hated him. Just missed him. Which isn't the same although they can be confused for each other. "And Rachel— Frankie, she knows the truth. That we were young and lost touch."

“Rachel.” He shakes his head, focusing on her name and it’s so goddamn familiar. “Her name is Rachel?”

"My aunt Rachel died right before she was born," you explain, wondering if he even remembers meeting your mother's sister a million and a half times at different family functions while you were together. He was always invited for every holiday.

“God.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, hating that he had been such a fucking idiot back then. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

"I am, too." More sorry than you can possibly say, but what else can you do at this point but try to move forward?

“So I managed to ruin another birthday of yours.” He pushes aside the grief and sorrow that is threatening to overwhelm him and locks it down. Compartmentalize, shutting down, it’s what he knows best. He can freak out about this later when he’s left.

"It's not ruined." It's awkward, and it's uncomfortable, and you're not really sure what to do now. But it's not ruined. "It's—it's not—I don't know what today is, but it's..." you sigh heavily and stand up again. "I don't know, Frankie. If you want to leave that's up to you. But our lives cross now, and I know...I know Rachel would want to meet you."

“Oh god. Is she— is she there? Here?” He asks, shaking his head. “Can I meet her?”

"If I wasn't going to let you meet her, I would have just kept my mouth shut about the whole thing," you needle him gently. Just wishing he could or would do as much as crack a smile. It seems desperately needed.

The huff, the quarter of a smile is almost involuntary. Almost in disbelief and he looks over at you with a heavy stare. “I want to meet her.” He tells you quietly. “If I had known, things would have been so different for us, gatita.”

"No use crying over spilled milk, I think." Twenty-four years of regret is a lot to process, but you nod in acknowledgement. Just a small motion of thanks that he is at least saying out loud what you suspected.

“Fuck.” He huffs again and uncurls his hands to wipe them on his jeans. “I’m nervous.”

"Telling you not to be seems cruel," you huff, though you're not sure what else to say. "No one planned this. No one saw this coming. It will be as much of a shock to her as it is to you. As—as it was to me to see you."

“Forty-two.” He shakes his head and looks back over at you in awe. “You don’t look a day over fucking eighteen.” It might be a small embellishment, but you look amazing and so much like the girl he has loved for so long.

"You're not so bad yourself." Santiago may be on the other side of that fence, but a part of your heart has always and will always belong to scrawny Frankie Morales from Brooklyn. Even if he isn't scrawny anymore – which is a thing you can't help but notice.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, centering himself before he nods. “We should go back.” He murmurs.

"I promise she's not scary." Although you'll understand when it is a complete shock to her. And to the others. "Just...let me tell her first? I ran after you so fast that I didn't explain to anyone else yet."

Both of you stand up and he scrubs his hands on his jeans again. “Sure, sure.” He agrees, knowing that it could be sort of a shock, even if she’s known about him her whole life.

"Remember to breathe," you advise him with a wry chuckle, even though it's good advice for you too.

“When I remember how.” Frankie snorts, slightly pacing in place as he glances towards the back yard gate.

"Come on." Nodding toward the yard, you take a step in that direction to see if it will spur him on. The urge to offer him your hand is misplaced, and you have to quell it by putting your hands in your jeans pockets. "We've kept them waiting long enough."

Frankie exhales roughly and trails along behind you, wanting you to take the lead. He has to tell you about Luna at some point, but he will do that after he meets the daughter he never knew he had.

“Sorry about that.” Once you’re on the other side of the gate again, you see Rachel standing in the midst of Santiago, Benny, and Will all looking concerned. “That was…unexpected? Shall we say?”

“Mom?” Rachel moves closer to you and frowns as her eyes slide back to where Frankie is hanging back. “Why are you upset with Fish?” She asks softly, looking back at the other three men and then back at you. “You said you knew him? When? I don’t remember you dating him.” Your dates had been few and far between, even rarer that she had met them, but she would have remembered someone called Catfish.

“I’m not upset, sweet pea. I’m just surprised.” It’s a lie, but a prudent one. You are upset, and it’s because your little slice of peace has been disturbed. But no one did that on purpose, so you’ll just have to live with it. “Why don’t we—we should talk about this inside.”

“No. Here. Now.” She has inherited her stubbornness both you and Frankie. And she’s eyeing the man she had met a few months ago and hung out with suspiciously. He looks like he’s about to be sick and she’s not above taking a baseball bat to his knees if needed, whether or not she had liked him before.

“Rach, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmur, looking around the backyard. Most people are milling about and a few are in the pool, but they obviously all know something is up.

Rachel stares at you for a minute and then she shoots Frankie a glare because you look so upset before she turns around and marches towards the house.

“You guys, too,” you decide, figuring it’s probably best to get all of this over with. Santiago is dating you, Benny is dating Rachel, and Will is bound to find everything out soon enough.

There’s not a lot of hope for him with the glare shot his way, so Frankie hangs back for a moment. Reconciling the fact that Rachel is the girl that Benny has been dating. His daughter is dating his friend. His friend who has been bragging about his girl to him. And their sex life. He’s going to throw up or punch Ben in the mouth.

Once everyone is inside, you check to make sure the bathroom is empty and close the sliding doors tightly. Everyone outside can wait. This is far more important. “Everything is okay,” you start, making sure that right off the bat Rachel knows you aren’t mad and Santiago understands you don’t hate his best friend. His best friend. Fuck. “It was just—as surprising as it was to find out Santiago and Ben are friends…this is an even bigger surprise.”

Frankie leans on the side of the wall, staring at the tip of his boot as he tries to wait for you to tell Rachel. He can’t blurt it out, she’s your kid. Not his— not really. He hasn’t done a goddamn thing to help raise her, but he has to admire the job you’ve done.

"The thing is, Rach." Blowing out a breath, you reach out for your daughter's hand and just pray she won't hate you. "You wouldn't remember when I dated Frankie. Because it was before you were born."

“Hermano.” Pope’s eyes widen and the nickname clicks. He knew he had heard it before. “Gatita? This is—” he whistles quietly. “Mierda.”

When Rachel still looks confused, you breathe deeply and try your best not to shake. Or to chicken out. "There are a lot of blanks to fill in along the way, but...sweet pea...Frankie is—" Oh god, you're going to throw up. You're absolutely going to throw up. "He's your father."

You could hear a pin drop, or a mouse fart, the room is so quiet. Every head snapping towards Frankie in judgement and he doesn’t pay them any attention, focusing on the one person right now that matters. His daughter.

"I don't understand." Rachel stands bog still, clutching your hand with eyes as wide as saucers as she looks frantically between you and Frankie. She had liked this man. He is a good friend to Ben. But now she doesn't know what to think.

“Your mom and I were high school sweethearts.” Frankie isn’t sure what you might have told her, but he’s going to tell her what he knows to be true. “More like middle school, but you know?” He shrugs. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” He promises. “I swear I didn’t know.”

Will sighs from the other side of the room. “Oh shit.”

"Everything I ever told you about him was the truth." You had worked hard to always be fair to Frankie when you were raising Rachel, even if it led to never telling her very much about him unless she asked. "He didn't know, and I had no way of telling him. It's been...it's been twenty-five years since we even spoke to each other. So you can understand why I was surprised to see him walk in today."

“And he’s friends with your boyfriend and mine.” There’s a note of disbelief in her voice that Frankie doesn’t blame her for.

“We were on the same team for years.” Frankie explains. “I was their pilot.”

“That’s why we lost touch,” you remind your daughter gently. “He left for boot camp.” Considering Ben isn’t the first Army boy that Rachel has dated, you have always sort of had a suspicion that she was subconsciously searching for her dad in these men. It just never occurred to you that it would actually work.

She looks at him, almost accusatory in her gaze. “Why did you never come back?” She demands. “If you loved her, why did you just walk away?”

That makes Frankie wince, and he shoves his hands in his pockets again. “Have you ever done something dumb and been too goddamn proud to admit you were wrong?” He asks quietly, and Pope, despite his own feelings about the entire situation, won’t let Frankie’s daughter twist in the wind.

“He used to talk about his gatita.” He interjects. “Regretting not making up with her and wishing he could get in contact with her.”

“It was harder back then, honey.” The gentle reminder is important, because Rachel might not have grown up in a world of luxury but she’s definitely never known a world without cell phones or social media. “When I told your grandparents that you were coming, we moved. It was just a little further outside the city, but the place was bigger and the neighborhood was safer. Your grandma found a better job and— and with neither of our families still in Brooklyn, we couldn’t have found each other. Even if your dad had come back looking for me, or tried to call our old apartment? We wouldn’t have been there.” At least she hasn’t ripped her hand out of yours yet. You’re considering that a good thing “We were kids, and we made mistakes. Very big ones. But you know he didn’t leave because he didn’t love you.”

“I would have never.” He promises, his voice thick with emotions. He shakes his head and frowns slightly. He doesn’t know why he didn’t realize who she was to him now that he knows. She looks just like a perfect combination of you and him, with your nose, thank God. But her ears curl just like his.

“Oh god…” In trying to process everything, Rachel glances up and looks at Frankie’s hat again, groaning to herself and wiping one hand at the bottom of her neck just like he does — but neither of them ever noticed the simile gesture. “I always just thought the hat was a funny coincidence,” she admits with a huff.

“My hat?” He takes it off and scrubs his hair quickly before putting it back on his head. “Had it since I was a kid.”

The Miller brothers look confused, and you offer them a wilted smile with your explanation. "Both of our fathers, Rach's grandfathers...they both worked for Standard for forever. That's how Frankie and I met."

“Oh shit.” Benny frowns slightly and moves over to Rachel’s side, squeezing her hip supportively.

"I know this is a lot." It's a lot for everyone, but you're mostly just talking to Rachel. Your whole adult life has been lived for your baby girl and now emotions are unraveling at light speed. "But nothing has to change. You're a grown woman, sweet pea. And whatever relationship you want with your Dad is up to you."

“I’ve spent time with him.” She admits quietly. “After a fight of Benny’s.” She looks back at Frankie and bites her lip. “But I’d like to get to know him as my dad.”

"I know this just got sprung on everybody," you murmur again. The fact is that right now you have a yard full of people and all you want to do is disappear under your comforter and pretend it isn't happening. "But...life throws you curveballs, right?"

“Yeah.” Frankie huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling like his entire world has turned on its head. Wishing like hell he could snort a line but he promised himself he wouldn’t touch that shit again.

"We should give you guys some privacy." When Will finally speaks up, it's to motion to his brother and to Pope that maybe they should step outside. There are a lot of emotions creating tension in this room and they're not going to be made easier by having an audience.

Pope shuffles slightly, wanting to stay, but he also needs to think about this entire thing. The situation is blowing up and he doesn’t want to make things worse.

"Maybe you could throw the burgers on the grill? And we'll be out in a few minutes?" He had offered to be in charge of the grill today but that was before everything had gone to hell and now you have no idea what he's thinking. "And I promise we'll talk through everything, too."

“Of course.” He nods and doesn’t lean in to kiss you like he might have just a few minutes before walking in this house. Feeling almost guilty for the entire situation right now.

That missing kiss is enough to tell you that everything has changed. Santiago has never shied away from affection or from public displays, and this is exactly the time that a partner might have offered that kind of comfort. Whatever you end up talking to him about later, you're now prepared for him to end things. But you can't fault him for that. You had a baby with his best friend – even if you didn't know each other then.

“Baby?” Benny looks at Rachel, checking with her before he leaves.

"It's okay," she promises him, going up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I'll find you when we come back out." And she's going to find a White Claw or six in the garage fridge, too. Fuck.

“Okay.” He shoots Frankie a worried look, not liking the despair on his friend’s face and shuffles to the door.

"I figured it might be easiest to just tell them the facts up front and then let all of us talk," you tell them both, now wondering if that was the right move at all.

“Yeah.” Frankie nods, understanding why you did it, but he looks over at Rachel with regret and waits for her to say something.

"Do you, actually...do you mind if I talk to Frankie—" Rachel hums awkwardly over it, before reconsidering. "If I talk to my father alone for a few minutes?" She sort of feels like they're ganging up on him, and while she has questions and she's sure that you do, too...hers are going to be very different from yours.

“I don’t mind.” Frankie glances back over at you for approval.

"I should go make the rounds outside." As much as you don't want to, it is your party and they are your guests out there. Most of whom noticed that something odd has happened even if they don't know what. Still, you nod and lean over to hug your daughter. "Come back out when you’re ready. Ben looked like he'll worry until you do."

“I will.” She promises and Frankie catches your eye as you glance over at him.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, thanking you for the opportunity to talk to Rachel. He knows you could have been very different with this entire thing. Blowing out a breath when you walk out and shut the door, he looks back at his grown daughter. “So hit me with it.” He tells her.

For a second Rachel is dumbfounded. She just stands and stares at him, but then her shoulders slump and she shrugs and she blows out a long sigh. “I guess I know the real reason my middle name is Francine,” she poses, shaking her head. “Mom said it was because The Nanny is her favourite show and I completely fucking believe that because she worships Fran Drescher, but I’m willing to bet that’s one of only like six lies she’s ever told me in my whole life and it’s actually because of you.”

“Francisco Alberto Morales.” He introduces himself to her quietly, nodding and trying not to be humbled by the fact that you gave your daughter a version of his name. Something to connect the two of you.

“And you guys were…you were together for a long time?” She knows the story. She’s heard it from you over and over again. But something in her feels like she needs to hear it confirmed from him.

“Seventh grade until her 18th birthday.” He frowns at the way that makes him sound, how callous it could be construed. He has just walked away after so long.

“And she wanted to get married.” Rachel prompts, needing these landmarks of the story confirmed for her.

“We had a plan.” He shuffles slightly and looks around the neat and well decorated home. You’ve done well for yourself and it shows. “I was going to get through boot camp and my ‘A’ school while she started college and then when I got to my first duty station, she would transfer to a school nearby.” His shoulders round when he remembers that last fight, the missing piece now clicked into place and with maturity, he can see that you had been terrified, not overbearing. “Her birthday, she blind-sided me with getting married.”

“She wanted to skip forward and get married first, and you didn’t agree.” She can see it from both sides, now. As an adult it makes sense why an eighteen-year-old planning his life would think his girlfriend was just trying to trap him — or even that she wanted the wedding more than she wanted him. “But…you never got married at all? Even after Mom?”

“No.” Marie isn’t married to him, he couldn’t do that even if he had been inclined to. She was still technically married to some guy in her past, or so she claimed. “But….”

“Oh god, don’t say Marie.” Rachel bursts out, talking before she can even think. “She’s awful, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. I didn’t feel like I had a right to say anything before but I totally do now and she’s abusive and terrible, and I will absolutely help you leave her if you need help. I’ll babysit Luna anytime and — oh my god Luna is my sister—”

Frankie shuffles and looks down at his feet. Marie hadn’t been at her best the first time that Rachel had come to the bar after the fight. She had been pissed off because his hearing had been postponed again and he wasn’t closer to getting his pilot’s license back.

“Look, if you’re happy, it’s whatever.” Rachel shuffles, not realizing she’s moving the same way as Frankie, and shrugs. She senses she’s hit a nerve. “I’ll still help with Luna whenever you need. I—I always wanted a baby sister…”

“She’s not bad.” Frankie had dealt with her for a long time and it seemed harder to leave than it was to stay. “That was a bad night.”

“If you say so.” She doesn’t believe him, but the very first day she meets her father isn’t the day to push too hard.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he looks around the house again. “Did you and your mom struggle?” He asks quietly.

“My grandparents helped.” The short answer is yes, but she doesn’t want to make him feel guilty. “We lived with them when I was little, then we moved down here when I was about thirteen. Mom got a job with Disney.”

Frankie nods, frowning slightly. He has his retirement and his Thrift Savings Plan from the military, which he will hopefully be able to not use once he gets his license back. He’s not in the best position to offer any kind of help, but he will. “You’re in school, right?” He asks.

“I’m getting my masters at UCF.” Rachel nods again. “I still live with Mom. Here, I mean. She didn’t make me leave or anything when I started college.”

She’s dedicated. Frankie knows that college, especially graduate programs, are expensive. “That’s good.” He bites his lip and wonders if the offer would offend her. “I have my G.I. Bill.” He mentions. “I can gift it to a spouse – which I don’t have.” He shrugs. “Or a child.”

It's a very sweet offer, but that doesn't really surprise her. She already knows Frankie is a sweet guy. "Save it for Luna," she tells him. "I have great scholarships, and that way she'll be able to look forward to school without worrying about student loans."

It’s feels like a rejection, even though he knows it’s not. He nods and clears his throat. “That’s good.” He has an odd sense of pride for her achievements, even though he had done nothing to contribute.

"What do you want to know about me?" There's probably plenty, but now Rachel feels a bit self-conscious. She's at least heard stories about him. All he knows about her is whatever Ben has told him.

“Everything.” The word tumbles out before he can stop himself and he looks embarrassed. “I— I want to know everything.”

"Everything is a lot," she laughs, but understands. She wants to know everything about him too. She's wondered about her father forever. "What if...what if we did some father/daughter stuff? I could come over and spend time with you and Luna or we could grab a drink sometimes? Just...exist together. And all the get to know you stuff will come in time?"

“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and smiles at her, his eyes crinkling and his face lighting up at the idea. “I like that. Any time. Any time at all.”

“Okay.” She’s feeling bone tired by all of this so she can only imagine how you and Frankie feel, but as Rachel moves over to the notepad on the far table to write her number down for him, she purses her lips slightly and tilts her head. Her thinking face. “Don’t…please don’t be too hard on Mom?” She asks, holding the slip of paper out to him a second later. “She doesn’t ever say it, but I know she’s missed you. And she worked so hard to raise me alone, she just…she deserves the world.”

“I’m not mad at your mother, querida.” He promises, taking the paper and looking down at it before he folds it up carefully and tucks it into his pocket. “I’m mad at myself.” He explains. “Too goddamn proud to admit I was wrong, and I apparently missed out on a hell of a life.” He looks up at her with pride. “And a hell of a daughter.”

“Well shucks, Paw,” she laughs, obviously very touched by the sentiment. “I guess we both have a bunch to catch up on. But we can do that.”

He snorts and huffs out a grin. “By the way, I’m going to punch your boyfriend in the mouth.” He warns Rachel. “So don’t go screaming at me when it happens.”

“Benny?” She makes an audible huffing sound. “What did he do?”

“You’ll find out.” He won’t say now, but he shrugs. “He deserves it, and he’ll know it.”

“Seems weird, but okay.” Men do weird things sometimes. She’s not so young that she doesn’t know that.

He chuckles and sweeps his head off his head again. “You look like your mother when you wrinkle your nose.”

“It’s funny.” She wrinkles her nose again but consciously, wondering if she really does look like you that way. “She always said I had your smile. And your ears.”

Frankie reaches out and brushes her curls back behind her ears and smiles. “You do have my ears.” He admits.

“Is it weird? She asks, stifling a laugh. “To realize that?”

“Surreal.” He admits with a sigh. “I don’t know what to think. I went from being too old to have a six-month-old, to being the dad to a grown ass woman.”

“I was teasing Mom about wanting a little sister last night,” Rachel admits with a groan at the irony. “Shows me right.”

Frankie smirks slightly and shrugs. “Isn’t life sometimes a kick in the teeth?”

******

“What a Fucking kick in the teeth.” Will pushes out a sigh in the backyard, cracking open the beer he grabbed from the cooler Fish brought.

“Yeah.” Pope frowns at the grill, pushing the perfectly aligned burgers with the spatula. “Who would have thought?”

"What are you gonna do?" It's not as though Pope has had a lot of time to think, but Will knows him long enough to know that the wheels are already spinning. They have all heard Fish talk about his gatita, and now that they know who she is? It at least warrants a reaction.

Pope glances over at Will before he looks back at the grill, his movements a little stiffer than just a moment before. “What can I do?” He asks rhetorically. “She was his first.”

"Just because she was his first doesn't mean that he has to be her last," Benny offers, not quite sure what else to say. They all know that Pope had been starting to fall for you, even if it had never been said. Now he is very obviously pulling back.

"No, but she would want him to be." He admits quietly. "She had told me about her first love. She didn't tell me his name." He says pointedly when Benny opens his mouth to ask the obvious question. "But she told me enough to know that she's still in love with him. And we know that Frankie never got over her."

"So it's not about stepping back," Will observes, sipping his beer in the hot Florida sun. "It's about letting them be together."

Closing the grill, Pope sighs, hands on his hips as he looks around the backyard and comes to his decision. "Don't you think Fish deserves to be happy?" He asks quietly.

"Of course he does." The idea that Will might think otherwise practically makes him clutch his proverbial pearls.

"And fuck knows we want Marie gone," Benny huffs under his breath.

"His gatita is the one to make both of those wishes come true." He's sure of it and he will bow out like a gentleman. It's the least he can do since the last half year of hell in his personal life is partially his responsibility. He had pushed Fish to come to South America. Pope looks back at both of the other men. "Want to help me fix Fish's life?"

Benny is the first to smirk, clapping his hands together and rubbing them dramatically. "You gonna pull a binder out of your ass or are we talking this one through?"

"First, I'm going to get really drunk and pretend like I'm not falling on a sword." Pope snorts, snatching the beer out of Will's hand and taking a drink. "Then, we're gonna figure out how to get Fish custody of Luna." He tells them quietly. "That little girl is the reason he's still with Marie."

"We just need proof that she's the one with the drug problem." Will mumbles, not wanting to say those words too loud. "And we need his hearing to go through so he can get his damn license back."

"Yeah." He sighs and points at Will. "Can you talk to your ex?" Pope asks, knowing it's a big favor. "She's still working in the DA's office, right? Maybe she can help us? Or know someone who can?" Being a paralegal isn't the same as being an assistant DA, but she knows people.

"I'll see if she can at least point me in the right direction," Will nods in agreement, knowing that as uncomfortable as talking to his ex-fiancée will be, it's definitely the right course of action. "She always like Fish. It shouldn't be too hard to get her to give an e-mail or phone number of who can help."

“Marie isn’t going be happy learning about Rachel.” Pope glances at Benny. “You know that.”

"She's going to be furious." Ben agrees, wiping his hand through his hair and blowing out a raspberry. "She's gonna think Fish kept it from her on purpose."

“Poor bastard looked like he was about to fall over.” Pope sighs. “I hate this.”

"We're gonna make it work," Benny promises him. "Sorry you got shoved into the middle of it, though."

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t and it actually really hurt that he was going to have to end things with you and pretend that he’s just friends with you, but his brother is worth it.

"Better to find out now than a year from now," Will offers, knowing it isn't a whole lot of comfort. But at least it's honest.

“Yeah.” You walk out of the house and he immediately turns to watch you. “Better now.” Santi murmurs, his heart aching.

******

Most people leave around dinner time, splintering off to nighttime plans or to go home to their families. Santiago, Frankie, and the Miller brothers stayed long enough to help you clean up and Rachel is loading the dishwasher when you realize Santiago has gone temporarily missing. On a hunch, you go down the hall to your bedroom and frown to see him there, tucking things back into his duffel bag.

"Decided not the stay the night?"

He hates that you caught him and he stands tall after shoving in a t-shirt and tamping down the guilty feeling. “It’s been a…surprising day.” He tells you. “Figured it might be better to change the plan for tonight.”

"Just for tonight?" You have a feeling you know the answer, but you want it out in the open. No questions or doubts.

His eyes slide away from you and for a moment, he falters. Wondering if this is the wrong thing to do. “No.” He admits, walking over to you and cupping your cheeks in his hand. “I am— was— falling in love with you.” He won’t lie to you. “But you’ve been in love with Frank for far longer than you’ve loved me.”

It's enormously frustrating for him to be both presumptuous and right. The last thing you want is to admit it, especially as tears press at the back of your eyes, and so a protest comes out of your mouth instead. "He's with someone else," you point out, knowing that someone mentioned it earlier. One of the Miller brothers, you think. "He's—he's—it's so complicated, Santi."

“I know it is.” His brow pinches together and he leans forward to kiss your forehead. “And if it’s too complicated, I won’t let you twist in the wind.” He promises. “But you deserve to find out if your love for him is still there.”

"This isn't how I saw today ending." Overwhelmed and next to tears was definitely not on the docket, but you're not going to beg him to stay. That's not the kind of girl you are anymore. You haven't been in a long time. "What a shitty birthday."

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Pope closes his own eyes and leans his forehead against yours. “I can stay if you want.” He offers in a whisper, feeling guilty all over as his resolve crumbles.

"You'd feel guilty if you did." He's a good man, that's why. It's part of what you liked so much about him when you met, and part of what's grown on you. "Like you were betraying Frankie."

“I would still stay.” He promises.

"You'd feel guilty and then you'd start to resent me." The defense mechanism of crossing your arms over your chest might guard you in spirit, but it doesn't stop you from feeling like utter dogshit in this moment. "Just...know that this isn't how I wanted things to go between us. That's all."

“I know.” He murmurs softly, the slight smile on his lips ironic. “I know, baby. I didn’t want this either.” He admits. “But I’m still going to be here for you. That won’t change.”

“Could I just ask you one favor before you go?” All things considered, it’s very minor and sort of the least you could possibly ask.

“Anything.” Pope would do anything for you, he’s proving that, but he wouldn’t deny you simple request if it’s in his power to take care of it.

“I don’t know if you’re going to see them at all tonight or not but just…don’t tell Rachel yet? She’s going to spend the night with Ben again and I know her. She’ll come straight home to be with me instead. I don’t want to ruin her night.”

He chuckles softly, aware of what that says about you as a mom. “You are a good woman.” He murmurs, leaning in kissing your forehead again. “I won’t say anything to her.”

“I’ll tell her tomorrow.” You promise him. It’s not that you want to hide things from her — it’s that you know she’ll act rashly out of loyalty to you if she finds out tonight. She might even break up with Ben, which is the last thing she actually wants or that you want for her.

“When you tell her is up to you.” He would never think that he should have an input on your relationship with Rachel or when you tell her. “Whenever you are comfortable.”

“Well…” A shrug and a half sigh are the best you can do, not really sure of what else to say. Maybe you’ll get on Pet Finder tonight and look for a cat. Or three.

“Oh…” Pope reaches into his bag and pulls out your gift. “I didn’t want to give this to you in front of everyone.” He tells you quietly. “But this is for you.”

“You didn’t have to.” Especially now. Especially with everything that’s happened today. But you still smile weakly and accept the bag. Yup. It’s gonna be me and three cranky, elderly cats. That’s my future. “I—um, thank you. It’s…very sweet of you. You’re a very sweet person.”

“No, I’m not.” Pope snorts as he steps back. “But you are worth the effort.”

Impulsively, it does make you want to ask why he’s leaving, then. But you know the answer. You know this is about you and Frankie having a past and that nothing is going to change Santiago’s loyalty to his best friend. What’s even more annoying is that you like that about him, it hits harder and hurts more. All you can say without letting the emotions through the floodgates is just to excuse yourself to grab the book of his that you borrowed because it’s downstairs in the living room.

Staring at the door, Pope sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket to text Will. Deciding that he needs a drink after the emotional rollercoaster of the day.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[lolahauri]

🔞˗ˏˋDrabble´ˎ˗🔞

-> F/M, Full Nelson Position, Naked woman/Clothed man <- (MDNI)

mann imagine sitting in his lap and getting absolutely fucking ravaged by him. better yet, with a full length mirror in front of you.

his big strong hands gripping your thighs tight, pressing them close to your chest. his fingers digging into you so hard it almost hurts. he still has his clothes on, but you're fully nude, making you feel so much more vulnerable, but in the sexiest way possible.

he'd make you watch yourself in the mirror, make you watch how good you take his cock. something about watching it go in-and-out of you is so fucking hot you can't help but get even wetter, flooding his thick cock with your arousal.

between looks in the mirror himself, he'd be kissing and sucking on your neck, and dirty talking right under your ear, making you feel his hot breathe on you, stubble scratching the side of your throat.

"do you even understand how pretty you look right now?"

"fuck, you're making such a mess on me, baby."

"yeah, that's it sweetheart, cum on this fucking cock."

“eyes on me. that’s it. look at you, taking me so well”

"this is all for you honey, you own me."

"let it all out, baby. scream my name as loud as you want."

"look at me when i cum in you."

...

anyways... yeah idk... i think he'd be a good fuck.

[melodygatesauthor]

Goodnight, Princess

Yandere Dad's Best Friend - Santiago Garcia X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - For @romana-after-dark's Dead Dove December event!

PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!

Summary

Your dad's best friend accidentally discovers that you're a sex worker. He tries to let it go, but it eats away at him until things go way too far.

This fic was written in first person from Santiago's perspective. I know that's not normally something I do, but if you give it a chance I think you'll like it hehe <3

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, non-con, dubious consent, rape, sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, masturbation, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, porn with some plot, smut, creampie, breeding kink if you squint, non-consensual somnophilia, intoxication, implied murder, dad's best friend, age gap, voyeurism, hidden cameras. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (that means that what you see in the tags WILL be in the fic, don't act surprised when you get exactly what you were warned about.)

Word Count: 5.7k

I should’ve put a stop to it the second I realized it was you on the other side of that wall.

Don’t ask me how I knew. A good guess? A hunch? Maybe I’d known you so long that I could tell, based on some deep ingrained instinct, exactly what your lips would feel like wrapped around my cock. You sucked on it like you knew what you were doing, like it wasn’t a challenge for you to take something so big in that pretty little mouth.

I recognized the sound of your moans almost right away. The hum of your voice when you started sucking my dick was the same sound you made at dinner the other night when you popped a spoonful of mashed potatoes in your mouth. Does your dad know you’re doing this? Do you care? Do you ever worry about what he might say if he finds out?

Don’t worry princess, I'll keep your secret. 

Our secret.

I bet you never thought I would find out about your slutty little side job. To be entirely honest, I didn’t think I’d find you working at a place like this. If you know me at all, and I know for a fact that you do, then you’d know I’m a lonely man. Years of serving in the military and the endless night terrors have made it difficult to find any sort of real relationship, so I’ve given up. That doesn’t mean I don’t still have needs, sweetheart.

Everybody jerks off, and I’m no exception. I don’t even know how many nights I’ve been in my room, cock in hand while I watch some crappy porno to get myself off. Every once in a while though, I like to treat myself to a little something more. Most people treat themselves to some kind of dessert, or a nice bottle of wine, but I like to treat myself to a night at Club BJ where all the dirty men go to get their rocks off.

I never thought I’d find you there.

Not a chance in hell did I think for even a second that you would be sucking random cocks on the other side of a gloryhole to earn a few extra bucks. You’re so good at it though, princess. How did you learn to swirl your tongue like that? Hm? Was it all the boys at college who taught you how to do that? Did they tell you what a pretty little girl you are while your lips were stretched around them?

They better have. They better have said thank you when they finished all over that beautiful face too.

I couldn’t speak to you. I couldn’t let you know it was me on the other side of that wall, so I hope the $200 tip I left you gets the point across. 

When I got home tonight, you were running through my mind like a fucking hamster on a wheel. I’m not sure what to do now, but I can’t shake how bad I want to go back to the club for another round. I’d pay thousands, probably even tens of thousands, just to have more…

But I can’t do that. Not to you, and not to your dad.

That was the first and only time I’m going to know what it’s like to feel you sucking my cock.

—

There’s no possible way for you to know what you do to me, well, for you to know that it was me on the other side of the hole that you were making feel so fucking good. I’m coming back again, despite promising I wouldn’t. I’ve been trying so hard to let it go, but I fucking can’t. You’re like a goddamn siren luring me back to that shithole, and I can’t resist your call.

I’ll be back on Friday, because that’s the night they set the girls up with their asses sticking out through the wall. I would assume the club has you bent over some kind of table on the other side of that wall? I’m not sure, but Friday can’t come soon enough. I feel like I need you.

Maybe if you hadn’t looked at me the way you did when I saw you today at your dad’s for dinner. Were you looking at me like that on purpose, sweetheart? I mean, you must be…right? Or have I completely lost my shit?

I probably lost my shit, let’s be honest.

I’ve known your dad since high school. I even helped him beat up a guy that was hitting on your mom back when she and your dad had just started dating. I’m really not a bad guy, and I’ve never looked at you like this. I mean it. But how can I look at you any differently now? How can I look at you any differently after what you did to me? What you did for me.

“Santi, can you pass the butter?” You asked, looking at me, probably no different than usual but I couldn’t think of anything other than those pouty lips wrapped around my dick again.

Did you notice the way my hand shook when I handed you the butter dish? Maybe not, but they were trembling and to be honest it was fucking annoying. I’m a man in his late thirties and I can’t get a grip on the feelings I’m developing for my best friend's goddamn kid. It’s wrong, disgusting, hell I’d kill someone if you were my kid.

But you’re not, and I can’t fucking help it, even though I tried.

Maybe someday, if you ever find out about any of this, I’ll tell you about how much I hated myself (hell, I still hate myself sometimes), when I came home with that post nut clarity. That might’ve been the best blowjob of my life, but I stood in front of my mirror for a good ten minutes trying to tell myself that I’d never go back to that hellhole, Club BJs. I meant it with all my heart when I said it over and over like a mantra.

Now I’m stuck though. I’m stuck thinking about you bent over with a wall separating the top half of your body from the bottom with countless men fucking you until you’re so full of cum you looked like a damn overstuffed pastry. You deserve to feel good. You deserve to have at least one of those men be someone that cares about you.

I guess I’ll have to be the one to do it. I guess this is how I’ll justify doing something I know I shouldn’t.

I’ll see you on Friday, princess.

—

It makes me feel a little bit better to know that every man in there is at least checked for STDs before he gets to fuck you. Surely you wouldn’t have signed up to work at a place like this if they weren’t. You’re smart, you’ve always been so smart. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.

Still not clever enough to know that I was one of those men who stood behind you that night. In fact, I was your last customer of the night. Your pussy was so puffy and swollen, those guys really stretched you out and fucked you good didn’t they? Don’t worry, princess, I took good care of you and gave your little hole a break. I won’t lie, it took everything in me not to use you the way they did, but I’ll do that another time.

Tonight I was on my knees for you, grabbing onto both of your asscheeks and spreading you out so I could clean up the mess those filthy men made of my little princess. You sounded so surprised, I heard you gasp, when I started eating you out. Did you like that? It sounded like you did. I could feel your thighs shaking and at some point you even started rocking back and forth like you wanted more.

Maybe you wanted me to fuck you. Were you hoping that the mystery man on the other side of the wall would clean you up and then fuck his own cum into you too? Or maybe you were happy to have the break. Either way, I licked your swollen clit until I could hear your pretty moans on the other side and feel your cunt throbbing against my tongue. Your slick tastes so good sweetheart, can’t believe you made something so delicious all by yourself.

“You’re not going to fuck me?” You asked me. I could almost hear the desperation in your voice, like you were begging me to come back and take you.

“No.” I said firmly, faking a deeper voice than my own.

Next time I will though, don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll fuck you so good you won’t want anyone else.

—

The same night I ate you out I rushed home to jerk off. It sounds crude to say, but fuck I couldn’t help it. The taste of your pussy was still on my lips. I could still smell you soaked into the stubble on my chin and upper lip. I’m making a mental note to snag a pair of your panties when I come over for the barbecue at your dad’s tomorrow night. Maybe that will help get me through this mess I’m in. Maybe it will help me stop this shit.

I know I can’t keep doing this, but the feeling I get when I’m scrolling through your instagram photos from last summer in your bikini with my cock squeezed in my hand is incredible. I’m looking at those perfect tits hidden beneath such a thin layer of fabric, and your pretty rear is barely covered at all.

When I came it’s like I was possessed, blowing up a picture of your face just so I could imagine myself coating it in all of me. I don’t even really want to talk about how hard it was to clean that mess off my phone.

I feel like I’m losing myself in the depraved thoughts and fantasies I’m having of you. I woke up with soaked sheets and I thought I fucking pissed myself, but I didn’t, it was…something else. I’d dreamt of you. I can’t remember exactly what was happening in that dream, but it must’ve been good, and I’m annoyed that I still can’t remember what it was about.

—

A small part of me, the part of me that still had some morals left, was hoping you’d be working your day job. (honestly I can’t even remember what your day job is, aren’t you a housekeeper? Or a waitress or something?) At least if you were working I wouldn’t have to see you. I wouldn’t have to think about you more than I already was. Not to mention, I wouldn’t have had to sit there and watch you laugh with your ‘friend’ that you’d invited over.

You told your dad when you introduced him, “we’re just friends dad.”

You said it with such an attitude that both your dad and I knew better. You might’ve thought you were just friends, but that guy wanted more, and I knew you were going to give it to him. I could tell by the way you looked at him when you thought no one was paying attention.

I bet you didn’t think I’d hear you both making out in your room that night, but your moans call me now like a moth to a flame. The other barbecue guests had gone home, and your dad was drunk and passed out in his recliner, and I heard you faintly over the hum of the crappy reality show on tv. I didn’t pause the show, I didn’t want to wake up your dad, so I went upstairs silently, masked by the sound on the tv.

Initially, I wanted to walk in there and rip this kid off of you, giving him a few vicious but empty threats before sending him on his way with his tail between his legs. Your voice stopped me in my tracks though.

“Shh, I don’t want my dad to hear us,” you whispered, followed by a sweet giggle.

He won’t, princess. I thought, as though it were me you were talking to and not this loser.

You’d left your bedroom door open, per your dad’s request, such a good little girl. Despite being a grown woman, you still did what your daddy told you, and that’s the only reason I was able to hide in the bathroom and hear you get fucked while I jerked off and imagined I was with you instead of…whatever the fuck his name is.

“Oh god!” You whined, making my body shudder.

That guy doesn’t talk much, and that made it all the easier for me to imagine myself in his place.

When you said, “mm, harder, please…”

I was right there to say, “anything you want, sweetheart.”

I tried to move my hand in time with the light thump of your bed against the wall. It helped. What didn’t help was the fact that I could tell how little you were enjoying yourself. You were making the same sounds you made when you were ass out at the gloryhole. I knew I could do better, I knew I could make your body shake with pleasure like when I was kneeling down behind you with my tongue working overtime on your sensitive clit.

You were pretty good at faking it though, good enough that I was a leaking mess, precum dripping all down my shaft while I worked myself behind the wall your bedroom shared with the bathroom. I really wanted to go in there, tell that guy to get lost and give you the night of your life, but I didn’t. Instead I stood there, spilling a few globs of cum into some toilet paper and calling it good enough.

I was quick to head back downstairs before you even knew I was up there in the first place. That guy had the audacity to say goodnight to me in the kitchen on his way out the door. I let that go pretty quickly because then it was just you and me alone in the kitchen while your dad slept soundly in the living room.

You have no idea how badly I wanted to ask you for the pleasure of taking care of you, of making sure that you got off too, but I bit my tongue. Instead we made small talk about how your college was going and you asked me about Benny, Frankie and Will. 

For a moment I had forgotten about all the things that transpired between us, or that I’d done while thinking about you, and you were just my best friend’s kid again. We were just two people who had known each other for a long time, catching up and making small talk. Then you had to bend over in your shorts, and my cock ignored its usual refractory period to spring alive and nag for attention again.

“You okay, Santi?” You’d asked so innocently, as if I didn’t know what that mouth was capable of, or what that body could take.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.”

I’m not fucking fine, but that doesn’t matter.

—

You slept like a rock that night, not even stirring in the slightest when I grabbed your panties out of your hamper by the closet. They didn’t look particularly fancy, so I assume you won’t miss them, will you? Doesn’t matter anyway, you’d never expect that I’m the one who took them.

I can’t even begin to tell you how disgusting I felt when I got home the next morning and I had placed your panties on my bed in front of me like a prize I’d won. I think I stared at them for at least a full ten minutes before I picked them up again and put them in my nightstand. I’ve never been a “panty sniffer” and I tried to convince myself that just knowing I had them in my possession was enough.

Have you ever read The Tell-Tale Heart? I remember when I was in high school I had to, and it stuck with me for some reason. Your underwear in my nightstand reminded me of that story in some ways. It’s like all I could hear were your moans in my ears and no matter where I went in the house the temptation to smell the remnants of your cunt on that fabric was following me.

So finally, here I am, two weeks after you first sucked my cock, and I can shamefully admit that I did it. I smelled them, and sweetheart, you smell so much better without all that cum inside of you. Of course the panties can’t compare to the real thing, which I don’t know if I’ll ever smell without six loads of spend inside, but god I hope I get the privilege one day.

Or maybe I hope I don’t.

I’m still so torn between the fact that you’re my best friend’s kid, and the way I want to bury my dick so far in that pretty little cunt that you’re seeing stars.

—

I was first in line tonight. It’s Friday night so your ass was out again and untouched this time. You weren’t wet yet which excited me for some reason. It meant I got to have the honors of making you nice and slick.

My hand looks so big against your ass, princess. I wish I could show you. That was me who rubbed your clit, making you shake and whine for more on the other side of the wall. I’m the one who slipped my thick middle finger in that greedy little hole, and then my index finger, and then the ring finger.

I’m guessing you liked it based on how slippery you got, and how much you moaned on the other side. Do you know how dedicated your customers are? One of them got pissed at me for taking too long with you. I can’t say I blame them, your pussy is perfect sweetheart.

God the feeling of sliding my dick between those pretty pussy lips is like nothing I’ve ever felt. As I bottomed out, I felt your walls were squeezing around me like you wanted me deeper, so of course I pushed in more, all the way until I couldn’t go further. You gasped like you hadn’t felt a hundred dicks inside you before mine. 

I slid back again and slammed into you. I heard you begging me to keeping going, and saying, “fuck you’re good, holy shit!”

It was so hard not to say all the filthy things I wanted to when I fucked you, princess. I wanted to tell you how good you looked like that, pussy lips split around my cock like it wanted to swallow me whole. I wanted to ask you if you would like me to stick my thumb in your ass but decided to just try it anyway and see how you reacted.

You liked it.

At least it seemed like you did, your cunt clamped down around my dick like a damn vice grip the moment my thumb popped through your tight little hole. Did you like having something in your ass sweetheart? It’s shocking how tight you are, given how often I know you’re getting fucked. Some of the guys coming in behind me were big, some even bigger than me, but you don’t like them as much as you do when I fuck you, right? Of course not, because you don’t sound like that when you’re with them.

I caught a small glimpse of your eye through the hole. There was a small gap between the wall and your hips and you were looking at the same time I was. Did you see me? Did you have time to realize who I was? Did you come right then and there because you liked the idea of your dad’s best friend fucking you until you were too spent for anyone else?

Your orgasm forced me to come at the same time you did. I can’t even begin to tell you what it felt like to spill my load inside of you like I’d wanted to for so long. I remember so clearly being pushed up against your ass, pulling my thumb out of your hole so I could squeeze your hips and pull you over my dick further. It’s like I was willing every ounce of it to fill you up so full that no one else could. It’s like I was trying to make sure that when you look in the mirror a few months from now, you’ll remember the feeling of the man who fucked a baby into you.

I’m not an idiot. Well, I am, but I know that you’re on birth control. I know that no matter how many times I fuck you, the chances of you actually getting pregant are slim, not that I’d want to get you pregnant anyway. That would be too much, and I don’t want to go too far.

I’m not going to go too far.

—

I went to your house today.

I already had an excuse planned if I somehow got caught while you and your dad were out. If you or your father saw me, I’d say I came back for my hat. It’s not a total lie, I did leave my hat behind, but neither of you needed to know it was on purpose.

Do you realize how much dust has collected on the little stuffed bear you have on the shelf facing directly across from your bed, sweetheart? I doubt it, but it does make for the perfect place to put the small camera I bought.

I feel so fucking gross I can hardly stand to look at myself. But I can’t stand not to watch you touch yourself either. The glory hole is great, but I want to see that pretty face when you’re coming so hard you can’t breathe right, and I can’t do that when I’m on the other side of a fucking wall can I?

Seeing you later that night while I was at my own house, fist closed around my cock and watching you play with yourself is worth all the self loathing in the world. I had the camera feed pulled up on my laptop, and I could see you walking over to your dresser. God, what an array of toys you have. Do you have all those toys because you like them? Or is it because you haven’t found someone who knows their way around your body yet?

If it’s the latter, I promise you won’t need those things once I’m done with you.

Fuck, princess. The one you picked out is so damn big. I’ve seen you fit some pretty big cocks in that little hole, but I was shocked to see you squeezing lube around the head of that thing and gliding it over your pussy lips. You took a deep breath. Does it hurt to take such a fat silicone dick like that? 

Fuck, I’m glad I put the camera where I did. Who had you so wet like that? Hm? Were you thinking about anyone in particular? Can you even get that entire dildo in there? I hated to admit how much I liked watching you struggle. My cock leaked so fucking much I thought I was going to come too fast, but I kept it together.

You finally pushed it in, and I’m so damn proud of you princess. You had a really hard time going all the way though, didn’t you? That tight little pussy of yours was stretched to its limit and you were only halfway in there. Why do you even have a dildo that size if you can’t get it all the way in your cunt? Are you trying to stretch yourself out for someone? You don’t have to stretch yourself for me, I’d be happy to take care of that for you myself.

I watched you push it in even more, I was so focused on the furrow of your turned up brow and the way you bit your lip while I stared. We both exhaled the moment you managed to fit the entire thing in. Your eyes rolled back like it was the best thing you’d ever felt. You really do enjoy being stuffed full, don’t you, sweetheart?

You started fucking yourself with it, the sounds of your wet cunt hit my ears like the sweetest music I’d ever heard. I stroked myself in time with your movements, my eyes focused right on your face, and my cock throbbed every time you moaned. Wasn’t your dad home tonight? Shouldn’t you be a bit quieter when you’re doing stuff like that? Maybe you just don’t care if he hears you.

You started fucking yourself faster so of course I was jerking myself harder, trying to keep up with you without losing it too quickly. It didn’t take long for you to come though. Did you like the feeling of that toy that much? You gushed around it, you choked back some moans but several other soft whimpers escaped, filling your room and hitting my ears through the camera feed. I came too, coating my knuckles and my stomach with so much cum I didn’t know I was even capable of producing that much.

Why’d you have to ruin it? Huh?

It was such a good fucking orgasm for both of us, and then I heard you say a name. It wasn’t my name though, was it, princess? I don’t know why that bothers me so fucking much. Maybe it’s because in some twisted way I’ve managed to convince myself that you were putting on that private show just for me. So if you did do it for me, then I don’t want to hear you saying some other guy’s name while you’re fucking your self like that sweetheart. 

I just don’t.

—

I lost it today.

I really fucking lost it today, princess.

I found that guy. You know the one who fucked you the other night while I jerked off in the bathroom? That ‘friend’ of yours? The one whose name you called out instead of mine?

I found him.

I…

—

Did you miss me, sweetheart? I’m sorry, but I had to leave for a while, at least until things quieted down, and until you weren’t sad anymore. I know I should feel bad, but I don’t. I would probably do it again a thousand times if I had to.

You seemed fine during dinner at your dad’s tonight. I don’t really think you were that upset over the guy anyway, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear his name come out of that pretty mouth again. Ever.

After too much wine during (and after) dinner, I carried you upstairs. You never could handle your liquor. Remember when you were only eighteen and I would let you sneak a few shots under your old man’s nose when he wasn’t looking? Your dad was sleeping when I put you down gently in your bed. Your skin is so fucking soft it killed me to step away from you.

Your eyes opened for a moment meeting with mine. I felt my gut stir at the sight of you biting your lip. Why were you doing that to me? Didn’t you know how that would affect me? I couldn’t resist the way you looked at me that night. No one would’ve been able to. It’s not fair for you to put me in that position and expect that I’m just going to walk away. When I think back to it, this was all your fault, princess.

“Santi,” you said sweetly.

I almost climbed on top of you right then when you grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer. I almost grabbed your throat and fucked you through your shorts, but I held back.

“What, princess?” I asked you, putting a caring hand on your shoulder, trying to fight back my more primal urges screaming in my head.

You shivered, “I-mm-need something towearto mm-bed,” you slurred out.

I could see the curve of your hip disappear into your too-short shorts. I really don’t want you going out in public wearing things like that. I gave you my shirt to keep you warm. I hope it’s comfortable, sweetheart, I can’t let you go cold, can I? When I leaned down to put it over your head, I felt such a fucking ache in my chest when your face appeared again through the hole. Such a pretty babygirl.

“Thank you,” you smiled contentedly and snuggled into your pillows.

I gulped, “princess,” I whispered, slowly creeping my fingers toward the hem of your shorts where they rested on your waist.

“Hm?” You hummed, but you weren’t really awake anymore, from what I could tell.

When I touched your soft, exposed hip you didn’t stir at all, and when I slipped my fingers underneath your panties, then your shorts, you didn’t make a sound. When I pushed both down to your ankles and dropped them on the floor, you didn’t open your eyes. You didn’t have any fucking clue what I was going to do to you, did you?

Did you feel my fingers when I slipped them between your thighs and felt your little wet cunt? I bet you did, even if you didn’t realize you were feeling it. I thought I would wake you up for sure when I pushed you onto your back and climbed over you. And when that didn’t wake you up, I thought, without a doubt, that when I pulled my cock out and touched it against your slick pussy lips your eyes would shoot open and you’d catch me in the act.

You didn’t though, you stayed deep in your drunken sleep, and I could get away with doing anything I wanted to you.

I’m still wondering what I would’ve done if you’d caught me. What would I say? How would I justify this feeling I craved that only you could satisfy? Would I even need to say anything? Surely you would recognize the feeling of the cock that made you come so good in that glory hole. Surely you’d be desperate for me to keep going.

Being able to look at your face, even if you were asleep, while I slid my dick into your wet heat made my brain stop fucking working. I couldn’t even think. It was like my body just took over, hips rocking into you over and over without a care in the world for how loud the bed was creaking.

You still didn’t feel anything when I dipped down and kissed you, my hips still thrusting slowly against you. This isn’t a Disney movie, and I’m no prince charming, but you’re still my little princess, aren’t you? You’re like my personal sleeping beauty, except my soft kisses didn’t wake you from your drunken slumber.

Thank god.

I kissed all the way down your jawbone until I got to your neck. You’re so soft, and you smell so nice. I kinda wish you’d been awake so I could’ve heard you whimper and whine in my ear. I want to hear you tell me how good it feels to have my cock slamming into your pussy, sweetheart. I want to feel your lips on my neck, my chest, all over my body.

“You take me so well, princess.” I whispered in your ear, hoping that somewhere deep in your dreams you’d hear my words and know I was inside you. “You feel so good, I can’t stop. Never felt anything-so-fucking-g-good-I-f-fuck…”

I came so much that when I pulled back my cum poured out of you as if my cock was a dam holding back a river. I still wonder if I should’ve cleaned you up, but I didn’t. Maybe you’d remember that I was the one who brought you upstairs and you’d put the pieces together.

I can imagine it now, you waking up in the morning with a dried up substance between your thighs. You might not know what it is right away, but I’m sure when you go to the bathroom and notice the hickeys peppered all over your neck, you’ll know that something must’ve happened to you the night before.

I’m not sure what to do now.

I need to have you for myself, that much is clear. The thought of someone else touching you ever again is killing me, so I have to take you. I’ll take you away from all this shit, and I’ll take good care of you. You won’t have to work at that nasty place anymore, I’ll be sure of that. And please don’t worry, princess. When your dad is looking for you, and he needs a friend to help him through the tough times, and the times he’s missing you, I’ll be that friend. He will only be sad for a little while. 

If things go wrong, and someone finds this…well I guess it’s a journal isn’t it? I won’t be able to deny the things I’ve done. I should burn it, but I can’t bring myself to do that. When I read it back, it’s almost like I can relive our time together. Someday I might show you this so you can understand why I did what I had to do, why I have to keep you.

Until then, I hope you sleep well tonight, your final night in your childhood home. I hope you enjoy your last breakfast with your loving dad, and that the two of you don’t argue before he leaves for work. Make sure you give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him you love him, because I’ll be over before he gets home from work.

Goodnight, princess.

Back to Main Masterlist

Back to Triple Frontier Masterlist

[absurdthirst]

Greased Lightning {Frankie Morales x F!Reader x Santiago Garcia}

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 13.1k

Warnings: Financial difficulties, technical prostitution, sex for services, propositioning, threesomes, fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), dirty talk, degradation, anal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, double penetration, cum play, explicit photos

Comments: Broken down and in need of a mechanic, you call Triple Frontier Repair. Finding out that the repairs are more expensive than you can afford, the men have an idea on how you can compensate them.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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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.

“Shit.” You hiss when you hear the engine of your piece of shit car start knocking and the dashboard lights up like a Christmas tree. “No, no, don’t do this, please don’t do this.” You whine when the acceleration of the car suddenly depletes and you are obviously going to be moving off the road to the shoulder. Bucking slightly as you try to coax it a little farther so you can safely get off and you feel like crying. You’re in a bind financially and you can’t afford pricey car repairs. If you don’t have a car, you can’t go to work and if you can’t go to work, you won’t have a job. You slap the steering wheel and sigh, knowing that you will need to get the car towed. After cursing your bad luck, you open your phone and google the closest mechanics shop that has a towing service. Hopefully they will be able to fix it for cheap. 

“Frontier Repair Shop.” Santi answers the phone, about to leave early but your voice sounds distressed. 

“I need a tow and my car - it just stopped and I don’t know what happened.” You try not to cry down the phone and Santi sighs, knowing his mama would kick his ass if she knew he’d left a woman on the side of the road. He asks you for the mile marker you’re near and knows where you are. 

“Fish, I’ll be back in a bit.” He promises to his partner, heading out to the tow truck to go and get your vehicle. 

When the truck arrives, you almost cry with relief but compose yourself, knowing that this won’t be an easy or cheap fix. When the mechanic gets out of the truck, your mouth falls slightly. “You need a tow?” He asks and you nod, dumbstruck by the handsome man and you almost forget about the issue at hand.

His brows furrow when he slips behind the wheel and sees the array of lights when he turns the key. “It’s good that you turned it off.” He compliments and jams the brake to shift the car into neutral. He’s already put the chains on the frame and just needs to hoist it up onto the flatbed. 

“I just….was driving along and it went haywire.” You worry, biting your lip. “It’s gonna be expensive, isn’t it?” You can’t afford this, you are already destined to spend the rest of your rare day off in a mechanic’s shop. 

“Won’t know until we get it back to the shop.” Santi tells you, noting how pretty you are, even though you’re obviously distressed. “Don’t worry though, me and Fish are the best mechanics around. We’ll get you back on the road.” He promises before shutting the door. “You need a ride to the shop with me, or do you have someone coming?’ 

“I need a ride. I don’t have anyone coming to pick me up and I need to get this fixed today. I have to work tomorrow and I don’t have any other way to get there.” You tell him and he nods, opening the passenger door for you to get in. It’s a little messy, coffee cups and wrappers litter the floor but you don’t care, too distracted by your bad luck. 

“You from around here?” Santi asks as he starts the truck and makes his way back to the shop. 

“No. Moved here years ago for college and didn’t go home.” You sigh.

Santi nods and concentrates on the road. “I get that.” He tells you. “Fish and I opened this shop when we got out of the Army. Just far enough away from the base we didn’t have to deal with that bullshit, but close enough we could go raise hell if we wanted.” He throws you a grin, thinking about the nights they would go bar hopping and get into some good, old fashioned trouble. Plus it was always fun to pick up the women there. “College, huh? What did you major in? I’ve been thinking about taking a few classes, using my G.I. bill.” 

“It’s nothing exciting. I work in HR. Majored in Psych but didn’t get to put that degree to the test. But my student loans have been killing me since my rent was increased and I- sorry, you don’t wanna hear about my drama. How long were you in the army?” You ask, curious and trying to not notice the way his forearm muscles clench as he drives the truck.

Santiago snorts, glancing over at you and then back at the road. “Twenty years.” He admits, grinning ruefully. “Joined up when I was eighteen. Got out last year.” He shrugs. “Not too bad, but the retirement pay doesn’t go as far as it used to. And Fish and I were going stir crazy. Running ops wasn’t feasible, so we decided to start turning wrenches.” 

“Fish?” You ask and he nods, “my partner. His name is Frankie but we had nicknames in our team in the army. His was Catfish and mine was Pope- is Pope.” He says and you frown, “where did Pope come from?” You ask and Santi smirks a little as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Back in the day, the fellas would say that women knelt before me like Catholics kneel before the Pope.” 

You fluster at the thought, unable to deny his claim. Women would still kneel before him now. “I appreciate you coming out to help me so fast.” You say as he turns into the lot for the shop.

“Never leave a pretty lady on the side of the road.” Pope hums, watching as he turns the big wrecker around and he throws it park before looking over at you. “If you go into the waiting area, we have mediocre coffee and bottled water.” He shrugs and winks. “Down the hall to the right is a little break room. Fish has some Cokes stashed in the fridge for people we like.” He winks at you and juts his chin towards the building. “Go relax, we’ll take care of you.” 

You nod, grateful to him for being so kind, and you get out of the truck, adjusting your skirt as you make your way into the shop, walking past the open garage doors. Frankie is just wheeling out from under a Kia Soul when his eyes find your legs and trail up your form as you walk past. The bell rings as you open the door to the waiting area and Frankie whistles as Santi strides over. “Jesus, Pope. Where’d you find her?” He asks, smirking at his friend.

Pope grins and shrugs. “What can I say, women just flock to me.” He jokes, before pointing to the car that James is rolling off the flatbed. “She broke down on the side of the road. Needs it ASAP, but I can already tell it’s gonna be expensive.” He snorts. “I might have promised her that she would be driving home tonight.” 

Frankie rolls his eyes and sighs, aware that his friend often makes outrageous promises to pretty women, mostly at the expense of Frankie’s time. “Fuck, Pope.” He grumbles. “Kia’s done, go write it up and I’ll get started on the car.” 

Pope grins victoriously at his friend giving in to his whims when it comes to gorgeous women and he makes his way inside, calling out the owner of the Kia to give him the invoice and take his payment while Frankie backs the car out of the bay. “Thanks man. Always appreciate you guys fixing her up.” The guy says to Pope and shakes his hand. You watch as he exits the waiting room and figure he must be an army friend. You are anxious to find out how much this is gonna cost. You might have to ask him to fix it up enough to drive around without clunking out but you know you’d be back in the shop at a moment in the near future.

Under the hood of the car, Frankie is hissing a curse as he shoves his busted knuckle into his mouth. Not really minding the grease as he sucks at the broken skin. He was used to having greasy hands from the work he did, but he fucking hated whoever designed the engine compartment on this car. “Goddamn piece of shit.” He scowls when he pulls his hand away from his mouth and looks back down at the fuel injector. It’s shot to shit and he’s pretty sure that your head gasket is leaking. It won't be cheap, just like Pope predicted, but it can be fixed today. He sighs, wondering how you are going to react to the price tag that’s gonna be slapped on this repair. 

You sip the mediocre coffee, staring at the tv that has Judge Judy reruns on and you fidget, wondering what the cost of your car repair is going to run you. You’re there a while, other customers leaving. The young college kid who is helping out has gone home and you sigh, looking down at your now cold coffee.

Coming into the office, Frankie wipes his hands on a rag and looks over at you before shuffling towards the break room. “Car’s fixed.” He tells you. “Let me wash the grease off my hands and I’ll get you ready to go. Pope’s just closing her up now.”

You look up and nod, standing up from the plastic chair that’s stuck to the back of your thighs and you toss the coffee cup, wondering if the criteria to work here is to be a ridiculously hot guy. You bite your lip and lean against the counter when he comes back with clean hands. “You, uh, you didn’t even give me a quote.” You frown and Frankie sighs, “honestly, the car is on its last legs. I’m stretching its life as much as possible but you gotta look at getting a new car, sweetheart.” He explains, “I did what I could.” 

You sigh, nodding and knowing he’s right. “What’s the damage?” You ask, bracing yourself.

Frankie winces apologetically. “I’m only charging you for parts.” He promises. There had been more wrong with it than he had first realized and Pope had told him to fix it enough to make it safe. “$1600” he tells you, hating the way your eyes seem to bug out of your head. “I can show you the printout. I didn’t charge you for labor. Pope told me about your situation.”

“I- shit. I- I can’t - I don’t have that.” Your eyes start to water, “I didn’t know and you didn’t tell me so I - shit. I don’t have that kind of money.” You choke, unsure of what the hell you’re going to do. 

The bell rings above the door and Pope walks in, “we got her fixed up for you.” 

You shake your head, “yeah and I can’t afford to pay you because you guys didn’t consult me so it’s - I don’t know what to do.” You choke again.

Pope frowns and Frankie hisses. He had thought he had talked to you. “Pendejo.” He groans, throwing the towel in his hand at Pope. 

“Sweetheart, that’s what we had to do to get her running.” He tells you. “You could easily sink another two or three grand in that car. She’s honestly barely road worthy.” Pope explains and Frankie shakes his head. 

“Cabrón.” He huffs. “You should  have talked to her.”

You shake your head, “I don’t - I’m barely making my rent. I don’t have $1600 to pay you. Shit. I- I’m so sorry. I don't know what to do or say. Oh God, this is - this is a nightmare.” You close your eyes, almost willing yourself to wake up.

“Don’t cry.” Frankie hates when a woman cries and you are too pretty to cry over something like this. You shouldn’t have to worry about things like this at all. “We can work something out.” He promises. “A payment plan. I’m not going to unfix your car. It’ll be alright.”

Your eyes open, “really? You’d do that- I - thank you.” You offer him a grateful look and Pope clicks his tongue. 

“There’s another option too.” He says, his voice lowering as his eyes trail along your form. “I can give you a discount if you…if you let me fuck you.” He says, dragging his thumb along his lower lip as his eyes return to yours. You inhale sharply, knowing you should be slapping him for that but shit, you were attracted to him from the get go. 

“Santiago.” Frankie warns him and Santi shakes his head, “or for free…if you let both of us fuck you.” He says and your eyes widen, flicking to Frankie whose eyes are wide but not shocked. It’s not a secret that both men are handsome, something from a woman produced porno and you should say no, arrange a payment plan, and leave, but getting your car fixed for free is tempting. 

“Both of you? And the car is free?” You ask and Pope nods. You inhale deeply, taking another second before you nod, “where do you wanna do this?”

“Holy shit.” Frankie whispers, surprised that you are actually considering this. He won’t even deny that he’s hopeful that you will decide to fuck them both. He can write off the car parts and it’s been a long time since he’s fucked anyone, let alone someone as gorgeous as you. 

“Right here, in the break room.” Santiago tells you. “We lock the doors, everyone’s gone home and Frankie and I both fuck you silly.” He chuckles. “We’ll even go wash up before you suck our cocks.” Frankie nods, not wanting you to think you’re gonna be subjected to unwashed dick.

You should leave. Say no and tell them to fuck off but it’s been a while since you had sex. You’ve never had a threesome. You wonder if they have done this before. They seem to be comfortable with each other. “Uh, sure. I wouldn’t mind cleaning up myself.” You say, “do you have protection?” You don’t know them and you want to be safe, even if this is the least safe thing you’ve ever done.

“Condoms.” Frankie nods, knowing that Pope keeps a stash of them in the desk drawer for dates after work. “We’re both clean too.” He promises. “VA tests us and Pope’s had sex since but I haven’t.” He admits, feeling a little embarrassed about that.

You exhale shakily, “I’m clean too. Tested at my last gyno appointment. Uh, can I use the bathroom?” You ask and the boys nod, gesturing to the bathroom down the hall. You walk down to it, feeling their eyes on you and you shut the door behind you. Leaning over the sink, you inhale deeply and hate that you feel the churn of arousal in your stomach. It’s hard to deny that the idea of sex with two sexy men doesn’t have you wet already and you know you should be ashamed, you should say no but you can’t.

When you disappear into the bathroom, Frankie whirls on Pope. “Did you fucking set this up?” He hisses, impressed and slightly disgusted by what they are about to do. It’s almost taking advantage of you, even though you’re agreeing. Pope smirks and winks at his friend. “You won’t be upset when her pretty little mouth is sucking your soul out through your cock.” He predicts, arching a brow as if to challenge him. “Not like we haven’t double teamed a girl before. Although now I know she’s clean, I wish you hadn’t told her about the condoms. We could have filled her tank too.” Frankie rolls his eyes at the bad joke but his cock twitches under the mechanics suit at the thought of to high you. His friend has known him for far too long because he grins and slaps his back. “There’s the Fish I know. Go wash your cock and balls.” He orders and Frankie shuffles off to the employee shower room.

You wash your face and freshen up elsewhere before heading back into the hall and your name is called from the break room that Pope told you about earlier. You follow his voice and enter the room, taking note of the ratty sofa and chair in the space, the fridge in the corner and the ancient tv in the corner to match the one in the waiting room. Frankie isn’t back yet so you set your purse down and Santi sits on the sofa. “Come take a seat, relax.” He says, “you can say no at any point. Say the word and we stop.” He promises and you believe him. You sit down next to him, knee bouncing and his large hand stops it with a slight chuckle. “Nervous?” He asks and you nod, eying the condoms on the small coffee table. 

“Yeah. I haven’t done this before.” You confess, “threesome. Or sex in exchange for car parts.” You joke breathily and Santi chuckles. It dies down after a moment and he clears his throat, reaching up to cup your cheek. Your eyes burn into his and he leans closer, slowly pressing his lips against yours. The contact is soft and you don’t pull back, shyly kissing him back until the fire in your belly ignites and you grip his overalls, deepening the kiss until his tongue is sliding against yours.

Frankie comes back with just a towel wrapped around his waist. Deciding a full shower would be appropriate. It was a good thing to have in the shop and made it easy to get ready for a date after work. Or fucking a girl in exchange for getting her car fixed, like now. “Go bathe your ass, pendejo.” He huffs, watching as you pull away from Pope and fluster. “I’ll keep our girl entertained.” You’ve agreed to this, so he’s interested, imagining you while he was washing. His cock is already half hard under the towel and he smirks.

Your eyes take in the sight of the mechanic. It’s clear he’s middle aged, a slight stomach, but fuck if you don’t find that sexier than a six pack. The water droplets down his chest have you itching to lick his skin. Deciding to do just that, you stand up and walk over to him, leaning forward to run your tongue along his collarbone to gather the lingering droplets of water from his skin.

“Fuck.” Frankie groans, grabbing your waist and hissing at how good the first touch of you feels. He can hear Pope laugh as he walks out of the room but he’s too busy ducking his head down to press his lips to yours in a kiss that is more impatient and slightly rougher than his brother in arms.

His fingers dig into your waist and his lips press harshly against yours. You moan into his mouth, taken off guard by the fact that you’re enjoying this so far, and his tongue slides against yours. His hands slide down to your ass and he pulls you up against him, his hard cock pressing against your hip. You let him kiss you for another moment until you push him back and he frowns, worried that you’re upset and wanting to leave. He’d let you go but he’d be disappointed. You bite your lip and reach for the tuck of his towel, pulling on it until it falls and reveals his cock. “Shit.” You murmur and admire his thick length, twitching under your gaze and you seem to fall under a spell when you kneel down and wrap your fingers around him. Your tongue is peaking out to press against the leaking slit while your eyes focus on his.

“Shit.” Frankie hisses, taking off guard by the fact that you are almost eagerly getting on your knees for him. “Fuck- strip down.” He growls out. “I want to see your tits and I want your pussy to leak all over my floor.” His cock twitches in your hand, but he pulls his hips back and offers you a hand.

His words make you clench around nothing and you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head to expose your bra. You push your shirt down and leave you in your underwear. “All of it, baby.” Frankie orders and you nod, undoing the clasp of your bra and you let the straps fall down your arms and expose your tits to the mechanic you barely know.

“Fuck, those are nice.” He groans, reaching out and cupping your tits while you hook your fingers into your panties. He squeezes them and then pinches your nipples and tugs on them. “You’re gonna suck my cock, right pretty girl?” He groans. “Get it all nice and wet to fuck you?”

Usually, dirty talk like that would make you cringe but coming from his mouth? Shit, it has you dripping. “Ye-yes. Gonna make sure you’re gonna be just right to fuck my little pussy.” You talk back just as dirty, thrilled by it when his cock jumps. You step out of your panties and Frankie groans, admiring you until you kneel down on the linoleum floor to wrap your fingers around his cock again.

“Fuck.” Frankie hisses, biting his lip as he looks down at you. “Do a good job and I’ll eat your pussy too.” Despite this being an arrangement so you don’t have to pay for your car being fixed, Frankie likes eating pussy and it’s been awhile since he’s had his head framed by a woman’s thighs. You moan quietly and nod before you lean forward and take the head of his cock into your mouth. “Fuuuck.” He hisses, chin dropping down to his chest as he watches you engulf his cock.

You close your eyes for a moment, wanting to compose yourself as the head of his cock presses against your throat and you inhale deeply through your nose just as Frankie says “eyes on me.” You open your eyes and look at him as you take him deeper, unaware that Pope is back and watching you and Frankie.

He sees Pope, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. He knows the other man locked the building down and they were the only ones with the keys. Groaning when you swallow around him, his calloused and work rough hand caresses your cheek. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he coos. “Spread your thighs, sweetheart. Is your little clit throbbing?” Pope smirks, aware that Frankie’s raspy voice manages to make women dripping wet when he talks dirty. Dropping his own towel and wrapping his hand around his hard cock to squeeze it as he walks closer. Keeping quiet until he is kneeling behind you and sliding his other hand between your thighs to touch your cunt while his cock presses against your ass. “Already soaked, Fish.” He moans in your year, kissing just below it. “I think she likes sucking your cock.”

You moan around Frankie’s cock, knowing you shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t like it this much, but you do. You work his cock deeper until you choke and saliva drips down your chin. You whimper when Pope rubs your clit and it’s been so long since someone else touched you, you grind down onto his hand while your fingers dig into Frankie’s ass to encourage him to rock his hips.

“Yeah she does.” Frankie grunts, moving his hand down so he can feel your throat work around him. It’s so sexy to see you on your knees, Pope behind you as he makes sure you’re ready to take both of them. “I say she swallows my load and I’ll eat her cunt like a good little girl while she sucks you off.”

Pope hums in agreement, kissing along your neck while his fingers work your clit. You whimper around Frankie's cock, nodding in pleasure and agreement. You can't believe how these two men have turned you into a wanton whore within moments but you desperately want to make them cum, to feel and see it.

Pope’s lips travel over your shoulders, up your neck. Kissing and licking, occasionally biting your skin as his fingers rub your clit. Eventually moving down and pressing two of his thick digits inside while twisting his wrist around to press his thumb back to your sensitive bundle of nerves. “She’s so tight, Fish.” He groans, loving how you clench around his fingers. “She’s gonna feel so good.”  

You clench around his fingers, lost in the sensations of his mouth and his hand caressing you. You choke on Frankie's cock as he pushes deep again and your jaw is starting to ache a little but you push through, wanting him to cum down your throat.

Frankie hisses, and rocks his hips forward again. Spit and pre-cum slide down your jaw and he loves how your eyes fill with tears and yet you don’t try to wipe them away. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans, “mouth like a fucking Hoover.” He can hear Pope’s fingers working in and out of your cunt over his grunts and the thick swallowing sounds and moaning around his cock. “Keep going, baby, want you to swallow my cum.” 

You want it too. Your throat swallows around him and your teary eyes flick up to meet his as he pushes deep enough to slide down your throat, the hairs at the base of his cock tickling your nose and that's when he falls apart. You close your eyes when he starts to cum, walls fluttering around Pope's fingers as you struggle to swallow the spurts of cum from Fish and his groan echoes in the break room.

“Shit….shiiiiiiiit.” He hisses, eyes nearly crossing in pleasure, handing tightening around your jaw as you swallow him down. Spurts of his cum push out of the corners of your mouth and he rubs his thumb in it to massage it into your skin. “That’s it, good girl.” 

You let him work himself dry and you swear you're dripping down Pope's wrist as you let Frankie use you until he is pulling his cock free of your mouth. He surges to lean down, pressing his lips against yours. Tongue pushing deep to taste himself on your tongue without care, and you whimper into his mouth.

Pope chuckles, biting down on your shoulder. “Frankie tastes good, sweetheart?” He asks as he curls his fingers deep inside you. “Let me have a taste.” He hums, not caring about tasting the other man’s spend. He’s done this before with him. Turning your head, he breaks the kiss with Frankie and captures your lips with his own as he pumps his finger inside you. 

You clench around Pope’s fingers as kisses you without care about the taste in your mouth. That makes you realize they’ve done this before and it makes you moan into his mouth as his fingers curl inside of you. You need more. You break the kiss and murmur against his chin, “wanna taste you next.”

Frankie chuckles, his cock shrinking back down and hanging flaccidly, but Pope is rock hard against your ass. “We should move this to the sofa.” He suggests, reaching for your arm. “Santi can lean back and I’ll bury my face in your cunt.” He’s eager to taste you, to see how you respond to his tongue. 

You nod and whine slightly as Santi removes his fingers from inside of you, and you let Frankie guide you to the sofa. “Kneel down, baby.” He demands and Santi sits on the end of the sofa, his cock hard and aching. You kiss his stomach that clenches before taking his cock in your hand and wrapping your fingers around him to guide him to your mouth.

Frankie groans, watching you take his friend’s cock into your mouth and he smirks. “She’s so fucking good, isn’t she?” He comments and Pope’s head bobbles in agreement. His own hands start to roam over your body, squeezing your ass and hips as he settles behind you and pulls your cheeks apart to get an up close look at your pulsing cunt. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty.” He coos before leans in and buries his tongue inside your wet heat. 

You gasp around Santi’s cock. You didn’t expect them to go down on you, thought it was all just dirty talk. You expected a couple of blowjobs, both of them fucking you until they came but you never anticipated them making you cum once. You moan around Pope’s cock as Frankie ducks down so he can lick at your clit.

Frankie groans into your flesh, huffing when he can’t reach you like he wants to and he pulls away to flip onto his back. Sliding his head between your thighs and attacking your cunt from before, he lunges up latches onto your clit, wanting to hear you squeal. You’re sexy and you’re letting them fuck you so you should have just as much fun and pleasure as they do. 

You cry out, letting Pope’s cock drop from your mouth as you feel the pleasure tingle up your spine and you moan Frankie’s name. “That’s it baby. Let Frankie eat that tight pussy.” Santi coos, caressing your cheek and you shift to take him back into your mouth.

He squeezes your ass and encourages you to drop your hips, wanting your weight on his face. Pope chuckles and caresses your spine. “You’re so fucking pretty, can’t wait to see what you look like riding his cock, my cock. Maybe we’ll stuff you full at the same time.” He doubts that, considering he would have just cum, but it’s a nice thought. “Didn’t we tell you that we would take care of you?”

You lower your hips, a little self conscious but he makes you grind down onto him and you whine around Pope’s cock, eager to please him now that you realize they are going to look after you. You moan when Frankie’s tongue slides through your folds and you sloppily suck on Pope’s cock.

The breakroom sounds obscene. The sounds of sucking and swallowing, moans and grunts filthily filling the air. Frankie moans as your cunt gushes, coating his tongue in a fresh wave arousal and he slurps it down greedily. Rocking your hips to make you ride his face as he licks up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart, Fish is in heaven. His tongue buried in your sweet pussy. I bet he’s already getting hard thinking about fucking you.” Pope coos. “And after he gets done making you scream, I’ll fuck you so good you’ll see stars.” 

You swear you can hardly breathe as his filthy words make your pussy clench and you can’t handle it. You want these men. That’s become clear. You rock back onto Fish’s face, back arching as you try to take Pope’s cock deeper but he’s longer than Frankie, not as thick. You choke and saliva drips from your mouth as you try your best to make this blowjob one of the best he’s gotten.

“That’s it sweetheart.” Pope groans, “take it all. Fish, I swear I’m in fuckin’ love with her mouth.” He hisses, talking to Frankie underneath you. Fish grunts his agreement into your folds and is thankful that he had washed his hands, scrubbing them in the shower as he pushes two fingers inside you for you to clench around when you cum. “Cum for Frankie, sweetheart, soak his face.” 

You groan, rocking back onto Frankie’s face and you’re so close. So fucking close. His lips suck on your clit as his fingers curl inside of you. You moan around his cock as you cum, clamping down on Frankie’s fingers as he makes you orgasm.

Frankie’s spent cock twitches and he starts to harden again. Loving how you are soaking his face as he sucks on your clit. Your hips grinding down on his face and he moans happily. Working you through the orgasm with singular determination. 

You moan around Pope’s cock as Frankie works you through it and you want Pope to cum too. You wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing him, and you hollow your cheeks, wanting him to spill down your throat.

It takes a long moment before Frankie is willing to pull away. Listening to Pope’s groans getting breathier and lighter as he gets closer to coming. Finally pulling his head away and twisting his body so he can watch you swallow his friend down. “That’s it baby,” He grunts. “Make Santi cum. Swallow him down too so I can fuck you.” 

It takes a couple more bobs of your head for Santi to cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing as Frankie withdraws his fingers and Pope starts to spill down your throat. His groan is low and loud, echoing in the room as he twitches while he spills down your throat, making you moan around him.

“Fuck….” Santi hisses, head dropping back against the sofa and moaning out as he throbs in your mouth. 

“Fuck, girl, you are so gorgeous like this.” Frankie groans, chuckling as he wraps his wet hand around his cock and starts to slowly pump himself completely hard. “Swallow him down like a good girl.” He orders. 

You obey, eagerly swallowing every drop of cum. Santi cums less than Frankie, none of it dripping down your chin as you let the salty seed spurt down your throat until he’s softening in your mouth. You pull off of him and open your mouth, displaying your tongue to him to show you’ve swallowed every drop.

“Good girl.” Pope pants, grinning as he leans in to press his lips to yours. 

“Don’t be greedy, cabrón.” Frankie huffs, pulling you back and scowling at his grinning friend. Taking over kissing you greedily and tasting him out of your mouth with no issue. 

You’ve never known two men so comfortable with each other and it’s intoxicating. You cup his cheek as his tongue slides against yours. “Baby, I need - I need you to fuck me.” You whine into Frankie’s mouth.

He hums happily, pleased that you are begging him although he knows if he had just cum, you would be begging Pope. “I’m going to fuck you.” He promises. Leaning over and grabbing a condom off the table. “How do you want to be fucked, pretty girl?” He demands. “Back, hands and knees?” He rips the packet open and starts to roll it down his length. Wanting you to decide how he fills you. 

“On my back.” You answer breathlessly and Frankie nods, shifting back so you can lay down on the sofa. Pope frames your shoulders, looking down at you, and his hands instantly grab your tits. You moan and Frankie kneels on the sofa, pushing your legs apart so he can settle between them.

Shuffling closer and pumping his cock, Frankie looks down at you. Watching you squirm and moan under Pope’s touch. “Gonna fuck you, baby.” He promises, notching himself at your entrance and pulling one leg up to drag across the back of the sofa for more access. “Right now.” He grunts as he starts pushing in.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he stretches you out. He’s thick and you haven’t had sex in a while. Not since your ex. You reach up to grip Pope’s forearms as he squeezes your tits and you close your eyes. “Oh I think she likes that already, Cat.” Santi chuckles and you nod, mouth falling open as he pushes deeper until he’s fully inside of you.

“She’s fucking tight.” Frankie growls, gritting his teeth together and trying to control himself. Your hot walls around him make him just want to destroy you, but he needs to let you adjust. “Tightest little cunt I’ve ever fucked.” He hisses when you squeeze him in response to his twitching deep inside you.

You know he’s just lost in the moment but his words make you whine with need and Pope chuckles as he pinches your nipples. “God, she’s a cock hungry little whore, ain’t she?” He asks his best friend who nods and gives you another moment before he starts to move, pulling out of you almost all the way until he decides to push back in in a thrust that takes your breath away.

Frankie chuckles, loving the little squeak that gets cut off. “Let me hear you, baby.” He grunts, pulling back for another thrust. “No one here, you can scream my name as loud as you need to.” Snapping his hips forward, he drills into you again to start a harsh pace.

You can’t deny him. You cry out as he punches deep, feeling like he’s splitting you in two but you fucking love it. Your nails dig into Santi’s forearms as you take what Frankie gives you, moaning his name and you’re soaking him with wave after wave of arousal until your pussy starts to squelch with each thrust.

Luckily the sofa is leather and can be wiped off, otherwise you would be soaking it. Every time you gush around him. Making him groan as he rocks into you. “Is it worth it?” He grunts. “Letting us fuck you? Being our little slut for the night?”

You nod, “so- so worth it. Oh God. I- keep talking.” You beg, loving to hear his deep voice saying such filthy things. Pope chuckles, “keep going, Fish. She loves hearing you talk dirty. Had her soaking my fingers earlier.”

He chuckles and twitches inside you again. “She’s such a dirty slut.” He tells Pope. “I should just take off the condom and fill her cunt up with my cum, make a mess of her.” He hums. “Or I’ll pull out and cum all over her. Covering her like the little cum whore she is.” 

“Oh fuck yessss.” You moan out, lost in the haze of lust, “want you to fill me up. Please, baby. Please. I need - I want - oh God.” You pant as he rocks into you, his jaw clenched and you whine out as he pushes you up the sofa and into Pope’s lap.

He smirks, enjoying how much you are begging for it but he would never make that change while everyone is caught up in the moment. “Good girl.” He groans, “Maybe I’ll wait until Pope is hard again and we’ll both take a hole. Really fill you up. Would you like that, baby?” 

Your responding nod nearly makes your neck cramp. “Yes. Fuck. I- I want both of you. Want to feel both of you. I want - oh God. It’s so good, baby.” You pant, reaching up when you see Santi’s cock starting to get hard and you wrap your fingers around him while Frankie fucks you even harder. “Frank- I - oh shit.” You pant, getting closer and closer.

“That’s it, that’s it, pretty girl.” He pants out, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he fills you again and again. “Want you to cum for me. Want you to soak my cock. Scream my name.” He is practically begging but his hand snakes down between your bodies so he can rub your clit. “Cum for me.” 

His thumb on your clit is exactly what you need. You practically squeal as you break, clamping down on his cock and soaking him as you cry out his name. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your grip on Santi’s cock tightens as you experience your second orgasm.

Pope hisses, and his cock throbs in your hand. “Beautiful.” He groans, watching you with heavy lidded eyes as Frankie works you through your orgasm and pushes for his own. “Cum, hermano.” He urges. “I want to be inside her the next time she squeals.

Frankie grunts, grabbing your leg to push it back further and you moan, opening your eyes to watch him. “That’s it baby. Cum for me.” You demand, “wanna see you cum again.” You let go of Santi’s cock to grab the back of Frankie’s neck, dragging him down to press your lips to his.

Moaning in surprise at your ferocity, Frankie feels the tingling in the base of his spine. The rush of pleasure that happens right before his body starts to tighten. Thrusting haphazardly, he growls out your name, “gonna- fuck- gonna cum.” He warns you against your lips as he gives a short, half thrust before he is pushing deep and grinding his hips, cock pulsing deep inside your cunt as he feels the condom up with his release. Sliding his tongue into your mouth as he rides out the waves of bliss. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair and you kiss him back as he fills the condom up and slowly rocks into you, riding his orgasm. “Well goddamn.” Pope coos, enjoying the show and his cock throbs.

Frankie kisses you slowly until he is good and damn ready to pull out of you. Holding the base of the condom and rocking back to pull out gently. Caressing your thigh as he looks down at you. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, smirking at your exhausted expression. “You got one more in you for us, don’t you?”

You nod, feeling boneless but you want Santi to cum too. Not because he’s footing the bill for your car but because you want him to fuck you.

You look up at Frankie and you offer him a lazy smile, “I do. Want Santi to fuck me.” You say and look up at Santi.

Frankie smirks proudly. “Good girl.” He shuffles back and lets Santiago take his place between your thighs. Standing up with a groan and walking over to the trash can to throw away the condom. “How do you want to be fucked this time?” The other man hums as he strokes a finger through your sensitive folds.

You whimper at the sensation and shift to kneel. “I want to ride you.” You tell Pope and he chuckles, reaching to smack your ass before he grabs the condom. “Let me -” He works fast to follow the rubber onto his cock and he hisses when you move fast to straddle his thighs. “Wanna feel you in my stomach.” You coo at him as you grip his cock and shuffle forward until you are sinking down onto him.

Even though he’s already cum, Frankie watches as you take Santi’s cock with eagerness. Knowing the man is enjoying himself from the way his thighs clench and he moans, hands gripping your ass and squeezing it. Unable to stop himself, Frankie cups your tits and pinches your nipples, biting down on your shoulder sharply before soothing it with his tongue. “So, ride him, sweetheart.” He orders. “Bounce on his cock like a little slut and show us what you've got.” 

You clench around Santi’s cock at the filthy words and decide to follow orders. You grip Santi’s shoulders and start to move, lifting up until his cock nearly falls out of you before you sink back down. A moan escapes your lips and you squeeze his shoulders. “Fuck. You - it’s like you’re in my guts.” You confess, unable to to believe how long he is.

Pope chuckles and Frankie continues to tease and torment your nipples. “Want to be deep. So fucking deep you feel me for days.” He tells you, snapping his hips up.

You let out a noise that's half gasp, half moan, and your nails dig into his shoulders as Frankie kisses along your neck. It's overwhelming and incredible. "Shit. I will. I won't be able to - to walk tomorrow." You declare, loving the thought even if you need to work. "Fuck. I - oh God." You tilt your hips as you rock down and the change in angle has your head tilting back and a moan of Santi's name escaping your lips.

“Good.” Frankie growls, kissing along your neck. “Don’t walk. Or if you do, feel us every time you move.” He slaps your ass while still fondling your tits with his other hand. Sliding it lower to rub the puckered hole that is so close to where you are taking Pope.

You gasp at the slight invasion until you moan, "God. Want you - want you both inside of me. Wanna feel you both cum inside of me at the same time." Your inhibitions are gone as they tear you apart with their words and their actions, making you desperate to please and desperate to feel more.

Frankie smirks and pulls his fingers away to spit on them. “My fingers are going to have to do, Princess.” He teases. “You’ve drained me dry. Milked me for every drop of cum with that perfect mouth and cunt.” He rubs your hole again and starts to slowly press his fingers into you.

The added pressure has you shaking above Pope who has to thrust up into you, his hands grabbing your ass to spread your cheeks for Frankie to push his fingers deeper. The stretch has you closing your eyes, feeling fuller than ever before with Santi's cock still inside of you. "Oh fuck. That's - you're gonna make me cum." You rush out, body shaking even harder as Frankie pushes his fingers deeper and starts to move them inside of you.

“That’s it, baby, cum for us.” Pope coos. “Come apart, want to see you, hear you scream.” He chuckles and leans in to bite at your bottom lip. “Cum.”

You practically scream into his chin as the two men work your body until you’re clamping down on Pope’s cock, soaking him and clenching around Frankie’s fingers as your orgasm hits you like a steam train.

You’re a stranger to them, they don’t know you, they don’t know your life - but they know what you look like when you cum. Watching you while they are holding their breaths, thinking that you are gorgeous as you shake and gasp for them.

You collapse forward onto Santi’s chest as he rocks up into your pussy, getting closer and closer until he freezes beneath you and lets out a groan as he spills into the condom. “Shit.” You pant into his skin while Frankie kisses along your spine.

Panting, Santiago grins as he tries to catch his breath. Squeezing your ass and rocking you languidly on his still stiff cock. “You’ve blown my mind, baby.” He hums, very pleased with the way this situation has turned out. “Definitely.”

You smile, “glad we could help each other out.” You thought you were fucked when you were told the cost of the repair or your car but you now acknowledge that it’s one of the best things to happen to you. “Might have to come back when she dies on me again.” You murmur as Frankie removes his fingers from inside of you and you shift off of Pope’s cock after he holds the condom.

Frankie smirks as he helps you off the sofa. “You can come back anytime, baby.” He promises with a wink. “You can use the bathroom in the breakroom, or go two doors down and use the shower.” He likes you, but you had done this so you could have your car, not for any other reason. He looks over at Pope and chuckles at the very satisfied look on his friend’s face.

You decide to use the shower, knowing that even if they hadn’t cum inside of you, you are sweaty and you want to wash off. “I’ll go shower.” You shift off of the sofa and stumble as you try to get your balance and the boys chuckle at their handiwork.

Completely at easy with his own nudity, Frankie walks over to the sink to wash his hands. Then going over to the fridge to pull out two beers, striding back over to the sofa to hand Pope one and then opening it as he flops down onto the couch beside him. “You actually had a good idea, asshole.” He huffs, smirking as he takes a sip of the beer.

Santiago smirks, “reckon she’ll be back?” He asks, “I hope she is. Does that sound bad? I don’t want her to get into an accident but Jesus, that pussy? Worth doing some free work and writing off parts for, huh?”

Frankie snorts and shrugs. “Not too bad. Not like you fucked with the timing belt so she has to come back.” He smirks to himself, thinking that it wasn’t too bad of an idea, but he hadn’t done that. He had fixed it the best he was able. “But that car’s a piece of shit, so who knows? She might become a regular.”

You wash off with their cheap 3-in-1 men’s body wash and kinda like how you smell like them after all the sex is washed from your body. You realized you need to get your clothes from the break room and walk in with the towel wrapped around you. “Decent water pressure you have in here.” You say as you reach for your panties and drop the towel, uncaring now they have seen every part of your body.

Pope chuckles and nods. “After showering in the shittiest places all over the world and having no water pressure, Fish demanded that we have a good shower.” His answer makes you tilt your head curiously and he shrugs. “Army, special forces.” He reminds you, “plenty of times we get ready to go out here, saves us a trip home.” 

You nod, understanding and hating that you feel a little jealous about them going on dates. You have zero reason to feel possessive. You don’t know them, yet you want them to yourself. You fasten your bra and redress fast, sliding your feet into your shoes. “So, uh, I guess if I have any issues I’ll come see you again?” You ask, biting your lip as you stand while they sit on the sofa.

Frankie smirks and nods. “Anytime, baby, but I guarantee you won’t have problems on the shit I worked on.” He promises. “I don’t do sloppy work.” He’s not boasting, even though it might sound that way. He’s reassuring you that your car is as fixed as he could get it with what he worked on. “We were serious though, you need to start looking for another car.” 

You nod, “I know. I, uh, I gotta save up some cash. I’ll see what I can do.” You sigh and Frankie stands up, still naked. “Thank you. For everything.” You say and hug him, breathing him in before you kiss him. Santi stands up a moment later, his hand on your waist and you switch to hug him, his lips eagerly finding yours.

While you kiss Pope, Frankie finds a pair of shorts to throw on so he can escort you to the door. He palms the keys to your car and when you pull away from Santi, he holds them up. “Let’s go get you back on the road so you can go to work tomorrow.” He hums. 

You step back from Santi and take your keys. "Thank you so much guys." You thank them, "seriously, thank you. You saved me." You look them both in the eyes, and Santi winks at you, "our pleasure...literally."

Frankie walks you to your car, waiting for you to slide into the driver’s seat before handing you the keys and closing the door to lean in the window. “Thank you for tonight.” He murmurs quietly and leans in to kiss your cheek. “Best pussy I’ve had.” He winks at you when he pulls back and taps the door. 

You fluster, fumbling with your keys to turn the ignition, and Frankie stands there until you put the car in drive and make your way down the gravel driveway to the road. When you are driving home, you process what just happened and you think you should be disgusted with yourself for essentially whoring your body out to get your car fixed for free but you loved every second of it. Your car cruises along and you smirk as you stop at a light. It would be a shame if something else happened to you and you had to go back to the shop.

****

A week has passed and even though Frankie has thought about that night, especially when he’s in the break room, neither man has heard from you. It’s a good thing, really. It means that your car is working properly and you’ve been living your life. Leaning on the engine of a Ford Taurus that needs new spark plugs, Frankie’s back is to the lot when he hears the crunch of tires on the gravel. Another customer. He hears them pull the car to a stop and the door opens. “Go inside.” he calls out over his shoulder as he carefully replaces the first plug. “Santiago can help you.”

“I was kinda hoping you’d get your hands on my engine and make her purr.” You declare and Frankie hisses as he hits his head on the hood. “You’re back.” He says, rubbing his head and you nod, “she’s having issues again.” You bite your lip, “was wondering if you and Santi could help me out.” You’ve spent all week thinking about the two men, almost wishing your car would crap out so you could call Santi again to pick you up and help you out.

“Yeah?” The engine sounded fine to him when you had pulled up but he smirks slightly as he holds out a hand for the keys. “Leave her with me.” He promises. “I’ll find out what's wrong just as soon as I’m done with this one.” He cocks his head. “Might take awhile though. ‘Til closing.” He teases, cock twitching and he wonders if there is something actually wrong or if his instinct is right and your back to get get fucked again. 

You hand him the keys and offer him a small smile, not wanting to give away what your intentions are. You bite your lip and walk into the waiting room to find Santi sitting behind the desk. “You’re back?” His eyes widen and you nod, feigning a sigh, “she’s making strange noises again.” You tell him and shift from one foot to the other, “Frankie said he’d be checking it out after the one he’s working on now.”

Santiago nods and motions towards the waiting area. “You can wait out here or you know where the break room is.” He smirks slightly and licks his lips as he remembers the last time you were in that room. “You know that we will take care of it, of you.” He drops his voice down and watches as your eyes swim with lust. 

You decide to make your intentions known and walk down to the break room. Exhaling shakily, you wait for someone to follow you and it doesn’t take long for Santi’s hands to find your waist as you look up at the tv in the corner. “You come in for another issue?” He asks, voice low in your ear. “She’s not purring like she should be. Figured I should get it checked out.”

“Hmmmm.” Santiago smirks, seeing through your weak story and he presses close, flattening his front against your back. “Frankie will fix her.” He promises, whispering the words into your ear and grinning when you shudder. “Question is, how expensive will it be? And how will you pay for it?” 

“I - I was thinking…maybe you could honor the last deal we had? Since it’s only been a week and it’s gone wrong already.” You say softly, feeling a little ashamed until his nose nudges your neck and his warm breath washes over your skin, making you shiver.

Since the customer wasn’t waiting for the car he had been working on, Frankie abandoned it as soon as you walked inside and started looking at yours. Quickly finding out that nothing is wrong with the car beyond what he knew about a week ago. He chuckles to himself as he wipes his hands as he walks over to the door. No one else is at the shop and once again, you are alone with the two men. He walks in to find you and Santiago looking very intimate and he hums. “Well, sweetheart, looks like you’re in another bind.” He lies, feigning concern. “Transmissions gone and it’s gonna be at least a thousand bucks.” 

You make sure you look a little distraught as you turn to face the other man. “I- you know I don’t have the money. Can we - can we honor the last deal we had?” You ask, sticking your lower lip out.

His eyes slide behind you to Pope and it’s obvious that he’s seen through your charade. Pretending to consider it, he bites his lip. “Depends on what you’ll let us do, baby.” he finally decides. “We’ve both fucked you, gotten our dicks sucked. What can you give us this time?” Your eyes widen and he smirks. “I’m thinking that you let us fuck you bare this time.” He growls. “No condom. Both holes.” 

You close your eyes, trying to refrain from your shiver of anticipation, and you pretend to consider it. “And you’ll do what it takes to fix my car?” You ask, “for free?” Frankie nods and you bite your lip, “deal.” You hold your hand out and he takes it, dragging you to him so he can press his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair as Santi comes up behind you to kiss your neck and work on the button of your jeans. It’s as overwhelming as it was before but you’re already drunk on them both.

They should stop and clean up. Shower, but somehow Frankie doesn’t think that you care how clean they are. Maybe you even prefer the idea of sweaty, hardworking men using you. His tongue slides into your mouth as he snakes a hand up your shirt to squeeze your tit over the lacy bra you are wearing. Something you obviously put on in anticipation of getting fucked. Frankie drags his lips away from yours to groan. “Do you want her ass?” He asks Pope, knowing the man loves anal.

The way he discusses you like you’re an object shouldn’t make you clench around nothing but it does and Santi’s fingers slide into your lace panties to find your clit and you moan, arching your chest into Frankie’s hand. “Of course, hermano. Her ass is mine. You take her pussy. She’s already wet for us.” He chuckles darkly as he twists his hand to slide his finger through your folds as Frankie pulls your shirt over your head.

“Of course she is.” Frankie scoffs. “We’re going to make her cum. Multiple times. How often does that happen?” He quickly unhooks your bra and ducks his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple and bites down on it. 

You pant, “not too often until - until I came here.” You confess, “ex didn’t make me - not like you do.” You admit breathlessly as Santi works on pulling down your jeans, helping you kick off your sneakers and he groans at the sight of the lacy thong. “Someone had high hopes.” He teases and you chuckle breathlessly, “don’t hear you complaining.”

Frankie pulls off your tit with a pop and chuckles. “Oh we aren’t complaining, baby” he promises. “I’m just trying to decide if Pope’s gonna lick your pussy while I’m balls deep or we’re gonna double team making you cum on our tongues before you get our cocks.”

“Shit.” You hiss, your body almost vibrating with need for them. You’ve spent every night since you came here to get your car fixed thinking about them with your hand between your thighs. “What - whatever you want. I’m yours. You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Oh we’re going to.” His chuckle is bordering on mean and Pope smacks your ass. “Gotta get a thousand dollars worth of pussy.” Pope teases, sliding his hand back between your thighs and pushing two fingers inside you. Frankie hums and decides he can’t wait. “You’re going to sit on my cock while Pope eats you out.”

You nod, unable to deny the man a thing. He quickly strips out of his overalls and there’s something so sexy and raw about him as he strips down and Santi notices, chuckling as you clench around his fingers. When Fish sits down naked on the sofa, Pope withdraws his fingers and you shift to straddle Frankie but he shakes his head and turns you around. You nod and shuffle back, gripping his cock so you can sink down onto him, bare and thick. “Holy shit.” You moan, leaning back into his chest and Frankie spreads your legs a little wider.

Frankie groans and slides his hands up your thighs to cup both of your breasts. Pope is staring at your cunt, his cock pushing deep as he strips out of his own clothes. “Fuck, she’s even better without the condom.” Frankie pants as he rolls your nipples with his fingers and twists them slightly to hear you gasp.

You moan in agreement, “can feel all of you.” You reach back to run your fingers through his hair as Pope strips down. His cock bounces as he comes over to the sofa, kneeling down in front of you and you watch him as you start to work yourself on Frankie’s cock. On your tiptoes as you try to lift yourself enough to ride him.

Grunting, Frankie rocks his hips up to fill you again. Enjoying the squeal and he squeezes your breasts roughly again. “Couldn’t get enough of us, could you?” He grunts. “Too bad we aren’t your landlords. You could just pay rent in pussy.” He teases. “Be our personal cocksleeve.”

“Fuck.” You pant, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “I fucking wish.” You declare and Santi runs his hands along your thighs, bringing your attention to him. You look down and his dark eyes meet yours as he leans forward to slide his tongue against your clit, just above where Frankie’s cock is disappearing inside of you. “Oh my God.” You whine at the added sensation.

“Eat her pussy good, Pope.” Frankie orders as he starts to nibble and lick on your neck. “She deserves to cum before we’re filling these little holes with our loads.” He groans when you clench down on him. “You like that, baby? You want to drip our cum? We can jerk off on you too.”

“Yes. Shit. I want - I want you to ruin me. Use me. Cum on me. In me. Do- do whatever you want.” You ramble, knowing that you’re completely drunk on them. You’ve never been treated like this and it has you begging for more. Pope’s tongue slides along your folds and you moan when he sucks your clit into his mouth.

Slapping your breast, Frankie bites down on your shoulder, hoping to leave teeth impressions. Leaving a mark on your skin. He rocks his hips up and hums. “We will. You’re such a willing little slut for us.” He hisses, loving how much you enjoy the dirty talk.

“I am. Only for you. Only ever like this for you two. Fuck, Frankie. I- shit.” You reach down to tangle your fingers in Santi’s hair, rocking your hips again to try and find the spot to make you cream. “Oh God.” You gasp when you find it, rocking frantically as you work yourself up to your orgasm.

“That’s it. Fuck you get so tight.” Frankie coos as you bounce on his dick. “Cum for us. Cum and Pope will slide into your ass and you can cum again. And again until we finally fill up your little holes and let you feel us for another week.”

His words combined with his cock and Pope’s mouth around your clit has you falling apart. You squeal, closing your legs around Pope’s head as you collapse back against Frankie while you convulse with your climax. “Oh oh ohhh.” You cry out, eyes clenched shut.

Frankie groans, twitching inside you and trying to bite his lip to control himself. Wanting to make sure that he doesn’t cum too early. He wants to fill you up when Pope is also inside you.

You relax, panting as you work through your orgasm, and Pope caresses your thighs while you recover. "Frank, lay down and let her sit on your cock while I get her ready." Pope says, slapping your thigh. The other man nods and you shift off of him so he can lay down on the sofa.

Frankie watches as you straddle him, smirking as he leans up and bites the top of your tit and smacks your thigh. “You ready to take both of us, baby?” He asks roughly, eager to stretch you out and hear you scream again. You’re addicting and so fucking eager for their touch.

You nod, a little apprehensive but eager. You have done anal before with your ex so you know what to expect but you've never had two men at the same time. You shiver as Pope straddles the sofa behind you, a bottle of lube in his hand. "You had that hanging around?" You tease breathlessly.

Pope chuckles and he shrugs. “Spit sucks when you’re jerking off.” He tells you easily, before he opens the bottle to squirt it onto his fingers. “Gonna work you open for a few minutes, baby. Want you to enjoy it.”

You gasp softly when his fingers prod at your puckered hole and you whimper when he pushes a finger into you. "Fuck baby." You murmur, clenching around Frankie's cock while his hands caress your waist and up to your tits.

“It’s okay, baby.” Frankie coos softly. “We aren’t going to wreck you until you’re ready.” He promises. He knows that Pope is eager to slide inside you, but the man is a trained operator, he has the patience to wait until it will be nothing but the sweetest pinch of pain for you. “Open up for him. Let us make you fly.”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed when Pope adds another finger, scissoring to try and open you up a little more. You gasp again, "God, it feels good." You confess, rocking slightly on Frankie's cock as Santi opens you up for him.

“Kiss me, pretty girl.” Frankie orders, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and dragging you down to his lips. You’re intoxicating and he wants to gorge himself on you while Pope works you open and slides inside your tight little hole.

You slide your tongue against his and you moan into his mouth as Pope adds a third finger, pumping them deep and you pant into Frankie’s mouth. “Oh God. I need - please. Need you both inside of me now.” You beg, needing to feel fuller than ever before.

Frankie and Pope both chuckle because of how desperate that you sound. Frankie kisses you again as Pope slowly withdraws his fingers and reaches for the luge again to generously coat his cock in the clear jelly. “Relax for me, sweetheart.” His hand caresses your spine as he shuffles closer and presses the head of his cock to your puckered hole as Frankie holds your hips steady.

You inhale deeply, preparing yourself to take his cock. You bite your lip as he pushes into you and you wince at the slight pinch but it disappears as soon as it comes, and you are moaning when Pope pushes into you and you feel fuller than you've ever felt in your life. "Holy shit." You hiss, body almost shaking from the sensation.

“That’s it, baby.” Frankie caresses your sides. “You’re doing so good. You look so fucking pretty split open by our cocks. Doesn’t she, Pope?”

"Fucking incredible, hermano." Pope says as he watches his cock disappear into your ass and you're so fucking tight. He thought your pussy was tight but this is - it's mind numbing. "I need you to move." You tell them, thighs shaking slightly.

“We’re gonna move.” Frankie promises, lifting his hips and slowly starting to scrub his cock along your walls. “You just hold still and let us do all the work, baby.”

You can’t move, sandwiched between the two men as their cocks push deep until they start to move. Frankie moves first then Pope, alternating so you’re always full of one cock and it’s overwhelming, more than you’ve ever felt before. Inhumane whines and cries escape your lips as you let them use your body.

Frankie can tell you love it, even if you can’t speak right now. Your tight little cunt is made even tighter by Pope and he can feel the other man through the thin wall. Sliding his hand around your hip as he rocks his own up, his thumb finds your clit and he presses against it to start rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves.

You squeal at the added stimulation. It’s too much and yet not enough at the same time. You shake as you let them use your body for their pleasure and the pleasure you receive back is making your eyes water. It’s so good. “Oh fuck.” You finally gasp out and Santi kisses along your neck, biting down your shoulder the opposite side of Frankie’s bite.

Frankie groans and slaps your thigh. “Fuck you’re so pretty like this.” He hisses. “Gonna be even prettier filled with our cum. Wanna take a picture of those cum filled holes.”

"Yesss. Do it. I wanna - I wanna see." You confess and try to rock your hips but they have you trapped between them as they rock into you. 

Pope groans when you grip his cock unconsciously, "so fucking tight. Thought your pussy was tight but mierda, this is- shit." He hisses and rocks into you, over and over while Frankie rubs your clit, his thick cock pushing deep until you burst. "Oh I'm gonna - I'm gonna - oh fu-!" Your cry becomes a choke as you clamp down on Frankie's cock.

Both men have to stop moving because you are shaking so hard, your walls gripping them like a vice and they each moan. Frankie groans your name when you collapse forward and Pope grips your hips and immediately starts rocking into you frantically.

You are sweaty and overstimulated but you want them to fill you up. “Come on baby. Fill me up. Want to be dripping both of you. Want you to take - take a photo to keep. Want - shit - I need your cum.” You pant out, turning your head to press your lips to Santi’s jaw.

Pope chuckles and nods. “We will.” He promises before he kisses your mouth. Frankie grunts, watching the kiss as he starts to move again, falling into that alternating rhythm with Pope. “Fuck, you’re such a little slut. I fuckin’ love it.”

You pant, “yesss. For you. Only for you. Yours. This body belongs to you both.” You promise as Pope kisses your chin, his grunts get louder and more ragged. “Cum for me, fill me up.”

Santiago is the first one to tip over the edge. Gritting his teeth and hissing out your name as his hips slap against your ass once, twice more before he is letting out a strangle grown and grinding deep, cock pulsing as he fills your ass.

You love the way his fingers dig into your hips as he holds you close while he cums. "Cum for me, Frankie." You demand, wanting to feel the other man spill inside of you too.

Frankie pants out an acknowledgment of what you had moaned and rockets up the pace of his thrusts. Bracing his feet on the sofa and fucking up into you as hard as he can.

All you can do is hang on as Frankie fucks up into you a half dozen more times before he’s cumming, filling you up and making you shudder as the sensation of both men cumming inside of you gives you a small aftermath orgasm that makes your pussy milk Frankie for every drop.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.” Frankie groans, pulling you close to kiss you again. His tongue is surprisingly gentle, intimate instead of demanding while he rides out his orgasm inside your perfect cunt.

You kiss him back just as eagerly, moaning into his mouth and Pope kisses along your shoulder, “so good.” He murmurs into your skin and you hum your agreement. 

“God, I definitely don’t think I can walk for a while.” You giggle and rest your weight on Frankie as he twitches inside of you.

Frankie chuckles. “It’s a good thing you don’t have to.” He tells you and smirks at Santiago. “Go get your phone.” He orders. “So we can take a picture of those cum filled holes.” He had meant it when he said he wanted a photo. His eyes slide over to you. “If you will let us take one.” He adds. “Not your face though. And it’s only for us.”

You nod, “no face. Only for you.” You tell them and Pope nods, slowly pulls out of you. “Clench baby. Keep it in.” He orders and you giggle, trying to stop his cum from pushing out of you. You frown slightly at knowing it’s gonna be a bitch to clean up but it was worth it.

Frankie smirks at the face you make as you clench down, twitching inside you even as he softens. Santiago goes to grab his phone out of his pocket and comes back over. “Pull off Fish’s cock, baby, and stick your ass out.” He orders as he opens the camera app and zooms in.

You follow his orders, lifting off of Frankie and you lean forward to display your ass and pussy to the camera. You reach behind you to spread your cheeks, giving him more of an eyeful as their cum starts to drip from inside of you.

"Fuck, you are so perfect." Pope groans, snapping several photos of the creamy mess they have made of you. "So fucking perfect." He repeats, smirking down at the screen when he gets done. Frankie hums his agreement as he watches you.

“I need to shower but I don’t think I can stand up.” You declare as you let go of your ass and shift to sit on the leather sofa, wincing at the aches already happening to your body.

Frowning slightly at your discomfort, Frankie swings his feet off the sofa and stands up, before he leans down and pulls you up into his arms with a soft grunt. He's carried grown men when he was in the Army, 300 pound packs of gear; and since getting out - hauled around heavy engine parts. Carrying you to the shower is not a big deal. "Then I'll just carry you." He tells you with a smirk.

Your eyes widen and you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you to the shower. It’s incredibly sexy and you almost want him to fuck you again but you can’t take anymore sex right now. He sets you against the wall as he turns on the water and you bite your lip, watching him and Santi enters the shower a few seconds later. “How the hell are you two single? Holy shit. You are single?” Your eyes widen as you realize you never had that conversation with them.

Frankie snorts and Santi chuckles. "Baby, if we weren't single, we wouldn't be fucking you." He assures you quietly as Frankie reaches for the 3-in-1 body wash and the loofa that is hanging from the shower knob. 

"We aren't that sleazy." Frankie adds, lathering up the loofa and kneeling down to start washing you. "Although I'm wondering when you're going to admit there was nothing wrong with your car."

You fluster, watching Frankie as he washes you, his hand tenderly sliding through your folds to wash you. “I, uh, I was going to…eventually.” You confess bashfully. “I thought - well, I didn’t want you to think I was easy or- or desperate by coming back to say I needed you to fuck me.” You admit, biting your lip.

"Don't think either one." He makes sure he cleans you gently, knowing you have to be sore and he doesn't miss the way that your hands are holding onto Pope as he leans you against him. "The sex is amazing and I'd be lying if I wasn't thrilled when you came back."

You smile, “I’m glad you think so. I- fuck. Do you think I could get regular tune ups at home? Would be nice to get a service in a bed.” You smirk, “saves me having to drive to the shop.”

Pope looks over your shoulder and down at Frankie. The other man smirks as he pushes to his feet, the loofa abandoned and his soapy hands cup your tits. "We are mechanics." Frankie teases, "we can make anything purr." He loves the way you gasp when he pinches your nipples. "Especially you."

You moan and Pope kisses your cheek, “we can make house calls.” You kiss his lips and grin, “perfect. I can’t wait to see what else you can do.” You giggle and Santi caresses your sides, “oh baby, we are just getting started.” You smirk and enjoy the way the men sandwich you between them. 

“We can set you up for regular maintenance.” Frankie promises and kisses you softly. You all wash up and dry off, redressing and soon the boys are walking you to your car. “She’s good to go but we will need to check on her this weekend. Saturday?” They ask and you nod, “you have my number and address from my file. I’ll see you then boys.” You wink and gingerly get into your car. You pull out of the garage parking lot and the men watch you go. 

“Best fucking tow pick up ever.” Santi slaps Frankie on the back and Catfish nods, “and we are only getting started.” The men smirk as your car makes its way down the road, several problems that need fixing soon orchestrated by the mechanics to guarantee they see you again. Even if it wasn’t necessary after all.