#santiago pope garcia angst

[pimosworld]

Someone like you(tba)

Pairing-Ex-fwb Santiago Garcia x ofc, Joel Miller x ofc

Summary- After a tumultuous years-long friends-with-benefits relationship with Santiago, you decide you’ve had enough of the uncertainty and lack of commitment. Seeking stability and genuine affection, you meet Joel Miller and he’ll make it his mission to show you what love is supposed to feel like.

CW-18+, MDNI, NSFW, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, abandonment issues, healing, longing, smut, a case of don’t know what you had until it’s gone. Joel Miller appreciation, multiple pov between reader, Santiago and Joel.

A/N- Reader has a name and a nickname, hazel or haze, but otherwise is a blank slate, no body descriptions or ethnicity. I don’t have a set number of chapters yet ( please let me know if you would like to be added to the Taglist)

My other wips looking at me like this 👀

[360iris]

Me & U, Isn’t | dad’s best friend!santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader

2.5k word count. Content warning— this is not a good time read! Relationship angst, m/c is intended to be over 21 years of age, Santi isn’t a bad guy, but he isn’t the best either. M/c is kind of self deprecating tbh, message for the girlies: Always speak your mind, and let your feelings be known if you are in a safe place to do so! Fuck “keeping the peace.” Don’t be like this m/c! She is stubborn! Anyway, I wrote this almost two months ago. It was fun stressing my friends out talking about it. Now the world can read it and stress too ig lol

Please do not read if you are not in the right headspace for more serious relationship topics and themes, thanks!

The last thing you’d expected to see this afternoon was Santiago leaning against his truck, arms folded as he watched you pull into your reserved parking spot at your apartment complex. A fond smirk lining his lips.

You take your time gathering your things, face waxing unimpressed as you exited the vehicle. “How long have you been out here?” You ask with brows knitted as he pushes himself up.

“About... ten minutes?” He takes a moment to think it over. “Saw your phone location and noticed you were headed back this way. Figured I’d be able to catch you before you headed back out.”

“What the fuck?” You remark surprisingly, looking at him like he’d grown a third arm. “Since when have you been doing that?”

“You let me, remember? That one night you were all cock drunk, I asked you and you let me enable it.” He says nonchalantly and you stare at him fixedly for a moment before promptly turning to start walking to your door.

Santiago simply follows suit, his pace lax as he trails behind you, waiting patiently as you open the door, step inside and gesture for him to enter.

“What do you want, Santiago?” You ask, shutting the door. Technically your tone was mellow, but there was something about the sentence itself that made his smug expression fall.

“What are you doing that for?” He asks.

“Doing what?” You ask, eying him weirdly as you set down your keys and take off your jacket.

“You know what. What are you upset about?” He pries.

You straighten up, tipping your head back to look at him straight on.

The elephant in the room was right there, and yet here he was asking you, what you had to be upset about like he himself hadn’t chosen to go dark for an entire week and three and half days— not that you were counting.

Although you were.

Going about your days like the family and friends trip to Miami didn’t happen last May.

Like all the glances and tension that was brewing between you and Santiago that entire year didn’t lead up to him fucking you in a beach shower at 5pm, on a Tuesday, didn’t lead to you having to keep the biggest secret you’d ever endeavored to take on.

No one could know, he’d told you.

And you weren’t fucking stupid, of course they couldn’t.

But no one didn’t just mean your mom or dad, who’d lose their minds, and more than likely relieve Santiago of his if they found out how long you’d been “seeing” one another.

No one also pertained to your childhood, college and online friends. It entailed your lab partners in Advanced Inorganic Chemistry, the girl who always gave you extra whipped cream and caramel at the campus Starbucks since you were a sophomore— and even the family cat, Feek.

When you got into this, whatever this was, you’d thought you were gaining something.

Something fun and exciting, something that kept you up at night from how giddy you were. And if you were being honest, for a little while, you’d thought you were gaining him. Even if you knew you couldn’t really be together, you’d thought— well, you don’t even know anymore.

You’d just hoped he’d at least show up for you more. And instead, he pulled away.

Santiago put more time into Kim, the woman he’d been seeing on and off since you were ten. The one he took on showy trips to the Bahamas and brought to all the special occasions as his plus one when it’d be too weird to attend alone.

‘Just for the photos.’ he’d said. ‘If people see me with her, then they wouldn’t think even in their wildest dreams that I was with you.’ He’d continued.

Eventually you stopped bringing it up. That’s how a lot of things went with him it seemed. He’d settle on one answer and that’s what he’d stick to. Not once would he divert or slip up— things just were, no matter how unsatisfied you were with his replies.

Though, you weren’t granted that same privilege it seemed.

“Mi amor,” He says walking closer to where you stood by the breakfast bar. Amor. Love— Santiago never could say it in English. And it always felt like he’d made a point of it not to. “What are you upset about?”

You scoff, effectively rolling your eyes and slipping past him to walk down the hall to your room. “Oh, there’s a list of things. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to get to them all, even if I tried to, Santiago.” Your voice echoes in the barrer space, he follows.

And just as you reach to open the door handle, his hand rests on top of your own— keeping you locked there in the darkened space, his chest to your back. His chin ghosting over your left shoulder.

You try to even your breathing as he makes you soak in the silence before breaking it, “I know you.” He says evenly, out of all the things he could say. And his right hand that rests against your hip begins picking at the hem of your burgundy knit long sleeve.

“I know you keep a lot of this hidden. A lot of things go unsaid between us, and I thought we were both okay, with that. But if you’re not, how can I know if you don’t let me in on what it is you’re letting stew in that little head of yours.”

Your hand grasping the doorknob tightens against the metal as he speaks, your fingers beginning to shake under his.

You rest your forehead against the painted white wood, exhaling heavily through your nose as he keeps you pressed to him. And vaguely you acknowledge how ironic this moment in time is—

You, reaching the door of something, maybe it was the future. One without him and all his empty promises. One where you were free to see whoever and share them with whomever you pleased.

And him, stopping you. Holding on to you and this shitty situation like it isn’t absolute madness.

Didn’t he go day by day antagonizing over this too? Didn’t he share in the thought that this was pure torture?

‘Don’t you see what you’ve done to me?’ You think. ‘You’ve made me feel like everyone I could trust was an inside spy, waiting for one damn slip up to crucify me for.’

‘I’m protecting you, and I’m lonelier than ever.’

‘You’re holding me and I hate how you’re all I’ve got left that feels like home.’

You couldn’t say those things. And he didn’t want to know them, not really.

“Why won’t you let me go?” You ask, taking a shaky inhale.

Santiago doesn’t answer right away, undoubtedly getting your true meaning.

“Do you want me to?” He asks finally, quiet. Waiting.

“I,” Your voice cracks before everything becomes too much and you’re turning in his grasp to look at him.

Could the truth fix everything in this instance?

If you told him, ‘It’s about you not being honest? It’s about you sleeping with whoever you want but acting like a scorned child when I do the same? Ignoring my texts for weeks at a time, and showing up at my apartment at odd hours of the night whenever it suits you?’

But what was the point of wasting your breath when you knew it’d turn into a futile argument that changed nothing.

It’d end the same way regardless, with him dismantling all your lines of defense with a look, with a touch, and a kiss.

With him fucking you into your sheets with your nails clawing into his back, until your throat is hoarse and your vision is skewed with tears. That’s how he seemed to like you best anyway— responsive to his smallest whim and wholly compliant.

So as always, you don’t speak, you don’t push the limits. And he rewards you for it, whether or not he knows it. By bringing you into his arms, holding you close and skipping the fight altogether.

“My pretty girl. Smart girl.” He says running his fingers along your face now, looking into your eyes, and you take the opportunity to search his. If the eyes were the gateway to the soul, what would you find if you looked into his?

Right now. If you were being honest. You saw nothing. But did that say more about you, or him?

Maybe you lacked whatever it took to catch a glimpse of whatever a person’s true nature was but as he cups your face with one hand, you abandon the thought. It was better not to think.

“I’m here now, so just… be with me.” He says it so softly he’s almost whispering. Leaning in til your noses touch.

“Santiago.” Comes out raspy, your voice strained by nerves and excess emotion.

“Nuh-uh.” He interjects, softly tilting your head back til it makes contact with the closed door behind you. Nosing at the slope of your neck, he keeps his eyes on your face as he rubs his lips along your cold skin. “None of that. Say it properly.”

“I don’t know what you’re—“ And you’re interrupted by the way he pinches at your clit through the fabric of your jeans, quick to cradle the back of your head to prevent you from hurting yourself when you throw it back.

“Still don’t know, do you?” He asks eyeing you with a glint forming in his eye as you shook your head. “No?”

He begins undoing your pants with one hand, pulling your underwear and bottoms down just enough so that they sit just above your thighs, before placing your cunt on full display for him. “What’s it going to take to get that little attitude of yours in check? Hm?”

His thumb rubs over your clit once, slow and purposeful as you keen in his grasp. “What am I going to have to do? Fuck it out of you?”

At those words, he begins rubbing the pad of his middle finger in your arousal. Pressing slowly into you fully before pulling back and when he pushes forward again, this time it’s with two fingers that have you quietly gasping at the intrusion.

Your cunt wets his fingers all to quickly, you’re leaning into his touch as he fucks you open, one overwhelmingly patient pump at a time.

With a beckoning motion, he massages your spongy walls until he locates the spot that causes you to buck into his hand. “That’s it.” He purrs, praising you like you were some wild thing he was working to tame.

Your cunt squeezes around him as he introduces a third digit, encouraging you to fuck his fingers with an eager tone. Slick rolling down his wrist in reflective streaks. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Give it to me, mi amor. You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

You nodded foggily as he upped his pace, your hands shooting forward to grasp futilely at his immovable wrist, his hand becoming a blur as he propelled you closer and closer towards an edge you couldn’t see but could feel fast approaching from all angles. Your moans rise in pitch, voice cracking as he works at an unyielding speed.

“Say my name, baby. All you have to do is say it and I’ll let you cum on my fingers nice, long and hard.” He murmurs, brows raised expectantly. “Come on, baby. Come on.”

“F-fuck, Santiago!” Comes out jumbled and whiny, your face buried into the side of his neck when suddenly his hand comes to an immediate standstill.

He laughs humorlessly, pulling out of you completely. A cry is promptly ripped from your lips when he lands a clean, wet slap square against your clit. The swollen bud pulsating as he ignores your whines.

Grasping your face in his palm, he smears your arousal along your cheeks as he forces you to look at him through hooded eyes bordered with tears. He searches your gaze for a moment, unbelieving amusement vaguely lining his features as he looks over you.

“Hmm.” He takes a moment to hum and haw, as if what he finds is in line with whatever he had thought. “Fucking it is.”

Making quick work of yanking your pants down your legs, he haphazardly tosses the material on the floor. His belt clinks as he unbuckles it, unzipping his jeans with one confident pull of his wrist.

He doesn’t bother removing his own bottoms completely, instead holding your unsteady gaze as you watch him pull his cock through the opening he’d made for himself. Grabbing a hold of your left thigh, he hooks your leg over his hip.

Fitting you against him, he rubs the tip of his cock against your clit, spreading his precum across your folds.

“You can be difficult with me, baby. I have all the time in the world for you.” He says in a tone so sweet, your brows furrow and lips press into a fine lined pout. His eyes soften at the way your expression crumples.

“Pobrecita,” He coos, peppering kisses across your face, against your cheeks, and nose, and eyelids— wherever he felt so inclined. You balled your hands into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as he began pushing inside of you.

You release a faint sob, his cock filling you to the hilt when tears begin streaming down your cheeks in angry droplets.

“What is it, bebita? Talk to me. I can’t help if you don’t let me in.” He mumbles into your skin, pulling his head up to rest his forehead against yours. His hips rocking slowly as ugly emotions rolled through your chest.

“Why—“ You suck in a big breath of air in between hiccups. “Why don’t you ever tell me you love me?”

His eyes are deep, chocolatey and steady when he speaks. “I tell you. I tell you all the time.” He says, bringing a hand up to card his fingers through your hair.

“In Spanish!” You argue unhappily, eyelashes matted together with tears, cheeks watermarked. “You tell me in Spanish, Santiago.”

“You think I don’t mean it?” He asks evenly.

“You don’t say it.” You insist.

Releasing a sigh, he leans closer, his lips ghosting against yours. “Te amo.” He whispers, low, just for you to hear. It was a sentiment only for your ears as he thrusts in and out of you in slow, meaningful drags.

“Te amo.” He says again, kissing you softly, the words being almost spoken into your mouth.

“Te amo.” Santiago repeats with another kiss before pulling back to look into your eyes, sparing one hand to cup your chin. “I love you.”

Your bottom lip trembles, from finally hearing the words, from how gently he looks at you. “I love you, Santi. I love you.”

A smile breaks onto his face as he leans in to capture your mouth again. Only parting after he’d thoroughly taken your breath away, leaving your chest heaving in his departure. “I know, babygirl.”

[rosesanddecay]

Oscar Isaac Characters Finding You Dead

Minors DNI

Featured Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Moon Knight System, Basil Stitt, Blue Jones, Poe Dameron, Nathan Bateman, Duke Leto Atreides, Prince John, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Anselm Vogelweide, Llewyn Davis, Abel Morales x gn!reader

Sorry if anyone is ooc!

CW: death, murder, suicide, blood/gore, break-in, various wounds, torture, etc. + pet names, untranslated Spanish, so on.

Notice! Not all of these scenarios are romantically founded, the reader is just someone who knew the character/was close with them.

These are just some short, dumb little rambles/headcannons of mine, so it’s not written the best.

Not proof read or heavily edited

Miguel O’Hara - Villain Attack

There was never a doubt in Miguel’s mind, he knew that one day he’d have to save you. But not like this…

A Green Goblin anomaly had appeared and started bombing Nueva York.

You’d think with all the Spider People so close by, there’d be no casualties. But being so focused on protecting other universes, he almost neglected his own.

The moment Miguel was aware of the anomaly, he and many other Spiders rushed in to help protect the city.

The damage was already extreme, with two buildings nearly demolished.

Spiders spread across the scene, saving and moving the bystanders as Miguel focused on the alternate Goblin.

After capturing the terrorizer, Miguel started barking orders to everyone, wanting everything cleared up asap.

He was heading back to base as the spiders cleared the rubble.

“Oh god- MIGUEL!” One of the Spiders cried out as they tried to lift a large blanket of concrete up. The urgency in their voice quickly set Miguel off.

Miguel rushed over, his heart dropping seeing your dust covered body.

How long had you been under there? Why didn’t anyone sense you sooner? Miguel’s mind raced with panic.

With his sheer strength, he threw the debris away from your body and checked your vitals, his eyes focused on your face the entire time.

Open your eyes… please… mi amor…

When didn’t feel a heartbeat, he went to start cpr, but realized your ribs were broken. The broken bones had stabbed your vital organs, he couldn’t save you, it would’ve only caused more damage.

Miguel didn’t even realize he was crying until he saw his tears hit your face, muddling the dust covering your skin.

It wasn’t often he cried, hell, it took a good few minutes for him to start crying over Gabriella’s death. But after another loss, he couldn’t hold in the pain he was already barely containing.

His arms cradled your broken body with the most care possible. It didn’t matter that you were gone, you were his, the person he swore to protect.

I failed again…

Sobs ruptured through the bombing site. The boss who everyone saw as intimidating and cold, was now hunched over, sobbing over your limp body.

I failed.

I failed.

I failed…

Moon Knight System - Steven / Marc / Jake - Break-in and Murder

Steven, once again, had a late night of work at the gift shop. He was exhausted when he came home, but was more than happy to be back home after stocking shelves for hours.

He was almost tempted to let Marc or Jake front instead, but Steven wanted to see you before Jake took off to do Konshu’s bidding later in the night.

“Love, I'm back!” He says, keeping up his cheerfulness. It had been a long day, he just wants to see you.

Looking around the house, Steven felt confused. You normally rushed to meet him, to welcome him back.

Where were you?

Walking into the bedroom, Steven saw your form under the blankets.

“Love? Are you not feeling well?” He asked quietly, worried he might wake you.

You looked at peace, your hair tousled as it lays on the pillow. Your skin was a bit pale, but Steven smiled softly, assuming you were just tired, he knew he sure was.

His hand fell on your covered stomach as he sat beside you. But a warmth quickly spread over where he had applied pressure to the blanket.

Looking over, Steven nearly had a heart attack. His hand was tacky from blood that now soaked the thick comforter that’s covering you.

With fear rushing through his veins, he ripped off the covers to reveal the stab wounds littered across your torso.

A scream ripped through his chest as he quickly tried to see if you were still alive. His heart dropped when he felt your cold skin and lack of a heart beat.

Despite Jake and Marc trying to desperately front, Steven wouldn’t let them or listen to their pleads.

Instead, he grabbed your body and sobbed. His hand clasped yours, wishing yours would squeeze his, that you’d wake up and kiss his worries away.

No, no, no— what happened— love… oh god…

It took a good while for Steven to let one of the others front, but Marc took over when he got the chance.

Both had been confined to the mirrors in the bedroom, wishing they could hold you like Steven had. Instead, for over an hour, they were stuck in the mirrors, cursed to grieve from a distance.

Steven faded back into the subconscious, too drained to watch Marc from the mirror.

Jake, on the other hand, took a step back into the subconscious because he had his own plans.

Marc didn’t sob as much as Steven did, but his pain was just as bad.

He had lost so much in life, he was almost confused on how to express his grief for you.

His fingers run along your face, tracing every detail he loves so much. Marc wished you would open your eyes, but your body was long since cold.

Marc wished he complimented you more. Sure, he praised you often, but did you know how much he loved you?

His heart ached with guilt. Marc wanted to make you blush once more from his compliments and soft kisses.

He didn’t know who did this. But he would. They’d find out who did this.

They all would get justice for you.

By Konshu’s word, he swore they would.

It was Marc who called the police and watched as you were dragged away to the hospital morgue.

It was Marc who watched the security footage that showed your killer breaking into the apartment and leaving an hour later.

It was Marc who found out the explicit details that came with your murder.

Marc was the one who told Steven and Jake the details.

This shouldn’t have ever happened… but now we know. What do we do next?

Jake was the protector, or so he’s supposed to be.

Standing over your body in the freezing morgue, Jake stared at your expressionless face.

He could remember the last time you two had a date night. The night was warm as he drove the two of you around town. He could remember the beautifully warm smile that broke across your face as the date came to a close.

Jake would do anything to see that smile again.

The others had already fronted to say their final goodbyes, Jake wanted to be the last one. He wanted to talk to you one last time.

“We found out who did this, amor.” He whispered, trying to contain his wavering voice.

“They won’t get away with this…” His lips brushed your forehead.

”I’m sorry I couldn’t save you…” His tears finally fell down as he reluctantly pulled away.

As he left the hospital, Jake dawned the suit and slipped into the night, ready to enact revenge for you.

Your murderer will regret ever laying a finger on you…

Basil Stitt - Suicide

Basil hadn’t seen you in a while. Yes, part of it was because he had locked himself in his apartment, but he also just hadn’t seen you pass by his door.

He always had his eye to the peephole when you should be leaving or getting home from work.

Is that weird? Of course, but it made him feel less alone. He wanted to talk to you, but his scars contained him to his room.

Where were you? He wondered after spending an entire day looking out into the hallway.

Basil’s heart dropped when he saw movers taking garbage bags out of your apartment.

What are they doing to your things?

Despite his fear, Basil dawned his paper bag and poked his head out.

“What are you guys doing?” Basil questioned nervously.

“There was a suicide. The family wanted us to collect the person’s belongings.” The confused and hesitant workers answered.

Basil slammed his door and collapsed to the ground instantly. The paper bag tumbling to the floor as he clutched and pulled his hair.

His body trembled with grief and hatred as tears pooled on the floor.

He never was good at reacting to bad information, but this was worse.

Why did you leave him too? What did he do wrong?

First it was his face, then his job, then his family and girlfriend, but now you too?

His tears turned to screams and Basil went on a destructive rampage in his apartment, the agony overwhelming him.

He blamed himself for your death, despite barely knowing anything about it.

Maybe if he hadn’t gone into hiding, you would’ve lived. Maybe you two could’ve been lonely together.

But he was also angry.

How could you leave him after everything that happened to him? When he needed you the most?

You didn’t know though. How could you? Your neighbor, the only person you saw everyday, had disappeared for weeks without a word.

Basil knew that, but nothing could stop the emotions flooding and pouring out of him.

Why did you leave me? Why? Why?! Why?!?

Blue Jones - Murdered by a Client

Working for Blue always had its risks, and everyone knew that, including him.

But Blue didn’t expect this.

You had been bought out for the night by a rich newcomer. Nothing bad was supposed to happen.

Blue gave them permission to use you as you saw fit. As long as the merchandise didn’t get damaged, anything went.

Blue stood over your strangled body, his face neutral and flat.

Your glossed over eyes stared back at him, lips hung open loosely.

He didn’t expect his toy to be destroyed, let alone strangled to death.

Your costume was still on, but your makeup was out of place. Blue’s doll was a beautiful, broken mess.

Blue exhaled a puff of smoke as he turned to the killer, the man a sobbing mess.

“I didn’t mean to- they wouldn’t listen to me- please let me go, I’ll compensate you-“ He tried to ramble out, shutting up when the barrel of Blue’s gun pressed against his forehead.

The shot rang through the entire building. The girls and clients quickly rushed out of the other rooms to see what happened.

Screams and tears broke out from the girls as Blue pushed past everyone going to his office.

But it was once he was alone that Blue had the chance to process what happened.

Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw your dead ones. It hurt seeing something he owned in such a state.

Only one tear falls down his cheek as he reviews the footage of what happened. He always kept cameras in the rooms, it was a security measure, but he didn’t think he’d actually ever watch the footage for something like this.

Blue already knew the man was lying about why he killed you, but it hurt to watch you get choked and beg to be let go of.

The man was just angry, he only wanted to kill. You had done nothing wrong. Which made Blue mad.

He leaned back in his seat as the hot, silent tears fell down his cheeks, hidden by the cigar smoke flooding the front of his face.

Blue decided that, from the forward, he was going to be far more strict with who could touch his toys…

My poor bunny…

Poe Dameron - Spaceship Crash

You and Poe had agreed to stay safe, to meet one another after the fight concluded.

Together, you were going to celebrate the victory.

Poe knew you were an intelligent flier, that you were going to do great things for the universe.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that everything went well, until he joined the celebrations…

Everyone was celebrating over the successful stop to the First Order. But as Poe searched the crowds, he realized you were missing.

Fearing the worst, he darted to the medical tents, desperately looking for you. His fears were met when he saw your barely breathing body.

Poe fell to his knees besides the cot you rested on, analyzing the damage you had taken.

He called out your name, to no response.

“Their ship was shot and crashed. There were some malfunctions and the safety’s didn’t trigger. They don’t have much longer, there’s nothing we can do on such short notice.” A nurse sadly explained.

“So you're just leaving them to die out!?” Poe exclaimed in horror, his tears falling fast and hard.

Despite wanting to reprimand the nurse, he knew it would do nothing. Instead, he held your hand to his lips as he watched you until your final breath.

In your final moments, Poe had been whispering soft and loving words to you, hoping you could hear him.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, that any of this happened. You deserve the world, the galaxy. You helped save us. You’re a hero… you’re my galaxy…”

Poe couldn’t stop crying, and he could barely hear himself over the cheering outside.

He should’ve been celebrating with you, this shouldn’t have happened.

No one knew where Poe had gone, and hours later, Finn had to pull Poe away from your body.

Despite all reluctance, Poe eventually left your side for the night, but he didn’t stop mourning you.

That night, he spent his time in your room holding your belongings close, not wanting to lose the last bits of you he does have.

My galaxy, I’m so so sorry…

Nathan Bateman - Killed by a Prototype

You had been one of the few people Nathan trusted enough to come around the house.

Not that he ever let you go downstairs, no.

He didn’t need you to.

When first developing Ava and her predecessors, he had chosen to try and study a real person. Not through the cameras like he did later on, no.

He thought it’d be better to model the AI after someone he liked.

But he was wrong. One of the few times he had let his emotions make his decision, and it was the worst one.

While trying to work out the kinks of the AI, it had escaped. It had knocked him unconscious for long enough that it made its way upstairs.

The girl stared at you in horror as you stood in the kitchen, knife in hand from making dinner.

You looked just as shocked to see a nude woman coming up from the basement, wires hanging from her broken arm.

She even looked oddly similar to you.

Before you could even react, she tackled you, the knife going flying.

Nathan, having heard the crash, awoke and ran upstairs.

He came up from behind and broke the AI’s skull, the body falling on top of you.

“For fucks sake. That was awf…” he trailed off once he shoved the AI’s body to the side and saw you.

Nathan didn’t know how to react seeing your bleeding body, knife sticking out from where your heart is.

There was no hospital nearby, and with how glassy your eyes looked, he knew you were doomed.

Silently, Nathan sat back on his knees and feet, just staring down at your lifeless body.

He wasn’t an emotional person, but he didn’t like how he felt at that moment.

His eyes searched yours before shifting to the dead AI woman, his creation, your killer.

Nathan’s fists reacted quicker than his brain had, and before he knew it, his hands were bloody from breaking the AI down to nothing but shards.

His feet moved to the bar, and before he knew it, he had drunk a full bottle of vodka.

His knuckles, caked in dried blood, chucked the bottle at the wall. The shatters go flying, some even hitting you…

Nathan stood over your body, once again, staring down at you. His expression unclear.

After your death, Nathan was far more careful. Adding keycards to open doors, not just simple locks.

He even kept the prototypes locked up no matter what.

And who knows, maybe your death is what got him to start drinking so much…

How idiotic…

Duke Leto Atreides - Poisoning

Leto knew the dangers of loving you, yet he still did it.

He always made his love clear, practically worshiping you in private.

Leto would risk his life and title as Duke just to care for you for forever.

He wanted to propose eventually.

But your life was taken long before he had the chance.

The Duke looked down at your slumped body, your poisoned drink spilt from where your head had fallen.

In that moment, Leto regretted never marrying you.

He loved you, but in theory, it was better to stay unmarried, open to alliances with the other Great Houses.

But this wasn’t worth it.

Your life wasn’t worth it.

Leto had to keep his composure in front of his men, but in the comfort of his room, he cried. He weeped.

His sobs shook his body as remorse and grief overwhelmed his senses.

Seeing your body in such a way, it shook him to the core.

Sure, he had experienced death before, but this was different.

He loved you, and he saw where you died, he saw you dead.

Choked sobs escaped his lips as he recounted all the moments you two shared.

He wished he could’ve kept you safe, stopped you from drinking the poison.

You were in the House of Atreides, you should have been safe.

That’s what ate at him. That you died where he swore you were protected.

You died under his care.

Why you were killed, he wasn’t sure. But he swore to find out, to avenge you.

If nothing else, he’d make sure to get you justice.

He loved you, and he messed up never marrying you.

I wish I had made you mine, my dear…

Prince John - Assassination

John, the prideful idiot, should’ve never put a bounty on Robin Hood’s head.

It only made his reputation worse.

John should’ve lowered the taxes, but he didn’t.

And now all the citizens hate him, rightfully so.

But John always had you to go back to, you to love and receive love back.

You tried to reason with John, to show him he was being unreasonable and bleeding his kingdom dry.

Yet he never listened, and he now knows the danger of not listening to the advice he gets.

You had just been going about your business, crossing through the towns when you were attacked.

What was supposed to be a simple robbery, turned to an assassination. One of Robin’s troupe mates had gone rogue; they wanted to send Prince John a message.

The message was received.

John had gotten word of what happened.

He found out about how you begged for your life.

How you cried before your body was abandoned on a wooded path.

It made him angry. It made John furious.

You didn’t deserve this. You advocated for the citizens, yet you were the one killed.

John had destroyed everything in sight upon hearing of your murder.

His guards and mother had barely been able to calm him down. But once he had come down from the rage, John broke out into sobs.

He was barely consolable, all he wanted was to fall into your arms and be comforted by you.

Just one more time, John wanted to feel you caress his scalp as you reassured your love for him.

He couldn’t believe he lost you, the only person who loved him.

In spite and pure hatred, John raised the bounty on Robin Hood and his gaggle of followers.

John wanted them alive so he could execute them on your behalf, but he’d take their dead bodies as well.

As long as they were dead, he would be content.

Robin Hood… you’ll regret this… hurting my beloved…

Santiago “Pope” Garcia - Car Accident

Santi had been through so much in life, and it made him extremely overprotective of those he loved.

He always was worried and tried to protect you.

He didn’t want to risk you getting hurt, especially in the dangerous world we live in.

So why did the world still take you from him?

Santi didn’t know how to react when he got the call from the hospital.

He initially had ignored the call, thinking it was a reminder to set up an appointment or something. But when they called again a few minutes after, the blood in his face drained.

“… died… car crash…” those were the only words his brain registered the operator saying.

His heart broke into a million pieces and he felt like he was hyperventilating.

You died..? How could you die in a crash? After everything tried to do to protect you?

The call had ended and Santi sat hunched over, crying into the palms of his hands. His breathing was erratic and uncontrollable.

If he had picked up the first time, maybe he could have made it to the hospital. Maybe he could’ve said goodbye. At least, that’s what he thought.

“I’m so sorry- oh god, no…” He murmured over and over, desperately wishing it wasn’t true.

He almost wished he was at the crash, that way he could’ve seen you one last time. But now, he’s stuck waiting for the morgue to call, waiting to confirm that it’s your body on the table.

Santi’s sobs only stopped when he passed out from exhaustion.

Why did this happen to you? Why you…

Anselm Vogelweide - Shot on Accident

Anselm was known for his erratic and random behavior. That included when he’d change his mind on a whim.

Despite his absurd actions, you cared for him, as he did you.

Anselm always kept you nearby, and everyone knew that. Even people just passing through his office knew that.

He treated you differently, he treated you better than most of his other employees.

Where he’d change his mind as he saw fit with his clients, he was very firm with his decisions regarding you.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

So when Anselm decided to raise the price out of the blue on a client, the client was pissed.

It wasn’t unexpected that a gun was going to be pulled, but the gunshot that rang out- that was a surprise.

His men had already detained the perpetrator before Anselm realized that you’d been shot.

Your hands clutched at your bleeding heart, and your eyes quickly fell shut, your body following suit.

Disregarding his squeaking leg brace, Anselm dove to collect your body in his arms.

His eyes were wide with horror and disbelief at the sight of you dying in his arms.

The world was practically silent for him as he watched you breath your last breath.

Anselm sat there for a moment, pulling your body close to his chest in an attempt to preserve your warmth. He felt an ache in his chest when you gave no response, your body limp and spilling blood.

Anselm didn’t give himself the time to mourn or cry, instead he went cold, his heart stilling for a moment as his attention turned to the shooter.

Looking through the fogged glass lens, Anselm ordered to have your killer chained up in the basement as he carried your body to another room.

For months after your death, Anselm tortured the person who killed you.

The basement became a crime scene of horrific activities. Teeth and nail pulling, breaking bones, slicing skin, it was all incomparable to what Anselm felt the murderer deserved.

They killed his dear dove. This was the least he could do.

His disappointment was immeasurable when he found the murderer dead one morning, Anselm felt far from done torturing them.

The body was disposed of swiftly, and afterwards, Anselm visited the extravagant grave he made special for you.

It was only then, after everything, that he let himself cry over your passing.

My dove…

Llewyn Davis - Suicide

Llewyn was your friend, and the two of you always helped one another out.

He needed a couch to sleep on, you were open. You needed a drinking buddy, he was there.

You both couldn’t offer much monetarily, both just trudging through life and old habits.

But you always left the window unlocked, just for him.

Llewyn hadn’t heard from you in a while, and it had just so happened, he needed a place to stay and was in the area.

Throwing open the fire escape window, he hopped through, entering your apartment.

He called your name as he wandered around, confused where you could be so late in the day.

Yet, when he arrived at the bathroom door he paused, knocking before entering.

He instantly wished he never opened the door.

In the tub, surrounded by bloodied water, he saw you. Your face was towards the window, like you were watching the sky before you died.

The sight made him nearly hurl, but the tears made it out first.

What have you done…

Just when Llewyn thought his life couldn’t get worse, you decided to leave him just like Mike did…

Of course, he knew it wasn’t actually a choice to go against him, but it still felt like he was part of why you took your life.

And that broke his heart.

If he had just visited you or bummed at your place more often, would you still have gone through with it?

He called the police after a bit of a breakdown, and a few days later, he was alerted that your only goodbye was a note scrawled with “I’m sorry.”

Maybe the note was for him, but boy, he wished there was more.

A simple “fuck you Llewyn” would’ve been better than this…

You had always asked him to play a song, but he alway said no. He always said he was too tired, that music was his work, not something he wanted to do all the time.

You never pushed him to play for you, not like other people did. So, he never played for you.

But now, in front of your grave, Llewyn played his heart out to you. His tears bouncing off his guitar, onto the frozen ground where you’d been buried.

‘If I had wings, like Norah’s dove,

I’d fly up the river to the one I love…’

Abel Morales - Accidentally Killed During Work

Abel knew the dangers of letting his employees continue their oil deliveries and solo inspections.

So many of his employees had already been attacked, yet he still took the risk.

He just didn’t expect the attacks to get worse.

Sure, some had been threatened with a gun, hell, one was kidnapped and beaten.

But this was the first time someone actually died…

Upon hearing about your death, Abel stopped in his tracks and demanded to know what happened.

He felt like his life was falling apart the moment his wife explained what happened.

After so many troubles and hoops he’s had to go through for his company, he didn’t think he’d be losing one of his best employees as well.

You were doing a simple house call and sales pitch.

That’s all it was supposed to be.

If he had known your colleague wasn’t feeling well, he wouldn’t have sent you out to the call at all.

He never would’ve guessed you’d decide to go alone…

Abel felt guilty over your death. You died because the competition was trying to send a message, or at least that’s what he assumed.

Abel held his head high as he found out about the circumstances of your death.

Apparently, the murderers were only meant to rough you up a bit and dump you just outside city limits, in a particularly snowy area.

But as you tried to run away, one of the goons tried to shoot a warning shot to get you to stop.

The bullet hit you in the Achilles tendon.

You collapsed into the dense snow instantly, crying out in pain.

In fear of getting arrested, the shooters fled, leaving you to bleed in the snow.

You died of hypothermia. You could’ve been saved.

That’s what hurt Abel the worst.

If your killers had just tried, they could’ve brought you to the hospital. But instead, they’re now awaiting a trial and eventual imprisonment.

But because they confessed, and it was an accidental death, they would be able to have parole, they could walk free one day.

To Abel, they deserved to rot in prison forever. But he didn’t have the right to oppose the judge, not when your family had already accepted the punishment.

Abel paid for the funeral, and there he saw you for the last time.

I’m sorry this happened… I’ll take care of your family from now on. I promise…

—————————————————

Brb sobbing in the club rn…

For real though, thank you for reading!

Feel free to send over any requests/suggestions

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

This Is The Way It Always Goes.

Synopsis - Santiago always comes crawling back. You convince yourself this is the last time - but you both know that's not true.

Pairing - ExBoyfriend!Santiago Garcia x Female Reader

Word Count - 2.6k

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut. kinda toxic relationship dynamic. cursing. angst. this one gets a little rough.

Author's Note - I was in a mood when I wrote this. it's not often I write angst like this, but when I do, I aim to break some hearts. not sure why I chose Santiago for this one... it just felt right. I know this isn't a part of any of my series, but this idea came to me and I managed to bang it out in an hour. series fics coming soon - promise!! <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

This is the way it always goes.

You know it's him as soon as you hear the knocking.

He always knocks as if he's trying to break the door down. Maybe he is. He's broken down everything else in your life.

This is the way it always goes.

You tell yourself you're not answering. You're going to sit here and listen to him bang on the door. Then you'll listen as he yells, begs, tries to sweet talk you through the heavy oak, words seeping through the wood like raindrops. You're not answering.

But then he uses that tone, the honeyed, dulcet, low and raspy one. The one that shoots straight to your heart. His voice cracks, and so does your resolve.

You slowly wander towards the front door, sitting down against it with a thud. He hears it. He knows you're there. He knew you'd come around.

"Baby," he whispers.

You hear him loud and clear.

"Don't call me that. I'm not your baby, Santiago."

You're trying to sound authoritative but you just sound broken. Lost. Helpless.

"You are," he pleads. "Don't say that. You are my baby. You're always going to be my baby."

"No, I'm not," you plead back.

This is the way it always goes.

"You're the love of my goddamn life, honey. When are you going to realise that?"

"I'm not," you counter. "I'm not. I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not."

There are warm, salty tears dripping down your cheeks. You didn't even realise you were crying until you felt the water hit your lap. He always makes you cry.

Your lover shouldn't make you cry.

"Just let me in. Let me see you. Please."

It's always the pleading please that gets you. Santiago isn't exactly a polite man. He gets what he wants and he takes what he needs and he usually doesn't care who gets hurt in the process.

"No, Santiago. No. You do this every time. Nothing ever changes. You never change."

"I'm trying, baby. I promise you I am. It's hard, it's really fucking hard, but I'm trying. For you. I'm trying for you."

You don't believe a word he says. You don't. But he sounds so... genuine. He's the king of false promises, Santiago Garcia. Maybe, just maybe, this time it won't be false. One of these days he'll actually follow through. Maybe.

"I can't do this, Santiago. I can't. You break me more every time."

Soon, there'll be nothing left for him to break.

"Don't say that. Baby, don't say that."

You hear his head hit your door with a thud, resting there. You turn to press your forehead into the wood, the two of you so close but still so far apart.

"You hurt me, Santiago. And every time I think I'm okay, you show up again. It isn't fair."

It isn't fair. But this is the way it always goes.

"I never wanted to hurt you, hermosa. I never meant to. I love you."

It's always those three little words that crack the very foundations of your heart, splintering it into a million tiny pieces.

It's always those three little words that make you relent.

You sigh deeply, and reach up above your head to undo the deadbolt. The noise startles Santiago from where he's sat with his head against the cold wood. He rises to his feet and takes a step back, careful and considered.

You take a deep breath and unlock the door. You don't open it. You can't bring yourself to.

Santiago does. He turns the handle gently and pulls it towards him, stood still in his place. He doesn't come in. He wants to hear you say it first.

You finally look at him, and you regret it instantly.

He looks good. So good. His hair has grown out longer than the last time you saw him, light stubble dusting his face. He's got more grays coming in, salt and pepper scattered amongst the darkness. The sun has kissed his skin on all of his missions abroad, making him glow. He looks delectable.

"Cariño," he breathes. "Fuck. You're so beautiful. Even more beautiful than I remember."

A tear drips down your cheek, soaking into the material of your shirt. He sounds so sincere. He is so sincere. You know he thinks the world of you. It's so painful.

This is the way it always goes.

He takes a step towards you, and you suddenly find you can't move. The rational part of your brain is telling you to get back, to put as much distance between you as possible. But you don't. You stay exactly where you are, allowing him to invade your space.

Santiago leans forward and rests his forehead on yours, large, calloused hands cradling your face tenderly.

"I missed you," he breathes, and you can taste the mint on his tongue. He's chewed this one type of gum since you've known him. He always tastes the same.

"You're gonna leave again," you whisper. "You come here, you fuck me up, and then you leave. I'm not doing it again, Santiago. I can't."

"I'm sorry, hermosa. So fucking sorry. You know I never meant to hurt you. You know that."

"Then why won't you leave me alone?" you cry. "I try to move on every fucking time, Santi. And then you crawl back into my life and I let you! I let you! I always say it's gonna be the last time, and it never is. How do you think that makes me feel, huh? I feel like a fool, Santi. A fucking fool!"

Silence.

"Santi," he repeats slowly.

You look at him incredulously, and then scoff in disbelief.

"What?"

"You called me Santi, not Santiago. Like the old days."

You didn't even realise you'd done it. It just feels so easy, to fall back into old habits. It's programmed into you, a part of your DNA now. He's your Santi and you're his baby and you'll break each others hearts a million times and keep on going.

This is the way it always goes.

He reaches back and shuts the door behind him. He's staying. For now. You look at him with teary eyes, bottom lip trembling.

"Old habits die hard, I guess," you jab shakily.

"Is that what I am to you, hermosa? An old habit?"

You inhale sharply.

"You're a hell of a lot of fucking things to me, Santi."

You want to step back. You want to push him away and throw him out the door. You want to hit him, scratch at him, punch him in his stupid, gorgeous face. But you don't. Instead, you step forward - straight into his outstretched arms.

You press yourself into him, tucking yourself into his broad chest. He wraps his arms around you as tightly as he possibly can, terrified that you'll disappear any second. You both exhale the past, and inhale the present.

"If you hurt me again, I'll kill you," you threaten, muffled by the cotton of his t shirt.

"I'd let you," he whispers into your hair. "I'd die a happy man if I was to die at your hands."

He always does this. Knows exactly what to say. Promises he won't leave. Then, inevitably, he gets a call, asking him to fly out to Colombia, Kenya, Alaska. And he goes. Without a second thought for you, he goes.

You've lost count of how many times it has happened. You're getting a horrible feeling of déjà vu. But you just can't bring yourself to break free from this hold he has on you. Not when he's rocking you gently, murmuring how you're his whole world, how he has nothing if he doesn't have you, how this time he'll be different.

You're not sure if you believe him. But you're sick of arguing with yourself and you're sick of pulling teeth. He'll break your heart again. Maybe you're immune to it now. There's only one way to find out.

"Make me forget," you whisper. "Make me forget all the shitty things you've done to me. Make me forget my own fucking name, Santi. Please."

He pulls back to look at you, to see if you mean it. You do. You're tired of fighting this. Of fighting the inevitable.

Santiago lunges forward and smashes his lips to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. He groans when he realises you taste the same. You chew that gum just for him.

He hooks his foot around your ankle and yanks, sending you flying backwards. Santi's got his arms firmly around your back, cushioning your fall. As soon as you hit the floor, he's on you. His lips are pressing into your neck, down your jaw, nipping at your ears. His hands are groping at you roughly - your hips, your tits, your ass. Anything he can grab, he does.

Santiago stops momentarily to look at you intently. He dips his head down and licks up your cheek before kissing your eyelids tenderly. You taste like salty tears and years of regret.

You tangle your fingers into his hair and pull as hard as you can, hoping to hurt him. He groans in pain, and a sick sense of satisfaction settles in your stomach. You want to hurt him. You want to hurt him like he hurts you.

You lean up and sink your teeth into the expanse of his neck, tasting the musky masculinity of him. He groans again, and you feel lightheaded, drunk off the sound.

"Fuck you," you murmur against his lips in between kisses. "Fuck you, Santiago Garcia."

"I love you," he whispers back against your mouth. "I'll love you forever."

You don't know whether you love him or hate him or neither or both and it's making you crazy. You knee him in the ribs and he folds forward, his weight dropping onto you. You want to feel every inch of him against you, every dip and curve and rough edge he has to offer.

You're ripping his shirt over his head before you can think twice. He's managed to pull your pants down your legs, throwing them behind him. He tugs at your shirt, gets frustrated, and rips it down the middle.

"Fucking asshole," you spit, sinking your nails into his forearms hard enough to draw blood.

"You don't care," he drawls. "You love me and you don't care."

You grab at his belt, making sure it hits him in his side as you pull it through its loops. When he hisses in pain, you hit him with it again, this time on the ass.

"You wanna hurt me, hermosa, is that it?"

"Fuck you," you grit through your teeth, trying not to cry. "I want to do more than hurt you, Santi. I'd kill you if I could."

He kisses your neck so tenderly in response that you shake with rage. You keep trying to tell yourself that you don't want him, that you're better than this. It's no use. No one else in the world can make you feel the way Santiago can. You're cursed.

He's slipping your underwear down your legs and two fingers into the wet heat between your thighs before you can even think a coherent thought. You whine in response, canting your hips for more.

"You can lie to me all you want, honey. You can fight this all you need to," he murmurs, crooking his fingers. "But your body is giving you away. It always gives you away."

"I said make me forget, not remind me even more," you hiss.

He presses his thumb to your clit in response, the action making your legs go weak. You stop fighting him. Eventually, you always do. You surrender to Santiago, and go boneless on the floor.

"There we go," he coos. "You always give in, baby. That's how I know you love me."

You shake your head, tears welling on your waterline, saturating your eyelashes and making it hard to see.

"You do, baby. You do. I wouldn't be here if you didn't."

He speeds up his fingers, and it feels so good you see stars. Santiago leans down to kiss the spot underneath your ear, the one that makes you melt.

"Tell me the truth, my sweet girl. Please," he rasps against your skin. "Tell me you love me. Don't lie to me."

You're trying to clamp your mouth shut to stop the words escaping. They're on the tip of your tongue, begging to slip free. To make the pain go away.

"Please," he begs. "Please, baby."

He hooks his fingers just right, and your vision goes white. You're thrown into your climax with no warning.

"I love you," you gasp as you come. "I love you, Santi. Fuck."

You come down from your high, chest heaving, sweat dripping down your skin. You look up at Santi, and watch as the tears fall down his cheeks.

"I knew you did," he chokes out. "I knew I wasn't crazy. Fuck, I love you so much. I'll never let you go again."

He smashes his lips to yours, both of your cheeks wet with emotion, slipping against each other.

"I still hate you," you spit into his mouth.

"I know," he soothes back, running his tongue over your teeth. "I know."

This is the way it always goes.

Santi lines himself up between your legs, sliding home with a gasp. This is where he belongs. Home.

You throw your arms around his neck, trying to plaster yourself to his front. He rocks his hips steadily, sending you both sliding across the floor.

This is the way it always goes.

The two of you never make it past the hallway. Whenever Santiago comes back to you, it always ends with the two of you tangled together on the floor, limbs intertwined and bodies connected. You once tried to move the two of you to the couch, but Santi fucked you so hard you slid off the cushions anyway.

Much like he's doing now.

He snaps his pelvis into yours, the force of it making you keen. You're gasping into each others mouths, hands grappling at whatever you can find. His grip on your hips is so tight, you know you'll be black and blue tomorrow.

"Tell me you're mine," Santiago rasps into your mouth. "Please, baby. Please. Tell me you're mine."

You're so close you can taste it. As much as you don't want to admit it, the key to your release is those two words. You need to let go in more ways than one. You need to let go of the pain, the resentment, the regret, the false hope. You need to let go of everything, and surrender to the truth.

"I'm yours," you sob, tears running down your cheeks. "I'm yours, Santi. I always have been."

"You're mine," he confirms, pressing kisses all over your face. "And I'm yours, baby. I'm yours forever."

That's all you needed.

The two of you fall over the edge together, chests heaving and hips stuttering. You reach up to tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him down to your mouth. You're gasping against his lips as he chants sweet nothings against yours, the two of you panting and writhing.

Santiago collapses against you, his body acting as a weighted blanket. You wrap your arms around him, tracing absent minded patterns across his sweat slick skin. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, pressing occasional kisses wherever he can reach.

"I meant what I said," you murmur into his hair. "If you hurt me again, I'll kill you. I know at least three people that'd help me cover it up."

"Are those people Benny, Frankie and Will?"

"No comment."

He chuckles lowly, moving to press his forehead against yours.

"And I meant what I said. I'm yours. I'm yours forever."

This is the way it always goes.

[moonpascaltoo]

santiago ‘pope’ garcia

MASTERLIST 𖤓 OSCAR ISSAC CHARACTERS 𖤓 11/04/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 sweet nothings I @groguspicklejar

It's never easy choosing between your feelings and your friendship. In other words, Santi has to decide if he wants the new guy in town to snatch you up or if a friendship will have to be ruined.

𑣲 tethered I @violentdelightsandviolentends

The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.

𑣲 honest mistake I @romanarose and @missdictatorme

Santi goes into a panic one morning when he realizes it's your birthday, the first since you and him got together at Will's engagement party... and he forgot. In a hurry, he calls on his team to pull off a special day in order to make it seem as if he this all planned out ahead of time.

𑣲 the thin line between victory and survival I @clazaries

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.

𑣲 drabble I @marc-spectorr

𑣲 bunny-girl I @bits-and-babs

When convinced to retrieve the money left by Frankie and his team left at the bottom of a canyon in Peru, you have to deal with the most annoying person you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

𑣲 under the covers part 2 part 3 I @youvebeenlivingfictional

It had been some time since you’d seen Santiago Garcia, sure…But you recognized the moderate contempt that he’d regarded you with before receding, replaced by curiosity

𑣲 fooled around and fell in love I @/youvebeenlivingfictional

He raised his brows, intrigued, and the giggling one grinned. He’d assumed he’d be the one on the prowl that evening. Apparently he’d been wrong

𑣲 you shouldn’t I @/youvebeenlivingfictional

Santiago kisses like he’s drowning, like he’s fighting a losing battle. Maybe he is; the man hadn’t told you much about himself. Small talk over the drink you gave him has been how long he’ll be in the states, the fact that he’s leaving for work.

𑣲 then and now part two I @softlyspector

The boys want a second pass at that fucking money. They need your help. The only problem is that you and Santiago aren't talking, not anymore, not since everything went so sideways.

𑣲 say yes? I @eyelessfaces

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

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 30

We left Frankie in a pretty bad state at the end of the last chapter and now we need to get through that as his girl and the guys begin to really worry about where his actions are leading him. And Joel steps in of course, but perhaps not in the best way.

I just want to add too, that this chapter included a conversation that has been a long time coming but it was very hard to write since neither man wants to talk about it and I can just hope I did them both justice.

I just want to add too, since some people are nervous about it; I LOVE hearing your thoughts and comments on what I write, even if the chapter is months and months old! It's my favourite thing about posting here and on Ao3, hearing your thoughts as you read through the fic, so please, share with me!

Series Master List

Chapter 31 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 7.7k

You wake with a start, your body jerking you awake with panicked breaths. The bedroom is light, the window faces south and a weak sun is glinting through the closed curtain which means you slept far longer than usual, the sun rises late in the Massachusetts winter months. You rush to push back the comforter and hurry out into the living room. The blanket is pushed back on the couch and Frankie is not there, and not in the kitchen either. As you turn to the bathroom you see what’s missing, his boots, his jacket and backpack. 

“Fuck!” you groan loudly and run back to the bedroom, grabbing your clothes from last night and rushing to put them on. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You feel an urgent need to get to Frankie, to talk to him. It’s not like him to leave, certainly not in the middle of an argument, and never, ever, has he left in the morning without saying anything to you. Something is not right, it feels like the two of you have crossed a line that you need to get you both back behind. 

You tie your boots and shrug your winter coat on, your first stop is Pope’s place. You hammer on his door and he throws it open, his face falling when he sees your expression. 

“Frankie came home drunk last night and now he’s left again, I don’t know where he is!” you blurt out as Pope lets you into his apartment. 

“Slow down, hermana,” he says, grabbing hold of your shoulders, steadying you, “From the beginning.” 

“Frankie and I got into an argument about what he did when he was on that run with Will, he couldn’t understand why I thought he was too violent,” you say, trying to calm yourself, but your hands are shaking and Pope grabs them, holding them together between his own. “Then Joel came by, right in the middle of it, something about planning a new run, and Frankie just left with him, saying he needed to think. And then he came back late last night , really drunk and passed out on the couch, and now he’s gone! He never leaves without saying goodbye and I don’t know where he is!” Your voice breaks on the last word and Pope lets go of your hands, bending down to grab his boots. 

“We’ll go find him, we’ll go to Benny’s first, Tommy said something yesterday about meeting there.” He looks up at you while he laces his boots, “Don’t worry, hermana, it’s early still, he can’t have gone that far.” 

…

“Tell me again what this FEDRA guy told you about the raiders?” Benny asks Joel as they duck under a broken piece of the highway and head into an old sewage tunnel. 

“A small FEDRA patrol saw a bunch of them down in Dorchester, if we take them out, we get to keep the supplies,” Joel replies, stepping around a dead rat. 

“And you trust this guy?” 

“Yeah, he owes me a favor, I saved his ass a couple of times. And he’s given me tips before, they’ve always been solid, nothing this big though.” 

“Alright, as long as you think it’s a legit tip,” Benny nods and falls back a bit, Frankie’s right behind him, Tommy taking up the rear. 

“You ok, Fish? You look a bit pale,” Benny says, his voice lower for the benefit of his friend. 

“Yeah, just slept like shit, and we had a fucking early wake up call,” Frankie grumbles, pulling the bill of his cap down lower over his eyes.

“Tell me about it,” Benny sighs, “Eve just woke up to say goodbye, then she went right back to sleep. Wish I could’ve stayed in bed with her.” 

“Mmhm, same,” Frankie mutters, pausing as they come to the end of the tunnel.

“Ok, on your toes now, we've got to go out in the open here,” Joel says, waving the other three men forwards. 

…

The trek down to Dorchester is smooth, and it doesn’t take long for them to find the raiders' small camp. They’ve set up on the top floor of an office building and Benny and Frankie silently take out the two guards at the bottom of the stairs. It gets messy when they reach the top and they have to open fire but Joel tosses in a homemade smoke bomb and after that they can just pick off the raiders as they come stumbling out. 

They pick through the raider’s supplies and fill their packs, it’s a pretty good haul and Benny starts searching for any food they might’ve hidden, coming across a door that’s been blocked off with a filing cabinet. 

“Hey, Catfish! Give me a hand with this!” he calls to Frankie, “Cover me in case they’ve locked a fucking infected in here or something.” 

Frankie stands a few feet from the door with his rifle raised as Benny puts his shoulder to the filing cabinet and pushes it out of the way. The door swings open and Benny jumps out of the way. 

“Oh fuck, shit! Man, that’s foul!” 

The dead boy of a young woman falls out across the doorway, her body must’ve been propped against the door, and judging by the stench, she’s been dead a while. The body of another young woman is curled up on a dirty mattress, she’s less far gone, her emaciated features still clear. Both women are naked and Benny swallows hard and glances back at Frankie as they both realize why the women were locked up. 

“We should’ve killed those fucking raiders slower,” Frankie growls, turning away from the room and Benny follows him. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here and back to the QZ”. 

Back down at street level again Joel takes the lead and moves down the way they came, covering a couple of blocks before Benny suddenly signals for everyone to halt. 

“Heads up, I hear a car,” he calls in a low voice to the others. 

“More raiders,” Joel says, “C’mon, we’ll ambush them, this is the only cleared street.” He looks around the block they’re on and points to cars that have been pushed aside on either side of the street. “Frankie, Benny, hide behind either car, cover me. Tommy, get behind me. I’ll make them stop, usual way should work, if not, just shoot ‘em.” 

“Joel, you sure?” Benny interrupts, “How do we know they’re raiders? We should hang back and observe, see if they go for the base we cleared.” 

“No, then we just have to clear them out again and this time they’ll be on their guard,” Joel scowls, “Get in position!”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Benny shakes his head, looking over at Frankie who’s already moved into cover, “Fish? You ok with this?” 

“Joel’s right, it’s probably the same group of raiders, we need to take them out.” 

“Get in position, Benjamin, or stay the fuck out of our way, they’re almost here,” Joel points to the other car, staring at Benny. The younger man takes a deep breath, glancing over at Frankie again who motions with his head to get behind the car. 

“Fuck!” Benny growls and grips his rifle, ducking behind cover with an angry scowl. 

Joel quickly gets into position as the rumbling engine comes closer, keeping an eye out for the car. As it gets closer Benny sees it, it’s a small beat up sedan with several bullet holes in the sides. He glances over at Frankie and gives him a hand signal, indicating three people inside. Frankie nods and passes on the message to Tommy just as the car drives down the block they’re on. Ahead of him, Benny suddenly hears Joel give up a loud shout, stumbling out of the alley into the path of the car, his hand clutching his side, the other raised to the driver. 

The others watch, guns ready and hidden out of sight, as the car barrells towards Joel, who’s staggering across the road. Suddenly the driver slams the brakes and the car skids to a halt in front of Joel. From his hiding place Benny sees the driver open the door and step up on the instep, aiming a gun at Joel. 

“Hey, I-I need help, p-please,” Joel stutters, holding up the hand that’s not holding his side, where he’s conveniently hidden his handgun. 

“What’s wrong with you?” the driver calls as Joel stumbles closer, the man is still half hidden behind the door and Joel’s trying to get around to his side so he half falls to the side, taking several stuttering steps sideways. 

“You infected?” the driver says, following Joel with his gun, “Can’t help you then I’m afraid.” 

“R-raiders,” Joel coughs, “ran into a whole bunch.” 

Benny looks over at Frankie, he’s got a clear shot at the driver and he’s aiming at him. Benny signals at him to hold his fire, these guys don’t sound like raiders, but Frankie’s shaking his head, squeezing his rifle as the man continues to keep his gun on Joel. 

“Be careful, Dan!” a man in the car suddenly calls and Joel straightens up, pulling his gun, aiming at the man. A shot rings out and the driver slumps forward, a clean shot though his head. 

“God dammit, Frankie!” Benny yells, lifting his own rifle as the man in the car dives for the fallen man’s gun. Joel fires on him but misses and the man takes off running. On his right Ben hears Tommy open fire on the third person in the car as Joel yells. 

“Shoot his leg, Frankie, take him down alive!” The man is running as fast as he can down the block but two shots ring out and he yells, tumbling to the ground as blood bursts from his thigh. 

“Secure him, Benny,” Frankie yells and advances on the car, rifle raised. Benny keeps his gun on the fallen man and moves up to him, he’s splayed on his back, gripping his thigh, whimpering. 

“Oh fuck, please, please don’t kill me!” he says, trying to crawl backwards away from Benny. 

“Just stay still, I’m not gonna hurt you unless you give me a reason,” Benny says, keeping his distance as he glances back at the car. Frankie’s jogging towards him and behind him, Joel steps into the car and a woman screams. 

“No, no, don’t hurt her! She’s my sister!” the man on the ground shouts and Benny turns his head back to him as Frankie joins him. 

“What’s going on, Fish?” he says in a voice low enough for the man not to hear. 

“The third passenger is a woman, Joel’s questioning her about who they are and where they’re going.” 

“Fish! These guys are obviously not raiders, what the fuck are we doing?” Benny glances back at the car as another high pitched scream comes from the woman and the man on the ground shouts. 

“Get off her you fucking prick! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” 

Frankie raises his rifle and aims at the man, “Easy there, he’s just questioning her.” 

“What the fuck, Frankie, this is not how we treat civilians!”

“What fucking civilians? We can’t trust anyone, Benny, you saw what the raiders did to those two women!” Frankie growls. 

“Yeah, but these guys are barely armed!” Benny nudges the dropped gun on the ground with his boot, badly maintained and rusty. 

“And how the fuck were we supposed to know that?” Frankie asks, his rifle still trained on the bleeding man who’s whimpering, clutching his leg and looking towards the car. 

“Maybe we don’t attack just anyone who drives past!” Benny hisses at Frankie, his eyebrows drawn tight with anger and frustration. “This is so fucked up, Fish!”

“Is he still alive?” Joel barks as he walks over, leaving Tommy to watch over the woman in the car. 

“Yeah, but he’s bleeding, we need to get a tourniquet on that leg soon,” Benny replies, “Joel, what the fuck are we doing here? These guys are not raiders.” 

Joel doesn’t reply, instead he walks up to the man on the ground and kneels down, Frankie’s gun is still trained on him, but Benny has let his drop, pointing it at the ground instead. 

“You sister is it?” he asks of the man, putting his hand over the gunshot wound on the thigh. 

The man nods, looking petrified under Joel’s hard stare.He yelps loudly when Joel’s hand squeezes the injured area, digging his fingers in. 

“Your sister told me where you came from, and where you���re going. You’d better tell me the same thing she did, or I’m telling my guy over there to shoot her knee off, you understand?” Joel’s voice is hard and low, slowly squeezing the man’s leg tighter. 

“Worcester!” the younger man blurts out, “We came from Worcester, and we’re heading for the Boston QZ but we got attacked and got lost. Please don’t hurt her, she’s my only family!”

“Have you got any supplies apart from what’s in the car?” 

“No, no, I s-swear, we’ve got n-nothing!” the man stutters, groaning under the pain of Joel’s hand digging into his injured leg, “Please, we’ve got nothing!”

“Good boy,” Joel growls, easing off the man's leg and standing up. 

He comes back to Benny and Frankie, wiping his hand on his trouser leg, “They both say the same thing. I say we leave ‘em and take the car, we can trade for it or stash outside the wall, might come in handy sometime.” 

“Fuck, Joel, we need to take them with us, we can’t leave them out here,” Benny says and looks to Frankie for support but he just gives a hesitant shrug. 

“I don’t know Benny, we can’t trust them,” he says. 

“What fucking choice do we have? Leave them injured out here with no guns?” Benny snarls back at him.

“They’re not our responsibility!” Joel snaps, “Let’s fucking- “ 

All three men freeze as the first tell tale sounds echo between the buildings, the snarling shrieks of dozens of infected reaching them. 

“Runners! Runners!” Tommy yells from the car, “Come on, we need to fucking go!” He rushes to the driver’s side of the car, jumping in and the woman sees her chance, bolting from the car and running for the alley. 

“Leave her, just leave her!” Joel yells as he grabs Frankie and starts running towards the car, “Just start the car, Tommy!”

“Benny, no! Leave him!” Frankie shouts as he sees Benny moving towards the injured man on the ground. “Fucking leave him!” 

“Please, please…just kill me” the man begs, looking back over his shoulder and Benny follows his gaze. 

“Fuck!” he gasps, frozen to the spot for a second before he raises his gun and fires, the man slumping onto the asphalt. Benny spins around and starts running after Frankie, the horde of infected barrelling down the street screeching loudly. 

“Benny! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Frankie yells, “Get in the car!” 

Tommy’s already got the car moving as Benny catches up, grabbing hold of Frankie’s arm and getting pulled into the back seat. 

“Floor it, Tommy!” Joel shouts, looking back over his shoulder, out the back window. 

…

Thank fuck Tommy’s a good driver, he speeds through the streets, leaving the horde far behind. He only slows down once they enter the area around the QZ and turns off onto a narrow street that Joel directs him to. 

“Here, down there, park between those two cars and we’ll throw some trash on it.” 

The four men quickly make the car look unusable and head towards the QZ, splitting up as they get inside, stepping out into a quiet alley a few blocks from the wall.. 

“Alright, good run, except for the fucking infected,” Joel says, clapping Frankie on the back, “I’ll see you guys at the bar in a couple of days.” 

Frankie nods and Benny throw the brothers a two fingered salute as they leave. 

“Hey Fish, wait up, we need to talk,” Benny says as Frankie turns to leave too. 

“If you’re gonna yell at me for how we handled the people in the car, fucking save it, I already got an earful from Will after our last run,” Frankie says, his shoulders hunched and eyebrows pulled tight, “I don’t need another lecture on how we’re using army tactics on civilians.” 

“Frankie, man, c’mon, you’ve got to admit, that was pretty fucking bad? We should’ve just observed them, not fucking attacked,” Benny rubs his hand over his face, “I mean, why the fuck did Joel even pull that stunt with forcing them to stop? And why did you open fire? I’ve never seen you jump the gun like that, Fish.” 

“The guy in the car, I thought he was about to pull a gun on Joel, so I shot first.” 

“And the interrogation technique? You taught him that?” 

“So what? We do what we need to do to survive.” 

Benny shakes his head, “That was not about survival, I don’t know what the fuck that was!”

“Just fucking leave it, Benny! Ok?” Frankie snaps, scowling at his friend, “I’ll see you later, I need to get something done.” He shoulders his backpack and heads off in the opposite direction of the apartment. 

“Fish, c’mon!” Benny calls after him, but Frankie just gives a dismissive wave of his hand without turning his head as he rounds the corner. 

“Fuck…” Benny mutters and stalks off towards the radio office, he needs to see you. 

…

It feels like deja vu when you find Benny outside the building where Sean lives and has the radio office. 

“I’ve got to talk to you about Frankie,” he says and you feel like your heart stops, you’d been trying to find Frankie all morning, until you had to go to the radio office. Pope promised he’d keep looking, checking back at the apartment during the afternoon. 

“Did something happen to him? Pope and I have been looking for him all day!” you say, grabbing hold of Benny’s arm and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

“He didn’t tell you we were going on a run with Joel and Tommy today?” 

“Benny, is he ok?” You feel like shaking him but you limit yourself to grabbing his arm tighter and Benny nods. 

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine, he’s fine, he came back with me but he said he had to do something when we got back.” Benny takes in your anxious looking face as it slips into relief and returns your grip on his arm, putting his hand over yours. “He didn’t tell you and he hasn't come to see you yet? Is something going on with you guys?” 

You sigh and feel yourself deflating, your shoulders sagging with relief that Frankie’s ok, but at the same time, that lead weight settles in your stomach as you worry about his behavior again.

“Walk me home, Benny, please,” you ask, “if you have time?” You feel like Benny’s friendly presence next to you is the only thing that will make your feet move down the street as you chew on your bottom lip. 

“Sure, I’ll walk you, I need to get back to Eve but...but maybe that can wait, what’s going on?”

“Tell me what happened when you were with him today,” you say, taking his arm and leaving the front entrance. 

Benny looks around the two of you as you start walking down the street, checking that there is no one near that can overhear first and then he tells you the whole thing. 

“Fuck…” you sigh for what feels like the twentieth time as Benny ends by telling you that Frankie took off after they got back. “His PTSD has been getting worse and both Pope and Will brought it up in the past few days. That last run with Will, things went bad and Pope’s been noticing his behavior being off too.”

You’ve reached the door to your building and you stop, looking up at Benny’s frown. “Yesterday I tried telling him that I think he shouldn’t go on runs with Joel anymore. Joel triggers something in Frankie and…I don’t know…I feel like maybe they aren’t good for each other. They’ve both suffered an unimaginable loss, in the worst possible way, and when Frankie got help, Joel seems to have had to deal with it on his own and it’s made him…just…very dark, like he’s just ‘existing’ and doing what he needs to do to survive…”

“And he has no empathy for others,” Benny fills in, “he didn’t even stop to consider that the people in the car could be just people trying to get to the QZ, and he left them with no second thought when the infected came, it was all about eliminating a potential threat and then about saving himself and Tommy.” Benny swipes his cap off his head and drags his hand through his hair, sighing. “I’m not even sure he would bother to save Frankie and myself, if we hadn’t gotten to that car in time.”

“But Frankie doesn’t see it,” you say, “and when I asked him to not go on runs with Joel anymore because I think it makes his PTSD worse, we got in a huge fight,” you sigh deeply, dropping your eyes to your toes and you feel Benny’s hand on your shoulder. “He got really mad when I said I thought he was too violent with this guy, Frankie threatened to gouge his eye out. But Frankie said he only did what was needed to get the antibiotics for Sean’s grandkid.” You swipe your hand over your cheek as tears start to drip down, “Fuck, I don’t wanna cry again,” you say, anger seeping through your voice, “Fuck!” 

You tilt your head back up and look at Benny’s worried eyes, “Come on, it’s you and Frankie, you’re everything to him, one fight doesn’t ruin it,” he says, rubbing your shoulder

“He walked out, Benny, right in the middle of the fight. He’s never done that before, he just took off with Joel. And then he came home really drunk and we started arguing again and he passed out on the couch, he said he thought I didn’t want him in my bed anymore. And then this morning he left again, without saying anything. He went outside the wall and didn’t even say goodbye.” Tears spill over properly now and you sniffle, trying to stem the flow, but the nerves of the day catches up with you. Benny starts rubbing his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort you. 

“Let’s get you inside, Frankie might be home already, you two need to talk it out, c’mon,” Benny gently hooks his arm around your shoulder and guides you through the door and up the stairs. You fumble out your keys and unlock your front door, opening up to a still dark apartment. 

“Alright, he’s not home yet, but he’ll be here soon, I’ll wait with you until he turns up,” Benny says and starts to lift off his still heavy backpack and you stop him. 

“No, please, go home to Eve. I know she’s worried about you since you went outside, get back home. I’ll be fine, and Pope’s next door if I need anything.” You put your hands on his chest and try, and fail, to nudge the big man towards the door. 

“You sure? I’ll wait for him, and slap some sense into him if needed, just say the word,” Benny replies, tilting his head down to catch your eyes properly. 

“I’m sure, Benny, please go home,” you give him another pointless shove and he gives with a small smile. 

“Ok, if you’re sure I’ll go, but give me a hug first,” he says and bends down, capturing you between his long arms. Benny’s signature bear hugs are all encompassing and he lifts you up, shaking you gently and making you giggle through your tears. 

“Just remember, it’s you and Frankie, you’re the love of his life. All he does, he does for you, if he’s lost his way, all he needs is for you to bring him back home. To you.” 

“Benny, when did you become so insightful?” you smile weakly as he puts you down on your feet. 

“Not insightful, I’ve just watched you two over the past, what is it? Eleven years now? And with Eve, I get it, what you two have. I’d do anything for her, and I know that’s all Frankie ever wants to do for you.” 

“Get back to her, Benny, before you make me cry again,” you say, giving his arm a final squeeze before he steps through the door. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“I’ll come by the radio tomorrow and check on you, ok?” 

“Ok, Benny, stay safe, love you!”

“Love you too, sis!” he calls as he jogs down the stairs. 

…

You try to keep busy while you wait for Frankie; preparing dinner, cleaning the apartment, you even pull out your gun and start disassembling it on the coffee table to get it cleaned. It’s dark before he comes home, you hear his footsteps in the hallway first and then the key. Even before he opens the door you know something’s wrong, he struggles with the key in the lock, fumbling with the handle and you stand up, leaving the pieces of the gun on the table. 

“Frankie?” you ask as the door shuts behind him, “Are you ok?” You walk over to the front door, and he glances up at you before he drops his backpack by the door. 

“Yeah, ‘s fine,” he mumbles, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hook. “Went out with Benny today.” 

“I know, Benny stopped by the radio,” you say, your body freezing as he shuffles past, only briefly pausing to drop a peck on your cheek, perfunctory. He smells of whiskey, fresh whiskey, like he’s just been drinking. 

You don’t even know where to start as you follow him into the kitchen, the argument last night, him leaving this morning without saying anything, his run with Joel today or the way he stumbles around the kitchen table towards the stove. 

“Frankie…” you say again, making your voice soft, you feel like you’re talking to a child, or a wild animal, not your sweet Frankie who you know so well. When he doesn’t even react, let alone look over at you, you dig your nails into the palms of your hands, reminding yourself that this is his PTSD, this is not your Frankie. 

“Frankie, talk to me please,” you start again, coming up next to him at the counter, you put your hand on his arm. 

“What did Benny tell you? That we went out again?” he says, still not looking at you, his tone clipped. 

“Yes, he said you took out some raiders and then…” you pause, you don’t know how to phrase it but Frankie does it for you. He steps away from you, and leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen. 

“H-he told you we took out three people in a car, that I shot one of the guys when I shouldn’t have, right? That’s what he told you? T-that I’m out of control and violently torturing civilians?” His voice is harsh, there’s an edge to it you don’t recognise and he’s still not looking at you. 

“He’s worried about you, Frankie, and I’m too,” you say, “you haven’t been yourself these past few months.” You try to find his eyes but he’s got the bill of his cap pulled low, eyes on the floor two feet in front and his fingers are twitching, nervously. 

“I already told you, I do what I need to do, to stay safe,” he mutters, the edge still sharp in his voice, crossing his arms tight over his chest, crossing his legs too, closing himself off from you. 

“Benny said they were civilians, just trying to get to the QZ- “ you start to say but Frankie suddenly flares up. 

“We’d just taken out a gang of raiders! It could’ve been more of them! The guy was about to pull a fucking gun on Joel, so I took the shot!” He throws his arms out, meeting your eyes for the first time. “You can’t fucking trust anyone, it’s us or them and I do what I need to do to survive! They could’ve attacked and killed us instead, then what?” 

“But you were never like that before, Frankie!” you can’t help but raise your voice in frustration. When he worked with Pope in Arlington, or when you traveled up to New York with Benny and Pope, he was never so calloused, so distrusting and rash. “You used to observe, calculate the risks, you never rushed into situations, but since you started working more with Joel…I don’t know Frankie, it’s like he rubs off on you.” You drop your hands to your sides, you suddenly realize you’ve mimicked Frankie and thrown them open but now you sigh, lower them and take a deep breath. 

“Frankie…I know you’re capable of real violence,” you shake your head, sighing, “but you’re not a violent person, it’s like it’s getting away from you when you work with Joel and I do-” 

“Maybe I am a violent person now? This is the person I need to be now, to keep myself safe, to keep us safe!” Frankie slams his hands against the cupboard and stalks out of the kitchen, turning and gripping the back of the couch as he gets to it, looking back at you. “I do it for you, don’t you get it?! Maybe this is the person I have to be now to keep myself safe, for you, to stay alive for you because I have to keep you safe!”

“Then stay here, stay in the QZ,” you follow him towards the living room. “I don’t want you to go out any more if this is what you have to do. It’s destroying you!”

“That's all I can do!” he shouts back at you, “That’s all I’m tra-trained for, I’m the b-best at it! It’s the only thing that makes a difference!”

“Frankie, you don’t have to-” you begin, but Frankie just shakes his head and starts pacing the living room like he can’t hear you.

“E-every time I leave you make me p-promise to come back safe, did you ever stop to think that this is what I have to do to keep that promise to you?! I have to stay alive to keep you safe, I promised you that and now you think I’m a monster for what I have to do?” 

Frankie slams his hands hard against the wall and spins round, stomping across the living room again and you’re worried now, he’s spiraling out of control, his voice becoming more and more unstable. “I d-do this for you, I stay a-alive for you, don’t you get it! I would’ve fucking ki-killed myself after she died! I was so fucking close to it, so-s-so fucking close to just walking into that fucking lake and ending it! If-if it wasn’t for you still in that cabin!” His voice is rising to a shout, spinning around and slamming his fist into the wall again, “I just..I promise to come back every time, I have to come back but you still think I’m just violent, just a fucking monster, just a mo-monster, I-I can’t- “

“Frankie, c’mon man!”

You didn’t even hear the front door open but Pope suddenly walks into the living room. You’re frozen by the kitchen as Frankie paces, more and more agitated, back and forth, his arms waving in front of him as his mind whirls. You can see his glassy eyes, his breathing is starting to get erratic but you have no idea how to stop this. But Pope strides over to his friend and stands in front of him, forcing him to come to a halt. 

“Francisco, cálmate, hermano. Por favor;” he tries to catch Frankie’s eyes, gently placing his hands on his shoulders and holding on as Frankie tries to shrug them off, looking at him with almost unseeing eyes.

“Frankie…fuck…” he sighs as he scans his face, “you’re high as a fucking kite. What did you take?” 

At that Frankie’s eyes snap up to Pope’s, “Fucking nothing!” he snarls, wrenching himself away and stumbling back towards the couch. 

“Fish, I’ve seen you high more times than you can remember, I know when you’ve been using, man,” Pope says as Frankie grabs the back of the couch again, hiding his eyes beneath the bill of his cap again, refusing to look at you or Santi. 

“Frankie…” you try, your voice wobbling as you recognize the signs in him but he just shakes his head. 

“I had a few drinks with Joel, I’m not fucking high,” he mutters but Santi shakes his head. 

“C’mon, Fish, I know you’re struggling, she knows it too, we just wanna help you,” he takes a few steps towards Frankie, the frustration seeping through into his voice and Frankie backs away, turning around and going for his backpack. 

“I’m not fucking high,” he snarls over his shoulder, rifling through his backpack. 

“Fine, you’re not using,” Santi says, “then show us your pack.” He motions towards the bag at Frankie’s feet and the way Frankie reacts makes your stomach sink another notch. His hands clench instinctively around the opening, pulling it closer but Pope steps in and reaches for the bag. Frankie abruptly stands up and stumbles back, grabbing it but his movements are slow and Pope’s faster, he snatches the backpack from Frankie, holding it away from him. 

“Coño, pendejo!” Frankie snarls, trying to grab the bag back from Pope, “What the fuck are you doing?!” “What the fuck are you doing, Frankie?” Pope replies with a sneer, shoving him back and Frankie, already unsteady on his feet, stumbles backwards and falls onto the couch. “You told me yourself, never trust a fucking junkie.” 

Keeping an eye on Frankie, while you stand stunned by the kitchen door, your hands gripping the door frame so hard your fingers ache, Pope opens the backpack and digs through it. It doesn’t take him long, under Frankie’s dull eyes he soon pulls out a small baggie with white pills. Pope sighs and holds it out to Frankie. 

“What is it?” 

“Painkillers,” Frankie mumbles, but his eyes drop from Pope to his feet, his lie so obvious it forces tears into your eyes. 

“Frankie…” you whisper and he glances up at you and meets your eyes for a second before he looks away. But even in that brief glance you see the pain and guilt in his eyes and it pushes you to move, walking around the coffee table and sinking down on the couch next to him. You raise your hand to put it on his shoulder but before you touch him he’s on his feet, snatching the bag from Pope’s hand. 

“It’s fucking painkillers, ok?!” he yells, his aggression flaring up as he stumbles towards the front door.

“Catfish, for fucks sake,” Pope shouts as his patience snaps, “get your fucking shit together, man!”

“Please, Frankie, you know this is your PTSD making you spiral, we’ve been here before,” you plead with him, standing up again as he stops with his back to you and the room. But whatever is in his system has control of him now as he shakes his head, his fingers twitching around the small baggie in his hand. Neither of you are getting through to him now, his body language closed off, even with his back turned you see the walls go up. But still, you go up to him where he stands by the door. His chin is on his chest, his shoulders up by his ears, you can feel the tension rolling off him as he fights whatever demon is in his mind. Gently you put your hand on his arm, and he trembles under your touch, giving the smallest shake of his head. 

“Frankie…” you whisper, “please, stay with me, we’ve done this before, we can do it again, I love you.” 

He shudders, a long held breath rushes out of him and he shakes his head again. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I love you, I’m sorry.” He pushes open the door and his arm slips from under your hand. You hear him run down the stairs and Santi comes up behind him, he’s got his coat on. 

“I’ll follow him, I won’t let him get into more trouble, I’ll get him back,” he gives you a quick squeeze and hurries after Frankie. 

…

Frankie rushes through the streets, the bag of oxy burning a hole in his pocket. He has no plan for where to go, he left his coat back at the apartment and the cold March air is making him shiver. Picking up his pace he turns at random, down a street, and then another, losing himself in the narrow alleys of North End, but it doesn’t surprise him when he finds himself in front of Joel’s apartment building, a dirty red brick block. It makes sense; to end up here. He pushes the door open and stumbles up the stairs.

Joel’s slow to answer his front door, Frankie’s almost given up, prepared to sit and wait by the door, when the older man finally opens up and looks him up and down. “Hey Frankie, what’s up? You’ve got no jacket on.” 

“I ran out on it, left in a hurry,” Frankie mumbles in reply, his mind is still foggy, he can’t quite focus on Joel. “I got some of your supply on me, Pope found it in my bag.”

“Ah, bet he wasn’t too happy about that,” Joel says, waving Frankie inside. “He ain’t too happy about me wanting to trade what we got up in Concord.” He closes the door and motions to the couch and Frankie slumps down on it as Joel goes to the kitchen and pulls out two glasses and a bottle. 

“Give me one of those too,” Joel motions to Frankie’s pocket and sits down at the other end of the couch. Frankie pulls out the baggie and pour out the pills on the coffee table, handing one to Joel, taking another one for himself and they both down it with the whiskey. 

Joel’s not one for talking much and Frankie’s grateful, he just needs a place to forget everything for a while. And for a long time both men sit at opposite sides of the couch, lost in their own minds as the chemicals take over. Frankie tilts his head back, his eye following the cracks in the ceiling until they slip closed and he just feels himself breathing, finally peace takes over in his mind as the fog settles. 

Joel slips in another pill and another few large mouthfuls of the liquor, leaning back against the back of the couch and rubbing his eyes with his hand. 

“You lost your daughter,” he says, almost surprising himself when the words come out. 

Frankie doesn’t move, his eyes closed, “Yeah,” he squeezes his eyes shut, little sparks of red and yellow blossoming behind his eyelids, but he sees something else in his mind. 

He tilts his head forward, opening his eyes and focusing on his hands, “Yeah,” he says again, rubbing his thumb over the fleshy part of his hand, he can almost see the blood on it. “I did, right at the beginning.” 

“She got infected?” 

Frankie balks at the question, the image of his little girl, mycelium under her skin, flashes up in his mind. He’s seen multitudes of infected since, killed so many, seen the thin white strands wriggle towards him as they attack and die in front of him, but he never lets himself commit what they look like to memory. This one is the only one that he remembers. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “one of the first days.” 

He and Joel have never talked about this before. He never talks to anyone about Lucía or what happened to her, not even to the one person who knows what he went through in the aftermath. 

 He glances over at Joel, he’s still leaning back on the couch, his hand rubbing over his eyes. 

“D’you ever talk about Sarah?” 

“No.” The answer is fast and curt. 

Both men sit in silence for a few minutes, Joel shifts on the couch, looking over at Frankie, “Everyone’s lost someone. No one wants to hear about her.” 

“How did she die?” Frankie locks eyes with Joel, suddenly it feels important to know how Sarah died. Joel knows how Lucía died, it feels important to know how Sarah died too. Joel meets his eyes for a few beats before he drops his gaze and stares at the wall opposite. 

“It was the first night. We were trying to get away from town, ran into the military perimeter, a soldier shot at us. She…” Joel loses his words, his jaw clenching shut as he grinds his teeth, dropping his head between his shoulders. 

Frankie feels the fog swirl around his mind, letting the minutes slip by while Joel stares down at his watch. 

“I shot Lucía,” Frankie says, like a confession to Joel, to the man whose daughter was also shot. As if it makes a difference how they died. The daughters died and so did the fathers, when they failed.

The fog in his head clears slightly and behind the mist he sees the gun in his hand, aimed at his little girl, who no longer recognises him as she screeches and flails under the weight of her mother’s body. He reaches forward to the coffee table and takes two more pills, swallowing them down with the last of the whiskey in his glass, letting the fog cloud his mind again. 

Joel blinks and looks at Frankie as if he has to think about what the other man just said, “You shot her?”

“I had to, I’d seen what they were turning into. I couldn’t…” 

Joel leans forward, refilling his own glass and Frankies before he leans back, “I would’ve done the same.” 

The two men sit in silence as the fog swirls through them, making thoughts slow to appear and slow to disappear. 

“Sarah,” Frankie says, pushing a thought to the front of his hazy mind, “S-she was a great kid, L-Lucía loved her, fucking loved her. Didn’t stop talking about her for days after we got back.” 

He grips the glass and takes a sip, shaking his head, trying to remember the comforting thought he just had, it’s stuck somewhere in his chest, he can feel it. 

“I don’t…I do-don’t believe in God, I l-lost any faith I had in the army, you know. S-so many fucked up things that I saw, that I did,” he says, lifting his glass, motioning to the world outside. “I don’t believe in any god, any-anything. But I wish I did, because if Sarah d-died on that first night, that means that wherever they went, our kids, our little girls…Sarah was there waiting for Lucía. They weren’t alone,” Frankie pauses, he feels his chest constrict, that feeling like he can’t breathe threatening to overtake him. “I’d like to believe they weren’t alone,” he whispers, but in the quiet room, Joel still hears him.

Frankie slumps back down on the couch, spilling whiskey down his shirt, his burst of clarity suddenly spent, “They would’ve had each other…” 

“We failed them,” Joel says, his voice low, Frankie can hear the fog in his mind too. “We should’ve kept them safe, but all we did was stand there. Couldn’t keep ‘em safe.” 

Frankie nods, he feels his brain slowing down again, “I made so many mistakes…but she was the best mistake I made…couldn’t keep her safe,” he takes a large mouthful of the whiskey, it burns on the way down, distracting his mind for a second as he coughs. 

“I don’t talk about Sarah, not even to Tommy,” Joel says, rubbing his thumb over the rim of the glass. “ ‘S’no point, just makes me angrier, I get by better if I don’t think about her.”

Frankie slumps down deeper into the couch, curling himself around the glass in his hand, watching the whiskey swirl around as the fog in his brain follows the motions. 

“How do you stay alive,” he mumbles to the room and Joel tilts his head to look at the younger man, curled into the corner of the ratty old couch. The question is more for himself than for Joel but Joel answers anyway.

“For family,” he nods slowly, once, to himself, “for family, for Tommy. And for your woman, she kept you alive.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement and Frankie sighs. 

“She doesn’t think I should do runs any more, and she’s right, I know she’s right,” he mutters, pushing his cap off his head and rubbing his temple with his free hand, the fog is lifting again and he feels the edge of panic in his mind, but he can’t remember what he’s should panic about.  

“Why not? The drugs?” Joel motions at the dwindling pile of pills on the coffee table and Frankie grabs two of them, knocking them back with the whiskey still in his hand. 

“My head is fucked up. From the army. ‘S’gets worse sometimes, ‘s’gets worse when I do runs, when I do violent things.” Frankie sighs, “She doesn’t like it.” 

Joel snorts, a mirthless sound, “Men like us, you ‘n me, we do the violent things so others don’t have to, you keep her safe.” 

“S’what I t-told h-her,” Frankie grumbles, he can feel his head getting heavier, the fog is so thick he can’t even push his tongue through it, it’s sticking to his teeth. “I do it-do it, t-to keep he-her safe.” He sinks further into the couch, his head leaning on the back of it as he wills his hand to lift up the glass to his lips and drain it. “I-I do it t-to come b-back t-to h-er.” 

Through the fog in his own mind Joel sees Frankie tip forward, the empty glass in his hand, as he passes out. Joel’s glass clatters to the floor as he stumbles to his feet and staggers into the bedroom, falling onto the bed, passing out as his head hits the pillow. 

Chapter 31

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics @vickie5446

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 16}

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

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

Word Count: 6.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Santi, she-she-“

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

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

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

“Has anyone seen Benny?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, hey, take it easy, sweet girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C-can you stay tomorrow?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She begged him to help you.

She begged him to save you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was at work. He was okay.

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

He was at work. He wasn’t okay.

He should’ve stayed with you.

He should’ve turned down the offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Santi…”

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

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

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

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

“Is that what you need right now?”

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

“Have you talked to him about it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you could’ve said no.”

“Not in a million years.”

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Heartbreak Feels So Good

Santiago Garcia X Plus Size F!Reader Platonic!Frankie Moraxes X Reader

Your eyes were glazed over, staring at the way his arm was wrapped so tightly around her waist, when had they arrived? There was no warning, nothing that could stop the way your heart shattered in your chest. Support and acceptance, that was the only thing that Frankie was looking for. a/n:there be smut ahead! minors do not interact warnings:angst, heartbreak, kinda mean Santi, sad Frankie Part 2

Your eyes were glazed over, staring at the way his arm was wrapped so tightly around her waist, when had they arrived? There was no warning, nothing that could stop the way your heart shattered in your chest. Support and acceptance, that was the only thing that Frankie was looking for. How were you going to be able to sit idly by like there was nothing wrong, like you weren’t breaking apart inside? Santi had caught your gaze, the way your mouth hung open just barely as you stared at the couple in front of you. There was a deep pain in your eyes, one that Frankie clearly hadn’t caught onto yet.

“C’mon, you know damn well I’m the best thing that ever happened to you,” You were poking fun at the way Frankie all but laid himself on top of you.

“And you’re right, which is why I’m not moving until one of us has a decent nap,” Frankie buried himself further into your embrace, sighing contently.

You’d been friends longer than you could remember, helping pick up the pieces when he came back home from being overseas. It was no surprise that he struggled with PTSD, all the boys did, but Frankie sought out your comfort the most. He’d moved into your home after a few months, afraid he’d relapse and ruin the life he was trying so hard to rebuild. It was nice to come home to a home cooked meal everyday, the way your eyes would light up whenever he stepped foot over the threshold.

“Well I already had my nap, so why don’t you get a few hours before we go out later tonight,” It was something the two of you did everyday.

“Are you sure, I don’t want to have you fall asleep and then the guys get all upset,” Frankie knew Benny would get on your ass if you were late, it was more funny than anything.

Frankie was a cuddler and you weren’t going to deny him something that kept him sane on the worst days. He never overstepped his boundaries, keeping his hands in proper places so as not to grope you when he was trying to sleep. It wasn’t like you would push him away, your heart racing every time he crawled into your bed, or made his way to the couch. Benny had joked countless times that you and Frankie should just bite the bullet and finally get together.

Only, you weren’t the one Frankie wanted.

“You guys make a great couple, I’m happy for you,” If Frankie caught on to the way your voice wavered he didn’t say anything, his girlfriend seemed so genuine and kind, who were you to come between that?

“It means a lot, why don’t we sit down and have a drink so everyone can finally meet her?” Frankie was lovestruck, anyone with two working eyes could see how much he adored her.

“I’ll see if I can wrangle the boys up, just give me a few,” You turned before he could see the tears well up in your eyes, running over to where Will and Satni were standing together.

They’d protested going out tonight at all, Will claiming he had important matters to attend to in the morning while Santi grumbled he’d wake up hungover again. Frankie all but begged everyone to come out, including you since he’d moved out a few months prior. It was obvious as to why he’d suddenly decided to get an apartment, and you weren’t going to deny him his freedom, so why did it hurt so badly watching him drive away?

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Santi’s hands cupped your cheeks, brow furrowing as he wiped the tears from your face.

“I need to leave, I can’t be here anymore,” Could you really tell them the truth, that you were in love with your best friend and knowing that he was happier with someone else was tearing you apart?

“How about this, I’ll go say a quick hello and goodbye and I’ll take you home, okay?” Santi had always been there for you, albeit silently at the worst times, but right now you couldn’t be in that bar.

You nodded slowly, trying to calm down your breathing as you struggled to keep yourself from panicking. Will’s arms wrapped around you in a tight hug, squeezing all the air out of your lungs until you finally calmed down. He was the best when it came to bear hugs, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing until you were out of breath. Santi’s voice was somehow louder than the entire bar, he didn’t sound mad at Frankie which you were thankful for but there was an edge to his voice. What had you done to deserve this level of kindness from him?

“Hey, what’s going on?” Frankie was nervous, had something happened that he wasn’t aware of?

“I’m gonna take her home, we’ll talk later okay? It was nice to meet you Viv, sorry I couldn’t stay longer,” Santi didn’t want to come off rude, Frankie was his friend first but right now you were in pain and he couldn’t ignore that.

“Have her text me when you drop her off,” Frankie still looked worried, which was making your heart break more.

“I’m gonna stay with her Fish, I’ll let you know when we get to her apartment,” Santi turned without another word, walking over to where you were standing with Will.

The three of you hadn’t noticed the way Frankie’s face fell, the way his brow furrowed slightly for a brief moment before his attention was back on the woman beside him. He couldn’t worry about things when he had Viv to introduce to everyone, but damn, why did watching you leave with his best friend irritate him so much?

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

The drive was silent, after saying a quick goodbye to Benny and Tom you were headed back to your apartment. Santi was a great driver, but the silence was beginning to slowly drive you mad as you watched the sights pass by. The air was still warm, clinging to your skin like a warm hug after a rough day. That’s exactly what this was, a rough day, though you wouldn’t really be able to call it that, this day was going to happen sooner or later.

“Is it my fault for developing feelings and not telling him?” You glanced over at Santi, lips pulled into a frown as he kept his eyes on the road.

“Absolutely not, the way he acted towards you, we all thought that one day he was going to show up at the bar and announce that you guys were dating,” Santi ran a hand over his mouth.

He’d been angry that Frankie seemed to be leading you on for months on end, sleeping in your bed when his nightmares became too much, or cuddling together on the couch like a couple would. Frankie was never shy about how he felt towards the women he's dated, which was why when he never made things official with you everyone started to get concerned. The final shoe dropped tonight, reminding everyone that Frankie didn’t lead with his heart.

“You don’t have to stay tonight, I’ll be fine on my own,” You didn’t want to feel like a child, like you were seconds away from having another breakdown.

Well I call bullshit on that, you’re clearly upset so I’m not leaving,” He pulled into the driveway so smoothly even you were shocked. 

Your house was a little bit off the beaten path, that was mainly because you didn’t want to have too many neighbors surrounding you. Benny had joked that he was going to build a house directly next to yours so he could annoy you daily. Frankie had defended you from Benny’s terrible ideas the entire day, promising that he would be the one to build the house. That would never happen though, he’d find someone that he’d spend the rest of his life with and forget about you entirely. The car stopping jerked you out of your thoughts, now it was time to head inside and drink away your sorrows in the safety of your home.

Santi didn’t wait for you to get out of the truck, rushing around to your side and opening the door like a gentleman. It brought a small smile to your lips, the guys didn’t treat you any differently than they did one another, so this was new. You rested your hand on his bicep, slipping out of the car slowly as your heels touched the ground below you. Unfortunately it had been raining earlier which meant the grass was slick, you screeched and threw yourself into Santi’s arms. He caught you easily, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you back against the side of his truck. Your eyes locked for a moment, a thousand emotions running through your mind as you stared back at the man you’d called a friend for over a decade.

Neither of you were sure who leaned in first, lips pressing together softly, gentle pecks as your arms slid up and around his neck. You’d always wondered if the rumors about Santi were true, but your heart had been so focused on Frankie that you felt almost bad for thinking about Santi that way. You couldn’t stop the whimper as Santi’s tongue slid into your mouth, your body heating up as his grip tightened further on your waist.

“We should get inside before someone sees us,” You and Santi both knew that no one would see you, but the thought of getting caught in such a compromising position shouldn’t have been so hot.

“Let’s go,” You slid your arms down to his hands, walking towards your house with a confidence you weren’t sure you truly had.

Santi’s gaze was locked on the way your hips swayed, the dress you wore clinging to your curves so deliciously. How had he managed to keep his hands to himself for so long? Frankie be damned, you were gorgeous and Frankie was a fool for ignoring the signs. You unlocked the door quickly, kicking off your heels and tossing your keys in the bowl right inside of your door. Santi wasted no time kicking off his own shoes and hanging up his coat, the least he could do was make sure not to leave your foyer all cluttered. His hands found their way to your sides, squeezing the plush flesh beneath his fingers. The moan you let out was downright sinful, his cock had been straining against the zipper of his jeans nearly the entire drive home.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk hermosa,” You were practically dripping at that point, reaching back to grab his hands.

“Please, I need you so bad,” Your voice was breathy, whimpering as his hands slid to cup your chest.

He could feel the way you were practically spilling out of your bra, clearly one of your more “fancy” ones as you’d come to call them. Santi turned you towards the kitchen, spinning you around so your back was against the island. You didn’t hesitate to jump up onto the cool surface, reveling in the way it cooled your skin slightly. 

“I’m gonna strip these clothes off of you, and then I’m going to get down on my knees and eat this pretty pussy until my face is soaked,” Your core was throbbing, Santi’s fingers sliding along your upper thigh as his hands slid beneath the fabric of your dress.

Without giving yourself a single second to doubt the decision, you slid your dress up and off your body. You’d worn a matching set for the night, hoping that Frankie would be the one to strip it off your body before coming to the true realization. No, there was not going to be any thoughts of that man while Santi was doing sinful things to your body. Santi pulled off his shirt quickly, tossing it aside carelessly and turning his full attention back to you.

“Fuck, please,” Your back arched into the air, nails digging into the marble countertop.

“Good girl,” Santi gripped the sides of your panties, pulling them down and off your legs quickly.

He eyed the way your cunt glistened in the dim light, nothing but the moonlight showing your skin. Santi had a reputation, and he was about to make sure that you knew what the truth was when it came to him. Pressing a gentle hand against your chest he pushed until your back was flush to the countertop. He pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs, biting gently with each moan you let out. Your thighs were thrown over his shoulder, exposing your body to him entirely. 

“Sweet pussy is dripping for me, isn’t she?” Santi slipped two fingers into your entrance slowly, giving you time to adjust to the stretch.

“Only for you, holy fuck!” You couldn’t stop the moans, reaching down to grip the roots of his hair as the tips of his fingers stroked that spongy spot so deep inside your core.

“Gonna make you forget your own name,” Santi’s lips wrapped around your clit, suckling gently as he continued to move his fingers.

You were almost ashamed at how fast your orgasm creeped up, legs shaking over his shoulders as you tried to stave off the euphoric feeling. Santi of course was not having that, doubling down with his fingers and mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit as your walls tightened around his fingers. Your cum dripped down his hand as he continued his ministrations, overstimulating you to the point you’d thrown your head back with a scream, gushing over his fingers pressed inside your body. Santi smirked victoriously, pulling his fingers out slowly so as not to hurt you.

“That feel good?” You could hardly nod, eyes fluttering shut as your body rode the waves of pleasure.

“I’m totally riding your face one of these days,” Shit, you hadn’t meant to say that out loud, now Santi was going to think you were weird.

“Baby you can ride my face for the rest of my life and I will die happy,” Santi pulled your hips to the edge, pressing kisses all over your stomach and chest.

You snuck a hand to your back, unclasping the uncomfortable bra and sliding the straps down and off your arms. Santi’s eyes locked on your chest immediately, hands cupping the soft flesh with awe.

“I never knew you had your nipples pierced,” He ran the tip of his thumb over your left nipple, breath hitching at how the stiff peak seemed to tighten underneath the callous.

“Had em since I was nineteen, no one’s ever gotten to see em before,” It was a secret you were going to take to the grave, not wanting to admit something so risque to your closest friends.

Santi leaned down slightly, taking your nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue ever so gently over the stiff bud. Your hands tightened in his hair, back arching into his face as you struggled to catch your breath. He’d barely done anything to you and yet you were already on the edge once more, how many times was he going to get you to cum before he found his own release?

“Bedroom, please,” It’d be easier on the both of you if you were in your bed, you didn’t want the night to end too soon.

Santi stepped away from you, helping you down off the counter before sliding his hands behind your thighs to wrap around his waist. You were horrified at the yelp you let out, gripping onto his shoulders so that you would not hit the ground. Most men you’d been with had complained about carrying you around, Santi acted like it was a personal mission to get to your bedroom without you touching the ground. Though once you were finally in your room he threw you onto the bed, unbuttoning his jeans slowly.

Your eyes were glued on the way his cock was straining beneath his jeans, how would he manage to fit with that monster of a cock he was carrying around? Would he let you choke on it and bring him that sweet bliss of relief, or was he going to pin you down to the bed and fuck you until you were crying. Santi kept his eyes on you as he pushed his jeans and briefs down his legs, watching how your eyes widened when his naked cock hit the air. Santi was absolutely huge, there was no way he was fitting.

“Get on this bed, and get that cock in me before I die,” You spread your legs wide, running your pointer and middle fingers over your slick cunt, gently rubbing your clit for the added stimulation.

Santi didn’t waste a second, crawling over your body with a determined expression on his face, you weren’t leaving this bed until he had his fill. He grabbed the backs of your knees, pressing them up to your shoulders as he lined the tip of his cock up to your dripping cunt. Sliding in slowly Santi kept his gaze on your face, slowing down if you looked to be in any amount of pain. This was meant to be a pleasurable moment, and Santi wasn’t going to ruin that by hurting you in any way.

“Holy fucking shit, please tell me you’re in,” Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, hands clutching the bed spread harshly.

“Only halfway, do you need me to stop?” You shook your head frantically, rolling your hips down as best you could given the position.

Santi groaned, slipping the rest of the way inside in one final push. It felt as if the tip of his cock was in your throat, he was surely going to be the death of you tonight. He pulled back slowly, giving you time to readjust before slamming his hips forward. Your scream was guttural, head thrown back into the plush pillows as you struggled to breathe. Santi built up a slow but harsh pace, hips slapping against yours before he began to build up speed. Your core tightened with each stroke of his cock, bringing your body higher, and higher.

“You like when I fuck this perfect pussy? Stretch you open so that only my cock can satisfy you?” Santi was struggling for air, hands gripping your thighs even harder.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum!” You reached a hand down, rubbing your clit in quick circles.

“Cum all over my cock like the good girl you are, I know you wanna soak my cock,” The room was filled with the sound of your moans, and the sound of skin slapping together.

Your thighs locked on his sides as you squirted over his cock, breath stuttering in your chest as your peak continued to climb steadily. Santi didn’t slow down his thrusts, merely laid your legs down before pulling out and flipping you onto your stomach. He pulled you to your knees, shoving your head into the pillows as he slid his cock back into your slick cunt.

“Fuck baby, this pussy was made for me,” Santi slapped your ass hard, gripping the plush muscle as he pulled you back against his hips.

You weren’t sure if you’d cum again or were still riding the waves of your first orgasm still, he was determined to keep his word it seemed.

“Where do you want me to cum?” Though he sounded breathless, Santi was still somehow more level headed than you were.

“In-Inside!” You were on birth control anyway, and the thought of letting him finish inside you fueled something inside of you.

It only took a half a dozen more thrusts before his hips were stilling, warmth spreading through your entire lower half as he came deep inside of you. He didn’t pull out right away, instead stayed seated inside you and tried to slow his heart. Had Santi not had a grip on your hips, your body would’ve slumped into the mattress entirely. He pulled out slowly, laying you down against the bed before running into the bathroom to get a damp washcloth to help clean you up. You hardly noticed him, wincing slightly as he wiped the cum that had started to drip out of you.

“Do you need me to get anything?” Santi threw the washcloth into your hamper, laying down beside you.

“No, but thank you for asking,” You rested your head against his chest, snuggling into the soft skin.

He smelled like the cologne he always wore with a hint of sweat and something almost spicy, it was intoxicating. He chuckled lowly and moved to pull the comforter over the two of you, wrapping you up in his arms as you finally settled. Sure there would be questions in the morning of how you moved forward after all this, but for right now it was time to sleep.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Santi was the first to wake in the morning, groaning at the way the sun was peeking through your blinds so easily. He rolled over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush to his chest. You let out a small sigh, snuggling deeper into his hold as you clung to the offer of sleep. The two of you would’ve gladly gone back to sleep, had it not been for someone banging on your front door. Had Santi promised he would visit one of the guys and was running late? There was nowhere you had to be anytime soon so they definitely weren’t here for you.

“Stay here, I’ll go see who it is,” Santi pressed a kiss to your hair, slipping out of the bed and grabbing his briefs.

Even if it was some annoying people trying to promote their church, no one needed to see his naked body at seven in the morning. The banging continued as he made his way down the hall, brow furrowing for a moment. He hadn’t thought to check the peephole, to see who had caused a ruckus this early in the morning. Once the door was opened Frankie pushed his way inside, stopping dead in his tracks as he took in Santi’s near naked appearance.

“What the fuck is going on?” Frankie sounded angry, and then it dawned on him, neither of you had texted when you got back to your house.

“Listen, I completely forgot to text you and by the time I realized you were already here,” Okay, maybe that was a lie and Santi had forgotten entirely, but he couldn’t tell Frankie the truth right now.

“No, instead of letting me know you guys made it back here safe you two ended up fucking,” Frankie wasn’t even looking at him anymore, eyes locked on your clothes that were scattered in the kitchen.

How could he even defend himself, the two of you threw caution to the wind and spent the night together, there was no denying it. That was the real kicker though, Frankie was mad that you had hooked up with Santi, even after denying you for years.

“You have no right to be mad at us right now, she had shown you for years how much she loved you and now that you have someone she’s going to move on,” It was the truth and it was tearing Frankie apart inside.

He’d always seen you as a friend, someone there to help pick up the pieces when he couldn’t bear to do it himself. Sure you were absolutely gorgeous, but he was afraid of ruining the friendship the two of you had, and now here you were, in the arms of his best friend. 

“You’re right, I have no right to be upset, but even if the feelings weren’t mutual she’s still my friend and I don’t want to see her get hurt,” Frankie would take down anyone that hurt you, no matter who they were to him. “You know I’d never hurt her, we’ll have a discussion like adults and see what the future holds for us,” Things were going to be different whether you wanted them to be or not, but Santi wasn’t going to leave while you were asleep.

Frankie glanced over at your open door, debating whether or not he should say anything before leaving. Santi shook his head, your wounds were too fresh, you would need time to heal and come to terms with the fact that Frankie had found someone else. He left without another word, shutting the door quietly behind himself. Santi stood in the entryway, trying to figure out exactly where the two of you were headed.

It couldn’t be that hard, right?

[peterhollandkait]

Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You Masterlist

Summary: Four months ago, your childhood best friend and first love Frankie Morales showed up on your doorstep strung out on cocaine, mumbling words you hadn’t heard him say since high school. You fight your feelings as long as you can, trying to keep him at a distance. But what happens when you give in and it eventually falls apart?

**In the process of being rewritten. New chapters coming early 2025**

Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader / OC

Series Warnings: Drug addiction, angst, hurt, descriptions of depression and anxiety, eventual smut, p in v sex, mentions of ptsd, trauma related to the military

Playlist 1: "Songs on Frankie Morales's Outdated iPod"

Playlist 2: "My Beloved Sunny"

Prelude - If You See the Shell That's Left of Me... [1.5k]

Part 1 - Spare Him A Little Kindness [5.8K]

Part 2 - Run Boy Run [4.1K]

→ 2.1 - Brothers in Arms [~500]

Part 3 - To Be Loved and To Be In Love [Coming Soon]

Drabbles / One-Shots:

When Sunny Met Frankie [.5k]

→ When Santiago accidentally kicks his soccer ball over Frankie's fence and into his neighbor's yard, the puzzle pieces of fate come together.

The Sun and Her Fish [1.4k]

→ Frankie and Sunny have a pool day. Takes place between the prelude and part 1.

[nerdieforpedro]

Canto para mí mismo (I sing for myself)

Nuestras Canciones Series

Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Amalia (plus size OFC)

Main Masterlist/ Santiago Garcia Masterlist

Teens and up (My blog overall is 18+ MDNI)

Summary: Amalia sees a private moment of Santiago’s healing process.

Word Count: 495

Warnings: FEELINGS, mentions of violence and death, angst, PTSD, established relationship, Santiago and reader are maybe late thirties to early forties. Grown people.

Notes: My first Santiago series! I did not expect it to be so…full of feelings. 👀 I heard Oscar Isaac sing, it made me feel various things. I’m maybe working through some things. It’s all come together in four parts. Special thanks to @maggiemayhemnj for helping me with the song. It’s a dirge I came up with. I write poems sometimes, why not a song of mourning? I have range. 😎

Amalia hears it when she enters the house the dulcet sounds of his baritone. Setting her bag down on the counter and slipping off her shoes, she quietly makes her way closer to the sound, swaying with the delicate plucks of his guitar. Santiago was practicing again which was therapeutic for him. He enjoyed singing and writing the occasional song, though he’d never show his brothers in arms. Santi would describe it as being too raw to share with them, there was already so much buried between him and his comrades.

His voice was sullen, recalling his time in Delta Force. He often described it as ‘a hell that tempered my soul but also broke it.’ Pope wasn’t sure how else to describe that time in his life outside of his best friends. That was the best part to him, all the other stuff he pushed away and often bullshitted himself as he did others. It wasn’t until he met his wife Amalia that he was forced to really see himself. All of him. He held a few notes for varying times, throwing each one away at the end, before taking a deep breath and starting again. He’d learned to breathe through his nose and not through his mouth, he’d get a large breath that way, but he’d need to be able to make it last through the lyrics. He was struggling to get one line and sang a few times, changing the pitch so see if that would help. Pope’s thick fingers strummed a different cord, it appeared to resonate with him as he moved on and continued with his song.

His wife watched from the doorway as he played, his eyes closed as his voice carried throughout the house and she smiled. Small steps Santiago took along the area rug in their shared office, bobbing to some beat that she wasn’t privy to. Amalia was aware she was intruding on a private moment as he normally played like this when she wasn’t home, having caught him before. “I’ll only play you the happy songs mi vida (my life). Leave the darkness with me.” Though she wasn’t happy about it, she understood keeping parts of himself closed was protection for him and he’d already given her so much. She’d allow him to have his own space to explore the complex and at times ambivalent feelings he had that shaped who he was now.

The blood of our brothers stains the earth

Never coming home

Their blood is on my hands too

I couldn’t do anything nothing

I made it out with my brothers

We were good for a time

We lost one in the jungle square in the head

I could barely sell a story to his family

Just like he could barely sell a home

We’re all drifting here

Longing for a battle that will never come

Amalia continued to watch her husband sing a dirge for the past that still haunts him.

Next: Verse Two

Santi’s Peaches 🍑: @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @megamindsecretlair @pedritapascal @rhoorl @yorksgirl @dameron-grant-spector @pamasaur @sin-djarin @i-own-loki @soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @readingiskeepingmegoing @saturn-rings-writes @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @musings-of-a-rose

[mywordhaven]

The Road Ahead - ch 2 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Previous Chapter

Throughout most of your married life, you've dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently anticipated his return home, longing for the moment when he would be by your side once again. You yearned for him to open up to you during those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain with you. And as his addiction spiralled out of control, you hoped that he would recognize his problem and seek help. Yet, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Columbia doing God knows what.

But this time is the last. Resolved, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + / no minors allowed)

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Applicable to the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, hard relationship to food, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty guys (more warnings will be added if necessary).

Summary: Frankie breaks the one promise he swore he never would.

Notes: Hey everyone, thank you very much for the sweet comments/reblog/liked, I appreciate it so much :D I was totally not expecting it. I really hope you enjoy this one, it's got that sweet, sweet angst that I think we all love. After this chapter, we are getting ourselves right into the nugget of the action between Frankie and his cielo. Lmk what you all think xxx

Ao3 link

Broken Promises

You’ve never been this tired before. It’s a strange feeling like you are experiencing a sort of out-of-body experience, looking straight at your bone-tired self barely holding on. “My kingdom for a full night of sleep,” you think, before scanning the room. A rumpled bed, a mix of dirty and clean laundry scattered over the floor, and a half-eaten pack of Oreo cookies on the nightstand “Not much of a kingdom” you sardonically judge. As the minutes tick by, exhaustion takes further hold of you and your eyes begin to shut. You start to nod off, but just as your chin touches the top of your collarbone a small fist slams onto your left cheek, and a loud cry pierces the silence of your bedroom.

"Shhh, Ella, shhh, sweetheart, please be good for Mommy," you softly plead. Weary from the ongoing battle to lull your baby girl back to sleep, you slowly rise from the rocking chair nestled in the quiet corner of your dimly lit bedroom. It's been a relentless night since the clock struck 1:30 a.m., and Estrella seems to have taken it upon herself to ensure you stay awake for as long as possible.

You had hoped that the rhythmic motion of the chair, the gentle sway, and comforting whispers, would coax her back into the land of dreams. Yet the soft lullabies and soothing strokes proved insufficient in settling your little girl. The minutes ticked by, and the hand of the clock slowly etches its way into the night.

You slowly stroll around the room, swaying back and forth while cradling the warm bundle in your arms. As you gaze down at the tiny face nestled against your chest, you tiredly ponder, "Perhaps I should start calling you peanut, don't you think, Ella?" Your fingertips delicately trace the contours of her tiny, discontented face. The sight of her scrunched-up, red face reminds you of those spicy peanuts that Frankie enjoys munching on.

Frankie. It has been an agonizing seven days since you last heard from your husband. When he informed you about his departure on one of Santiago's reckless ideas (damn it all Santi), you pleaded with him not to go. You had tried everything, even resorting to playing dirty by reminding him of his promise to never leave again! And how it would surely negatively impact Ella considering her formative age. You emphasized how important it was for Ella to have her papa with her. How much you needed your husband. You had kept going until the morning, and your voice had faded to a hoarse whisper, but Frankie did not budge.

Instead, Frankie had held you close. Listening to you argue and rage while whispering reassuring words about how everything would be just fine. And as the argument heated up, he switched up his strategy. Instead, sternly stretching how thin money was right now. Like an artist, using his words as brushstrokes, he painted a clear picture of the challenges you were both facing, reminding you of the growing financial strain. Ella, remaining in the background of the conversation, both acutely aware of your responsibility as new parents. He’d coaxed, cajoled, and did his best to persuade you that his leaving was the right course of action. He stressed that, although Pope needed him for this mission, the money he would make would provide the opportunity for you to finally take time away from work to be with Ella. When he saw you start to relent at his words, he doubled down and further pressed how, upon his return, there would be enough funds for him to both appeal his drug sanction and for you to stay home with the baby.

Frankie knew exactly what he was doing. With the precision of a former military man well-versed in analyzing and exploiting the vulnerabilities of his enemies, he exerted pressure in the very areas he knew would make you yield. Nobody understood you better than Frankie, after all. He knew that the prospect of staying home with Ella would be sufficiently alluring. You had returned to work a mere two weeks after giving birth and with Frankie grounded from flying, you hadn’t been able to take any additional time off. At the time, you had bitterly thought that if Frankie had opened to you instead of falling heads first into a puddle of cocaine, he would have never been suspended in the first place. You could have stayed home with Ella, and you wouldn't be so exhausted. You wouldn’t be so sad all the time.

Estrella's piercing cries escalate, reverberating in the air, and echoing through the room. With every decibel, her frustration intensifies, mirroring your own mounting agitation. You struggle to steady your breath, attempting to reclaim a sense of calm amidst her loud wails.

"Please, please, Ella," you implore, your voice quivering with weariness and desperation. "Mommy needs to sleep tonight. Mommy has a long day at work tomorrow."

Estrella's cries momentarily ebb, her searching gaze locking onto your face, her innocent eyes reflecting what you think is a flicker of comprehension. But before a heartbeat passes, her tiny face contorts once more, the weight of her frustration crashing upon your ears like a tidal wave, each cry more piercing than the last. Desperately, you put Ella back in her crib at the foot of your bed and you quickly flee the room, the weight of your emotions propelling you forward. As the door shuts behind you, you let out your own loud sob. You are so tired of always crying.

As you attempt to regain control of your breathing and try to halt the now-intensified flow of tears, a wave of nausea overtakes you. You only just manage to hastily make your way to the nearest bathroom. Sinking to your knees, your grip on your own hair tightens as waves after wave of nausea engulf you. Dry heaves wrack your body, futilely attempting to expel remnants of a dinner that never met your lips the night before. The searing pain of acidic bile creeping up your throat only serves to intensify your desire to blink yourself out of existence, if only for a fleeting moment, escaping the overwhelming cries and suffocating anxiety. As soon as the thought arrives, however, the tears start to swell even further. What kind of mother are you, you silently question, your self-doubt echoing in the quiet corners of your soul. What kind of mother entertains the notion of vanishing from their own child's life? A wretched one, you conclude.

You rise slowly, mustering the strength to rinse your mouth, eager to rid yourself of the repulsive taste of bile. Spitting out a blob of toothpaste into the sink, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and recoil from the sight of that hollow husk staring back at you. “What the fuck," you whisper to yourself as disbelief floods your thoughts. You hadn’t found the time to look yourself over in the last few weeks, too busy with the baby, work, and Frankie’s license appeal. You kind of wish you hadn’t looked yourself over right now. You look like a ghost, an exhausted ghost at that—gaunt and fatigued, your skin stretched thin and devoid of life, bearing an ashen hue. Dark circles encircle your eyes, stained with redness from endless weeping. Your hair hangs greasy and limp, the last time you washed your hair was likely before Frankie left, you speculate.

Your mind drifts back to that night, two years ago when Frankie returned home for good (or was supposed to return for good). The unfolding reality had completely shattered the idyllic story you had woven into your mind that night. Frankie tried; goodness knows he tried his hardest. But even within the comfort of your shared home, he couldn't elude the relentless demons that haunted him at every turn. It pained you to witness his withdrawal, but he insisted, left and right, that he was fine—that it was normal for discharged soldiers to struggle with readjustment. He assured you he wasn't the first, nor would he be the last, and that all he needed was a little time for everything to work itself out. "You worry too much, mi cielo," he would say before leaving the house each morning, following yet another night plagued by nightmares.

The whole facade of “getting better” quickly lost its lustre when, in an uncharacteristic fit of rage, Frankie had aggressively confronted a young man who had set off firecrackers on your street, nearly beating the poor guy. You had seen the anger and fear contort his normally gentle features, and you were certain that if you hadn't intervened, the situation would have turned violent. Afterward, with tears streaming down both your faces, Frankie held you. With his face tucked in your chest, he had apologized and begged for your forgiveness, promising that it would never happen again. And, in a rare moment of vulnerability, Frankie quietly shared how it sometimes felt like a dark presence consumed him from within—he could be walking down the street, only to be transported back to whatever hellhole his mind had conjured especially for him.

He had gone on about how he couldn’t do any of this without you. In the end, you had forgiven him. But not before making him promise this kind of violence would never happen again as you wouldn’t tolerate it. To his credit, Frankie never exhibited any violent behaviour again. Well, at least not in your presence.

After that day, you tried your best to be firmer with him. You had pleaded with him to seek therapy, thinking that the moment he opened to you was an overture. But Frankie mostly shut it down. Always founding excuses to delay by finding new reasons for not making an appointment each and every day. The cycle persisted with you nagging and him delaying until one afternoon when you returned home to find him on the couch, a distant and ashamed look in his eyes. The mere sight of him caused your heart to plummet. It turned out that Frankie had chosen to self-medicate. At that point, you were three months pregnant with Ella, and to this day you wonder if you would not have been better to walk out that sunny afternoon.

You knew Frankie carried immense guilt from that day. You could see in his eyes how much he despised himself for what he had done. He vowed never to touch cocaine again, promising to put in the work and pleading for you to stay. He wept and wept, and in the end, you chose to remain by his side only if he finally committed to therapy. This was the last strike, you told yourself, and had decided not to give up on him. In sickness and in health, right?

But to your joy, throughout your pregnancy, Frankie's support had exceeded all your expectations. He not only tended to your needs but also went above and beyond to ensure your comfort. From keeping your favourite snacks within reach to massaging your tired feet without even needing to be asked. Yet, among all the beautiful moments, one memory stood out as the most cherished. It was when the two of you would settle on the couch, engrossed in a shared TV show. During these tender moments, Frankie would lovingly rest his head on your gently rounded belly, hoping to connect with the little life growing within. Softly, he would speak to your baby, already creating an intimate bond that filled your heart with warmth.

Those blissful months, both during the pregnancy and in the ensuing months, were magical. Despite the challenges, what mattered most was that Frankie was with you, supporting you and sharing in the journey which made every hardship feel insignificant. It was in those moments that you truly felt that Frankie had come home. As if on a rocket launch, Frankie also seemed to have gotten his mind together following his suspension. He had managed to secure a job at a garage, but the hours were minimal, and the pay meagre. But, despite it all Frankie had been determined to persevere and make the most of this opportunity, all the while preparing for his license appeal.

 However, everything crumbled a week ago. Like every second Friday, Frankie joined his friends to watch and cheer on one of Benny's fights. But as Frankie arrived home late that night, his expression of guilt etched across his face sent an unsettling shiver down your spine. The following day, Frankie was gone.  The only detail you could scrounge from him was that he would contact you three days after the mission concluded. Now, seven days have passed, and anxiety gnaws at your core more violently with each passing day.

After splashing water on your face, you make your way back to your bedroom, where Ella's cries have diminished, leaving behind traces of fatigue on her tiny, reddened face. Bending down, you scoop her up into your arms and begin to hum a gentle lullaby in Spanish. It's the only one from Frankie's repertoire, a sweet melody he had learned from his Abuela during his childhood. As you hold Ella close, her cries gradually subside, replaced by the comforting rhythm of her soft breath against your shoulder. It soothes your heart to witness her drifting back into slumber. So sweet and innocent.

"Oh, my poor little star," you whisper, your voice filled with tenderness as you gaze at Ella. "You miss your daddy, don't you? I miss him too, and I know he misses you just as much." Leaning in, you plant a gentle kiss on her tiny forehead. "I'm so sorry, Ella. It breaks my heart that you're stuck with me. You deserve so much more."

Placing one final kiss on her tiny nose, you carefully lower her back into her crib. As you slowly tread back to your own bed, you feel its emptiness and coldness, a constant reminder of Frankie's absence. Yet, in this moment, you're uncertain if you would even welcome his presence. Slipping beneath the covers, you glance at the clock: 3:30 am. A sigh escapes your lips. Four more hours before you must get up for work. It's not much, but it's better than nothing.

______________________________________________________________

You are abruptly awakened by a jarring, high-pitched beep. Unsettled by the noise, your drowsy eyes struggle to focus on the clock, revealing the time: 5:15 am. You hastily spring out of bed, desperately hoping that Estrella won't stir from the ruckus. Clumsily grabbing your phone, you stumble out of the bedroom, nearly hitting your head on the frame.

"What kind of deranged person calls at this hour?!" you vent, frustration mounting as you spy a string of numbers on the screen that holds no significance. "Hello? Hello?" your anger is met with silence. "Seriously, if this is some sick prank, it's not fucking funny! Some of us have babies who are trying to..." Before you can finish, a voice on the other end of the line interjects.

"Mi cielo..."

"... Francisco?" you gasp, barely able to catch your breath.

"It's so good to hear your voice, cariño," Frankie softly replies, his tone strangely subdued.

" Oh my God, Frankie are you okay?! Where are you?"

"Somewhere in Peru," he quietly responds after a pause.

"Peru?! My God are you safe?" you ask, concern lacing your words.

"I am, mi cielo," he replies, but his tone betrayed him. You know he isn’t okay.

"What happened, Frankie? Are the others with you? I was worried sick, you told me three days, it's been 7!" you cry out, your worry pouring through your words.

"I know, mi cielo, I know. I'm so sorry. Shit went from bad to worst. I never wanted to worry you like that. The others are fine, I mean..." Frankie stumbles over his words before weakly admitting, "Redfly is dead."

"What? Tom is dead?!” you interject, shock and confusion mingling in your voice. You had seen Molly just 2 days ago, she was with the girls at the grocery store. Tom’s oldest had even played peekaboo with Ella while you were confiding your worries to Molly. She had assured you that for all his faults, Tom was a devoted CO and would look after your Frankie.

"While we were making our way back through the Andes, we encountered..." Frankie begins to explain.

"What do you mean you encountered? What were you guys doing walking through the Andes?! You said it was going to be a simple in-and-out!" you interrupt, baffled.

After a weighty pause, Frankie reluctantly continues, his voice laced with culpability, "Our transport failed, it was my fault. There was an accident, and Redfly didn't make it. We carried his body so that Molly and the girls could say their goodbyes."

"Oh, Frankie I am so, so sorry,” you whisper, overcome with a mixture of grief and sympathy.

"I should have listened to you! This entire mission was doomed from the beginning, a disaster waiting to happen. I never should have gone. Maybe if I hadn't, Redfly would still be alive, and I would be home with you and Estrelita," Frankie ranted, his voice quivering with tears.

"Frankie..." you begin, the weight of his words sinking in.

"I'll make it up to you, mi cielo. I'm never leaving again. I never want to leave my girls ever again."

"You said that before..." you quietly whisper. You know it’s unfair after everything he’s been through, but you can’t help yourself. Pain and resentment have made themselves at home deep within your heart, and it’ll take more than a phone call to dislodge them.

"Cariño..."

Wiping away the tears that have started to traitorously stream down your face and with exhaustion seeping into your bones, you keep going, "Estrella is well. She still can't sleep through the night, but Mrs. Hu says she is the loveliest baby she has ever seen. She misses her daddy though." After a brief pause, you add, "We both do."

"I'm so sor..."

"Please, Frankie, I beg you, stop apologizing. Just make sure you come home as soon as you can, alright? We'll figure it out when you're home safe with us," you plead, vulnerable.

"I promise mi amor, I'll be home as soon as possible. I'll be on the first flight today and be home before you know it."

"Good. Please be careful, Frankie."

"Cariño..."

His words are cut off by Estrella's cries from the bedroom. A tightness grips your throat as a lump forms, and you speak with a strained voice, "Can you hear her? It looks like she's ready for her daddy to be home." You tightly press your fist against your mouth, attempting to stifle your sobs.

"I'll be home soon, mi cielo, I promise," Frankie pleads. "Te amo. Te amo. Te amo." He repeats it like a prayer, softly uttered at your altar.

You are unable to speak, your throat too constricted. "Me too," you weakly respond. "I have to go check on Ella. Please be careful."

You end the call and take deep breaths, attempting to steady yourself. The room spins around you, and Estrella's cries echo in the background. As in a trance, you make your back to your bedroom.

"Daddy is coming home, my sweet love," you softly coo, your voice filled with anticipation. Estrella's tired eyes meet your teary gaze, and you can't help but laugh through your tears as Ella sucks on her tiny fist. "My little peanut, Mama will always take care of you. No matter what comes our way, even though you deserve so much more, I promise to be there for you and do my best," you pour out. As Ella drifts back into the realm of dreams, you reach out to the bed and grab Frankie's worn green blanket, hastily tossed aside in your haste. Holding it close, you settle into the rocking chair in the corner, with Ella snuggled against your chest, softly snoring. You drape the scratchy duvet over both of you, the feeling of the coarse blanket bringing some comfort amidst the whirlwind of emotions. Enveloped in its warm embrace, you surrender to drowsiness, cradling Ella in your arms and gently whispering sweet nothings into her ear as you drift off to sleep.

______________________________________________________________

Frankie's gaze remains fixed on his phone, staring at the now empty screen as if willing for your phone number to appear. He yearns to hear your voice again, to hear you reassure him that everything will be okay. He longs for the warmth of your embrace, your fingers gently caressing his hair while he tenderly kisses the back of your neck. The more he stares at the phone, the more a sense of desperation and self-hatred wells up inside him. It's not directed at you, never at you. You and Ella are the only sources of goodness in his life, and he feels he's managed to ruin it all, just like he always does. He has always strived to be a better man for you, always felt unworthy of your love.

He is a man hunted by years of military service and he is acutely aware of his shattered spirit, his inability to adapt to the mundane civilian life. At the VA, he had witnessed the procession of broken men and women, who sacrificed their very beings for their nation, only to be spit out by a system that didn’t give a shit. If not for you and Ella, he fears he would have joined their ranks.

After retiring from active duty, which feels like a lifetime ago, he lived in a perpetual state of limbo. But you were there, his beacon of sweetness, compassion, and patience. For half a year, he held his breath, anticipating the day you would wake up and realize the mistake you made when you said yes and married him. You would finally leave him then and Frankie would be alone, as he deserves. But you never did. You stayed, defied his expectations, and shattered his self-inflicted prophecy. He knows you want him to open his pain to you, to unravel his sadness at your feet, but he is trapped in a prison of his own silence. Unable to be the man you need him to be for both you and Ella.

His subconscious tortures him with these anxieties every other night through relentless nightmares. In some of the worst renditions, he finds himself behind you, following you from a distance unable to touch you. As he tries to catch up, he must crawl through mud, blood, and gore, dragging him down as you seem to float away from him. He screams, but you can’t hear him. When he finally catches up to you, he reaches out his hands and notices their bloodied state, realizing how repulsive he is and how he doesn't deserve to hold you. He always lets his hands drop, watching you walk away with that radiant smile of yours that still brightens his heart, even after all these years. You always call out to him, "Come on, my love, you're falling behind." And he knows he is. But he can't take your hand, can't subject you to his darkness.

His grip on the phone tightens as the tormenting voices in his head grow louder: "She'll leave you now, for sure," "You're unworthy of her," "She'll take Ella and walk away, and you'll deserve it," "Good-for-nothing addict." He hurls the phone across the room, shattering it into pieces. The room feels too small, Frankie feels himself suffocating by the 4 walls, a perfect representation of his dark thoughts closing on him. Quickly, Frankie rises and heads downstairs. In the lobby, his eyes catch sight of the open café bar. He enters and makes a beeline for the imposing counter. Taking a seat on an unsteady stool, he addresses the man behind the counter:

“¿Todavía estás sirviendo alcohol?”

“Sí, lo estoy.¿Qué te puedo servir?” responds the burly bartender.

“Un café y 3 shots de whisky.” Answers Frankie.

“¿Noche difícil?” the bartender asks.

“Vida difícil.” Frankie replies.

“Jajaja, ¿asumo entonces que estás casado?” he queries, as he places the three shots in front of Frankie and begins preparing the coffee.

Frankie swiftly downs the first and then the second shot. Taking a deep breath, he responds:

“Ella y el bebé son lo único que hace que esta maldita vida valga la pena. Y lo arruiné.”

Shaking his head, the bartender goes on, “Dile cómo te sientes, discúlpate y ruega. Si la amas tanto como dices, al menos te escuchará.” Frankie looks away guilty at those words. He knows you and he knows he is being unfair to your love.

“Gracias por el consejo.” Frankie acknowledges.

“De nada, es un placer. Va incluido con el café.”

Frankie lets out a laugh before finishing his last shot, while the bartender attends to the bustling morning crowd. There is no sign of Will or Benny, not even Pope who lives in these kinds of places.

From the corner of his eye, he notices a slick, well-dressed man settling onto the stool beside him, promptly ordering a large black coffee. The man's gaze falls upon the three empty shot glasses before emitting a sly chuckle, locking eyes with Frankie.

"Rough night?" the man inquires, his voice laced with a sleazy undertone.

"You could say that" Frankie responds, attempting to shield himself by burying his face in his cup of coffee. He'd rather not air his problems for all of Peru to see. The lingering buzz from the shots slowly warms him from within. God, he's so exhausted. Sleeping on the cold ground of the Andes for the past week has taken its toll. He isn’t as young as he used to be, age crept up on him. Now, all he craves is to be back home, wrapped in your loving embrace with Ella between you two. Damn it, he even misses that green itchy blanket.

Unfortunately for Frankie, the man seems oblivious to his cues and continues to pry.

"Well, my friend, I think I have just the thing for you," the man remarks, reaching into his side pocket and producing a small baggie overflowing with white powder. Frankie's body freezes.

He hasn't touched that shit since the day he got busted. He promised you he would never use it again, and he has kept that promise. The only one he has kept so far.  A cold droplet of sweat glides down his spine as he becomes entranced by the sight of the little baggie, its contents tempting him with the promise of quieting the voices in his head, numbing the guilt he carries for you, for Ella, for Tom, and for all the other fucked-up things he has done.

"So, you interested? You look like you need it. I'll even give you a discount, my man!" The man slaps Frankie on the back while jiggling the baggie as if to intensify the allure.

"Take it," his conscience whispers, taunting him. "You've already screwed up; what's one more mistake for the road? She won't even find out, and you know what they say, ignorance is bliss.”

Frankie shuts his eyes, and in the darkness, he envisions you—holding Ella in your arms with that disappointed frown of yours. But the moment his mind conjures your image, it fades away, replaced by the haunting sight of Tom's lifeless body sprawled on the ground. A bullet in his head.

The conflicting scenes play out in his mind, like a relentless tug-of-war between his love for you and his hatred of himself.

“Final chance, my man. If you're not interested, I'll find someone else," the well-dressed man leers, his voice oozing with sleaze. The allure hangs in the air, teasing Frankie. Should he yield to one more mistake?

Frankie's trembling hand reaches out, fingers quivering as they inch closer to the small bag before him. At that moment, a surge of regret and guilt floods his senses, clawing at his conscience like relentless demons. His heart aches with the weight of his past mistakes, the pain he has caused, and the promises he has broken. The promise he will break.

Frankie clenches his fists as he seizes the bag, his fingers tightly closing around it. Doubt swirls in him as he wrestles with the bitter truth—he wasn’t a good man and he sure as hell wasn’t worthy of redemption. What difference would one more mistake make?

So, Frankie surrenders. He abandons the fight and lets himself fall. As he pays for the chemical release that will soon free him from himself, he feels your arms holding him tightly and your mouth planting gentle kisses on his face, providing the comfort he so desperately craves. But reality sets in; you're not there to catch him. So, he makes his way to the nearest bathroom, and three words echo incessantly in his mind, like a broken record: “Ignorance is bliss”.

He fucking hopes that it’s true.

[pimosworld]

would you be able to write something about santi and frankie making a tree house for the reader's kids?

her kids have always wanted one and there's a perfect tree for it right in the center of the back yard, but she's never had the time to make it herself or get a professional to make it.

one day, at a neighborhood barbecue, pope is talking to reader's kids (trying desperately to be their favorite uncle) when they inform him of their plan of how to get their mom to make their tree house.

he tells them to draw him up a plan of their dream tree house and tells them he'll see what he can do. with the help of fish, they draw up a real plan of action from the drawing and set out finding materials. reclaimed wood, an old slide that really just needs a fresh paint job, a carpet to go inside, and some old moroccan style tiles for the roof.

they show up, truck bed full of supplies, unannounced and get to work unloading and constructing the thing. how can the reader be so mad when her kids look so happy helping them build it and playing in it once it's built?!

(new anon, sorry that this was so long.)

Pairing-Triple frontier boys x f!reader

Summary-Your kids find a way to get what they want both for you and for them.

CW-SFW, Fluff, angst, mentions of parent loss, mentions of spouse loss, tf boys being protective, tf boys being great uncles, mentions of insecurities, kids being menaces, dating, cursing, inaccurate descriptions of tree house build time because this is my world and we can build tree houses quickly, so much fluff. The boys being good with their hands.

WC-2.7k

A/N- I’m sorry this took me so long anon. Writers block sucks but it’s only fitting that the anniversary of my first ever fic COMPANY that came up a few weeks ago featuring the tf boys is kicked off with your request for some Frankie and Santi being amazing. I made some adjustments but I hope this is everything you wanted and more.

[Triple Frontier Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

If you build it

“I can tell they’re up to something.” Santi shoots you a look as he flips the burgers on the grill. 

  “They’re kids of course they’re up to something. The question is what.” Santi closes the grill as he looks across the wide expanse of yard at his niece and nephew playing in the sandbox. 

  It looks like the childlike version of an ops mission happening. To someone else it may just look like a little girl playing with a stick in the sand but Santi knows better than that. 

  ****

  It’s such an odd feeling, you should still be grieving right? You most certainly shouldn’t be looking at Santi and his chiseled jaw as he watches your kids play. Or watching the way his muscles flex in his tight tee shirt as he crosses his arms. You’re so distracted you don’t even realize he’s speaking to you. 

  “Can you watch the grill for a second?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you feel flushed for all the wrong reasons. The sweltering heat does nothing to hide your embarrassment. 

  “Ya of course but don’t be gone too long. I’ve been known to burn anything on the grill.” 

  “I’ll make it quick then.” He winks at you as he walks across your lush green yard. Swiftly dodging a football that Benny throws deliberately at his head as he flips him off in return. 

  “You’re gonna burn a hole in his pants if you keep staring.” You jump at the sound of Frankie’s voice and he has the decency to look apologetic at your reaction. 

  You hadn’t really noticed how much they’ve all aged in the last few months. His hair is a little longer as it curls around his cap. His worry lines are just a bit deeper than you last remember them being. Yet he still smiles at you all the same as he pulls you into a deep hug, kissing the top of your head. 

  “I didn’t mean to scare you cariño, I was only joking.” 

  You shove him off playfully as you open the grill again. “I wasn’t staring.” 

  He bumps you out of the way as he grabs the spatula from your hand. “Sure…whatever you say. Your secrets are safe with me.” You watch him as he effortlessly dispatches all the burgers to a plate and sets them aside. 

  You bite your lip as you wait for him to say something but you know he’s giving you time to think. Something he’s always done for you, knowing that your mind is going a mile a minute and if anyone interrupts that train of thought it might be gone forever. 

  He’s just standing beside you like a steady weight as he glances around the yard at some people he barely knows and others he knows like the back of his hand. Now it’s mostly close friends and one or two neighbors, compared to several months ago when he couldn’t pick out a familiar face among the crowd. People tend to forget that your grieving continues even long after you’ve decided not to show up. 

  He shouldn’t feel bad for you because you’re a strong woman. More resilient than any of them could ever be. 

  “Frankie, can I ask you something?” You say with a nervous smile. 

  “You’re allowed to move on.” 

  You glance up at him and it’s intense the way he meets your eyes. “I didn’t ask the question.” 

  “You didn’t have to…my answer is still the same.” 

  ****

  As Santi approaches the sandbox he can see some kind of intricate drawing. Lexi is using a stick practically the size of her to draw it out while her brother Liam watches from the corner. She looks so much like you, especially with her focused face on as she draws another detailed set of lines that he still can’t quite make out. 

  Liam glances up at him and gestures with his fingers to stay quiet. Santi takes a seat at the corner of the box near him as they patiently wait for her to finish. He looks so much like him that Santi has a hard time not getting choked up, he’s grateful that they both have your personality. 

  “Okay.” Lexi throws the stick to the side and dusts her hands off on her white skirt. “I think it’s done.” She looks up and flashes a toothy smile at Santi and he can’t help the way his heart melts. 

  “Can I ask what exactly this is?” 

  The little girl lets out a deep sigh as she looks over at her twin brother and he just holds his hands out in silent communication that she needs to take the lead. 

  “Well…this is a tree house.” She pauses briefly and Santi thinks that’s cool that she can draw but then she starts. In great detail for several minutes animatedly explaining the process of her vision coming to life. 

  Santi has to get up and stand from her perspective to really get a grasp of what she’s talking about. He tries to follow along as she explains the duel ladder system, one on the trunk and another hanging down from the middle entrance of the house. Two doors, one for entry and the other for the slide,that lets out perfectly into the softest patch of grass in the yard. Her and her brother evidently couldn’t decide on carpet or tile so they opted to split it down the middle. Her half would be tile and his half would be carpet. They would obviously need enough room for arts and crafts, the kitchen and naps. 

  He’s never been so impressed with an eight year old in his entire life. 

  He’s so enthralled with the design that he doesn’t notice the little girl standing there staring up at him expectantly. 

  “So what do you think?” She’s wringing her little hands together as she glances over at her brother with an equally curious look on his face. As if a lightbulb goes off in his head Santi is suddenly aware of what exactly they were up to. 

  “Mija…are you asking if I can help?” 

  She nods her head as she rocks back and forth in the sand. 

  “We both have allowances if that helps.” Liam chimes in from the corner of the sandbox and Santi has to try to disguise his smile behind his hand. 

  “Foods ready!” You yell from across the yard and Santi meets your eyes. A look of what are you up to written all across your face. 

  He crouches down waving Liam over and the little boy carefully avoids the blueprints in the sand to join them. “Okay…here is what I want you to do.” 

  ****

  Your kids are being uncharacteristically good. They finished all their food, they haven’t bothered you in over an hour and even offered to help clean up the table after everyone ate. 

  Most everyone has cleared out from the barbecue besides for the boys who seem to be enthralled with something over by the sandbox. Frankie keeps glancing over his shoulder at you and Will has shot you a thumbs up twice. If they thought subtlety was their strong suit they are sadly mistaken. You often wonder how they managed to be special ops and keep things a secret when it’s so obvious they’ve all got something up their sleeve. 

  ****

  The something they had planned despite your initial worry was in fact a much needed day for yourself. Benny was going to take the kids to the zoo and despite wanting all the credit Will assured you he would be accompanying them so that an adult would be present. 

  Over the last several months various repairs around the house had gone undone in the chaos of being a newly single mom. Frankie and Santi volunteered to spend the day getting your house in order while you had a full day planned with Will’s wife Jenna. Brunch, pedicures, shopping…you couldn’t remember the last time you treated yourself to a day that wasn’t centered around your kids. As much as you loved them you knew that at times it felt like the person you used to be was long buried underneath a world of stress and hurt. 

  Dating was completely off the table at the moment…especially since your current situation was all but off limits. Taking care of yourself for once could be a great start in the right direction. 

  ****

  “I told you to get half inch screws Pope.” 

  “Those are half inch!” Santi says as he hears Frankie grumbling under his breath. 

  “These are definitely a quarter inch and that explains another problem.” Frankie chides as Santi flips him off. 

  They’ve been at this for a few hours having completed the tasks in your house in a matter of no time. All this a ruse to get the tree house completed before you and the kids are back from your day out. 

  It’s been awhile since they’ve done something like this. Not just the physical labor but the reward at the end being something that they know is going to brighten a lot of days. They may bicker and fight like brothers but at the end of the day Santi knows how much they both needed this. To have their minds occupied with an intricate task. 

  Intricate doesn’t even begin to describe what’s unfolded before them. With their niece's original design in mind and a few additions when they got to the store this is turning out to be better than some places they’ve slept while in the service. 

  Frankie is putting the finishing touches on the bug screen that he decided would be a good addition to the entryway for the balmy summer nights. Santi’s never felt so large while he sits on the wooden bench that doubles as a reading nook. The wood matching the same structure that he knows could withstand any storm or hurricane. The sun is setting, casting a shadow along the bright yellow carpet they found on clearance at the back of the home decor store. 

  The leftover Talavera tiles Santi had from his home remodel fit perfectly on the half that would be the makeshift kitchen. 

  There are three exits and two entries. The trap door with a knotted rope, the wooden plank stair steps and the slide that leads to the softest patch of grass in the yard. 

  Santiago’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of car doors slamming and children’s laughter. 

  “We should head down.” Frankie grunts as he shuffles over to the slide, reaching for his standard heating oil cap placed on the bench nook. 

  Santi raises his eyebrows at the man taking in the scene about to unfold. 

  “What? How else are we supposed to get down?” 

  “Oh I don’t know the stairs or the rope maybe?” He says sarcastically. “We don’t need you breaking the slide before they even get a chance.” 

  “Fuck you, this slide was built to withstand a hurricane.” 

  His nieces squeal from across the yard interrupts their fifth squabble of the day. 

  Frankie flashes him a wide grin. “Last man down has to ask their mom on a date.” 

  “What?!” 

  “Byeeee.” Frankie slides away, throwing him the middle finger on the way down. 

  Santi had already talked to him about this ad nauseam. It always felt like the wrong place at the wrong time. 

  He opened the latch to the trap door, opting to climb down to spare him the embarrassment of using a children’s slide in front of you. 

  ****

  You pulled up to the house at the exact same time as Will and Ben. You don’t remember the last time you’d felt this refreshed. Your hair and nails done, way too many bags piled in the backseat of Jenna’s car with a new wardrobe. It was exactly what you needed and a much needed conversation with another woman to reassure you that you were perfectly capable of making your own decisions about your love life. You shouldn’t feel guilty about moving on and doing what’s best for you and your children. 

  You half expected your kids to be happy to see you but they both gave you light hearted waves as they raced each other around the side of the house, leaving you in the driveway with Will and Ben with amused looks on their faces. 

  “What’s gotten into them?” You say as the boys shoot each other a look and Jenna takes your hand on hers to lead you around the house. 

  “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than for permission right?” Ben says from behind you and now you’re really starting to worry. Your daughter's screech has you pulling away as you run into the backyard. 

  The sight you’re met with is one that completely knocks you off your feet. Your children are jumping up and down in front of a beaming Frankie and the largest tree house structure you’ve ever seen. This is something out of an outdoor life magazine. 

  You don’t realize you're frozen in place as the rest of the gang join him on the lawn. Santiago perhaps on purpose opted to make your life that much harder by effortlessly climbing down the rope ladder. In all the years he’s been out of the service the man still has an impeccable physique. You will your feet to move as you take in the thing that your kids have been asking you for since they could talk. The thing your husband didn’t make time for and the daunting task seemed impossible for you on your own. Paying someone was out of the question and you were too prideful to ask the boys to help you out anymore than they already did. 

  You don’t even realize you’re crying until Santiago approaches with the most worried look you’ve ever seen on his face. 

  “Look, I’m really sorry if we overstepped. I know we should’ve asked and it wasn’t our place…but the kids-“ 

  His ramblings are cut short when you throw yourself into him. He instinctively hugs you tight as he feels the wetness from your eyes soak into his shirt. 

  It’s embarrassing to admit how long it’s been since a man has held you and right now you can feel your resolve breaking as he soothingly rubs his hands down your back to calm your tears. 

  “I don’t know how to thank you Santi.” You mumble into his chest as you try to calm your beating heart. 

  It’s a moment before you break apart and he really gets a good look at you. Even with fresh tears in your eyes you look stunning. The most relaxed he’s seen you look in ages and just as beautiful as the day Tom introduced you to the boys. 

  With the group and the kids thoroughly distracted he figures now is as good a time as any. He’s far enough away that if you reject him he can slink out of the backyard and disappear to another country for three to six months while the shame dies down. 

  “Listen, I have to say something before I lose the courage to say it.” He nervously rubs the back of his neck as he focuses on some inanimate object behind you. “I understand if you’re not ready or you think this is highly inappropriate and in that case I’ll pretend this never happened.” 

  You can feel the hairs stand up on your arms and you dig your nails into your palm to keep from passing out at this very moment.

  “I know it’s wrong to say but I’ve always thought you and the kids deserved better. You know I loved him but it killed me to see the way he treated you and in another life perhaps I met you first and things would look a little different. I just can’t help but think maybe this can be a second chance and if you’re willing, I’d like to take you out sometime.” 

  The silence is deafening as you try to form words and Santi looks as though he wants to spontaneously combust at your lack of response. In all honesty you were never really good at flirting and now you’re spiraling because what do you say besides. 

  “Yes.” 

  He lets out a huge sigh of relief as he looks up at the sky thanking whoever is watching that he didn’t just make a complete fool of himself. 

  You both turn around to see Benny helping your son climb the rope and Frankie sliding down with your daughter in his lap as she claps her hands. Will and his wife made it inside at some point and they wave to you both from the large open window. 

  “It looks like I may be able to take you up on that offer tonight.” 

[luxurychristmaspudding]

listen

summary: you’ve been serving frankie and his friends at your bar for months. despite your wishing and wanting, the shy pilot doesn’t work up the nerve to ask you out before santi introduces you to his buddy, joel.

swept off your feet by the sweet southerner, and charmed by pope, the boys come together to show frankie exactly what it is he’s missing.

read part 2, watch, here

grouping: f!reader x joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia

rating/warnings: 18+. MDNI. no outbreak (tlou) - but based after the tf mission. softdom!joel, softdom!santi, sub!frankie, sub!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, maybe MFM?, sharing the luuuurve, praise kink, one (1) count of spitting in mouth, dirty talk, daddy kink (heavy, sorry lmao), oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it!), creampie, come eating, pussyjob?, so many orgasms i started to lose count, maybe a tiny bit of angst, m!masturbation, light choking, f!overstim, bad spanish, right okay we’re done.

wc: 14.7k. we aren't gonna talk about it.

an: this is fucking filthy. i’m sorry. don’t ask.

When you first started to hang out with them all, Will told you that Frankie was useless with women. What you didn’t expect was for him to be this fucking oblivious.

You had been bartending when you met him at a bar downtown - all industrial steel, burnished mirrors, and low light. Frankie and the boys would come in every so often, and you warmed to them immediately. It was hard not to. The four men were always respectful, always polite. They never overstayed their welcome, or their tolerance, and always asked how you were. 

Of course, it helped that they were also handsome, and you quickly fell into the trap you were sure they wove for all hospitality staff. The lingering glances from their table, the crooked smiles at the bar. The competition they seemed to enjoy amongst themselves of who could lather you with the most attention.

Will and Benny did particularly well. The elder brother saved a special, particularly mischievous smile and a wink for you every time he came to order, and saved a special, bruising elbow to the ribs for his brother every time he caught Benny staring. Benny was always a hoot considering his sore ribs, the air never seeming to have been knocked from him as he chatted away to you across the polished wood.

But it was the quieter two, Frankie and Santi, who piqued your curiosity. Santi - often cool, detached; who offered little information in the way of his life but seemed to want to be wrapped up in yours. Who would watch you over the rim of his glass of whisky, drop his eyes to your lips, dip his mouth in a smirk, and say he’d see you later. And Frankie, who could do almost nothing but watch you from his corner of their booth, his Standard Oil cap sunk low on his brow, both hands around his bottle. His deep swallow when you’d catch his eye. The blush that would crawl up his neck, threading through his cheeks when you smiled.

Over the months they came to the bar while you worked there, the five of you became friends of sorts. Once in a blue moon turned into once every two weeks, turned into every Saturday night. And you made sure you were always there, sacrificing the time you would have spent surfing social media on your sofa for time spent flirting with your favourite regulars. Enjoying their eyes on you. Enjoying Frankie’s blush when you called him sugar as you asked if he needed anything else. 

One day, you hoped he’d gather enough courage to give you the answer you hoped for.

You.

But he never did.

When the time came for you to move on from the bar, you made sure to let them know. Your new job further into the city was a step exactly in the direction you wanted to go, and though the men shared touching groans of disappointment, they congratulated you wholeheartedly. 

They also invited you to their Saturday night drinks. You gladly accepted. 

On your last shift, Will slid you Frankie’s mobile number, explaining that he was the most reliable member, the one most likely to know what was going on with the group at any given time. When you ribbed him about how he must always be on his phone, Frankie shyly admitted it was because he had a daughter. He was constantly on the lookout for updates, sweet little pictures and messages his ex would send over. They had a good relationship, and his kid - Lucia - was gorgeous. They just live a little far away, Frankie had admitted, a sad little frown glazing over his features. 

You had softened to him even more, asking him questions about his daughter over the bar while you poured his drinks, propping your chin in your hand and listening to him as he continued to talk after you were finished. You found yourself trying to make Frankie laugh, to hear his sweet chuckle, to brush a touch against his arm, see the sparkle in his eyes beneath his cap - similar, you imagined, to how your own eyes glittered back at him. 

The conversation only stalled when Benny called for him - Fish, where are those drinks? - earning himself a thump from Will, who muttered something about Frankie finally finding the courage and Benny’s big fuckin’ mouth. Frankie’s cheeks had heated, and he'd cleared his throat, thanking you before gathering all the drinks in his large hands and heading back to the booth.

What you had overheard heated the tips of your ears and rattled around your brain, looming in the back of your mind when you joined them the Saturday after. 

But Will's words must have just been a silly little joke, because no matter how hard you try, Frankie will not bend. No matter what you wear, no matter what you do, the curly haired pilot remains firmly out of reach.

And it’s not like you don’t have fun together. You join them on nights out. You’ve been invited over for poker games and parties. You share glances with Frankie, jokes, tales, hell, sometimes he even puts an arm around you. But it’s always the same. The end of the evening is always frustratingly uneventful. 

Crowded into sweaty bars and packed living rooms, you’re caught in a never ending circle of wanting and longing. Maybe that’s why, one night, you find yourself exchanging heated glances with Santi. 

Frankie never really touches you beyond a hug and a kiss on the cheek when you arrive, and remains a staunch gentleman no matter how much he drinks. Santi seems to strive to do the opposite. He finds you in the kitchen one night, trying to cool off after watching Frankie laugh and lean into another woman’s conversation, feeling foolish, immature, but trying to blink away tears anyway. 

He talks to you like you’re the only interesting person he’s ever met, standing a little too close for a friend, only moving away when you’re interrupted by one of Benny’s buddies searching for a beer. When you return to the living room, Frankie notices. Notices how Santi pulls you in close when you’re near, presses a kiss to your hair, places a casual hand on your knee when you’re sat next to each other. And how you let him do it. 

When Santi drops you off at your house, he looks at your lips for a long time. His eyes are burning as he tucks your hair behind your ear and wishes you a good night. But he doesn’t go further. 

It’s driving you fucking insane.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined the chemistry between the three of you before, so what was wrong now? Whose starting pistol were they waiting for? You can’t help your desperate huffs of frustration every time you close the door at the end of another night - alone, sopping wet, with only your hand to help.

Until one night, when you really believe, truly believe that it might end differently.

Frankie has been sat next to you in the booth all evening, laughing and chatting away. His arm is slung over your shoulder, his thigh against yours, your body pressed into his side. It feels good, it feels right, and he’s looking at you in such a way that you begin to teeter dangerously close to pressing your lips to his in the middle of the bar. 

You and Frankie take the opportunity to talk about anything and everything. Catching up on your jobs, how he’s re-received his licence, your families, future dreams and aspirations. It’s almost funny how perfectly everything seems to realign. You think this is the turning point - this is when you realise how perfect you are for each other, this is when you take the leap. The only hiccup seems to be when Frankie says he’ll be away for the next three weeks - working, and then visiting Lucia. Your heart crumbles a little - just a little - before you try to sweep away thoughts of him dying in a helicopter crash or falling back in love with his ex. It feels like you’ve waited so long for this moment that the universe might just try and be that cruel. Just for shits and giggles. 

But it won’t. Everything’s fine. Everything’s great.

Santi seems to notice. He’s quieter than usual, watching the two of you cosy up together. He looks pleased, if a little put out, and when he thinks you aren’t looking he exchanges a look with Frankie. A raised eyebrow, a dipped head. A fucking finally.

As you move to leave the bar at closing time, Frankie touches your arm.

‘Mind if I walk you home, querida?’ He asks, holding out your coat. You take it and swoop it on over your shoulders, grinning at him.

‘Thought you’d never ask.’ You say.

Frankie walks you home like a gentleman. 

Too much of a gentleman.

You bump shoulders every so often, but he doesn’t move to take your hand. And he’s all bashful smiles and throaty laughter, compliments and flirty asides, but you return them tenfold, wrapped up in a blinding smile.

You’re making it easy for him. Obvious. But he still isn’t taking the bait.

Maybe he doesn’t want you.

It’s an uncomfortable thought, but it bounces around your skull the whole way home. And it rumbles even louder when you get to your door and he pulls you in for a hug, a light hand barely lingering on your waist, before he wishes you goodnight. 

You stand there, a little dazed before your brain catches up and decides to deploy your last ditch attempt. Just to see. Just to find out. 

He’s halfway down your front path when you call out to him.

‘Frankie. Do you want to come in?’

He turns, limbs coming to a clumsy halt. His brows are high on his forehead, mouth a little ‘o’. Then he frowns.

Fuck. You’ve never felt like such an idiot in your life.

‘I - er,’ he starts, and you look down at the floor, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the concrete. ‘I have an early start tomorrow.’ He says. 

You look back up at him.

‘Sorry,’ he continues, ‘Any other time and I’d be - I’d be right there. Y’know. Just - timing, that’s all.’

You try to soften the bite that wants to creep into your words at his rejection, but barely manage it.

‘It’s cool,’ you say, trying to smile. ‘No worries. I just - I bought that film you said you watched the other day. Paddington 2? The one Lucia likes.’ A slow smile lights his eyes. ‘Just wondered whether you wanted to come in and watch it with a beer. But yeah. No worries,’ and then, because you just can’t help yourself, you add - ‘Wouldn’t have been any funny business, just so ya know.’ 

You force out a laugh, and Frankie drops his eyes. Disappointed, confused. You feel bad for a second, but then you remember how embarrassed you feel, how stupid. It makes your skin crawl. Nevermind.

You clear your throat.

‘Anyway. Get home safe, Frankie,’ you say, ‘See you soon.’ 

You rush in and close the door before he can reply.

---

Your phone buzzes with a text early the next day.

You open your eyes with a groan, clutching unseeingly at trinkets on your nightstand until your stomach lurches at the thought that it might be Frankie. You sit up to grab it.

It’s not Frankie. It’s an unknown number.

Hey. Do u want to head to the bar 2night?

You frown, confused, fingers dancing over possible replies before another text flies through.

Got a friend Id like u to meet.

And then another.

Its Santi btw. Cant remember if u have my no.

You breathe out, type a quick sure. Fuck it. What harm could another of Santi’s friends do to your pride? Your sex drive? What harm could a night with Santi do? You follow it up with -

Who else will be there? Are you setting me up?

You chew on your thumb anxiously, waiting for his reply.

Just the 3 of us. Might be ;)

You snort at his reply, shooting back -

God. Am I really such a charity case?

 - before getting out of bed to make breakfast. Halfway through your pancakes, you get a text back.

Nah. Just cant stand seein a good girl like u go to waste.

You put your phone back down on the table, slowing your chewing. Good girl. The two words send a lick of heat curling up your spine. A good girl like you going to waste. 

A slow, smug smile spreads across your lips. You pick up your phone again and begin to tap out a reply. A risky move, one which would surely harm your chances with Frankie, but fuck it - 

If you don’t want me to go to waste, you could always have me to yourself.

You stare at the blinking cursor for a second before deleting the message, instead asking him for a time. No need to be hasty. 

You don’t know what his friend looks like yet, anyway.

As it turns out, Santi’s friend might be exactly who you need to forget about Frankie.

Joel Miller is older, in his fifties. Greying, tall, broad, gorgeous, and a true southern gentleman to boot. The kind of guy - you imagine - who would drive you to work the next day if you couldn’t walk after seeing him the night before.

And it’s going well. Really well.

You, Joel, and Santi chat easily around your little table, swapping jokes, telling stories, brushing touches to each other here and there. Joel works in construction - runs his own company with his brother, Tommy - and has a grown up daughter called Sarah. He’s worked on Santi’s house - actually knows most of the group - but is usually too busy (or too tired, he tells you) to come out and join them. You think about how unlucky it is that he hadn’t come around before you made such a fool of yourself last night. And then you vow not to think of Frankie again for the rest of the evening.

Joel is easy to be around - warm, safe - earthy and masculine. And maybe it’s something to do with the way his chocolate brown eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles, but you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You can’t seem to stop thinking about what it would be like to run your fingers through his curls, feel the scrape of his stubble between your thighs, what his arms look like beneath his flannel, what his fingers - what his cock - would feel like inside of you. Something about the man is making your toes curl in your seat, and he hasn’t done anything more innocuous than thumb the charm hanging from your necklace. It’s agonising. 

And to make it worse, Santi knows. You don’t know how, but he does. Maybe you’re just that easy to read. 

In the blur of Joel leaving to go to the bathroom and get more drinks, Santi leans over to you.

‘What do you think?’ He asks.

You shrug, trying your absolute hardest to play it cool.

‘He’s nice. I like him. You should bring him out more often.’ 

Santi’s eyes glint with something molten, something teasing and knowing and sharp.

‘You want to take him home.’

You baulk at his words, cheeks flaming in response. You open and close your mouth as he leans in and laughs.

‘I never said that -’ you splutter, but Santi takes your hand.

‘You don’t need to, querida,’ he says, ‘I can see it written all over your face.’ 

You groan, forehead falling to his shoulder. 

‘If it helps,’ he continues, ‘I think he wants to take you home, too.’ 

You look up from his shoulder into his eyes, and they glimmer back at you. You bite your lip.

‘Ya think?’ You ask.

‘Yeah, baby,’ he teases, ‘I do.’

You hum against him before tilting your face further back.

‘You know…’ you say, lips loosened by the alcohol. Santi tips his head to the side, waiting for you to continue. ‘'S not quite how I imagined the night would end.’

His lips quirk in a smile again. Ah, fuck.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. I kinda thought you’d take me home instead.’

Santi chuckles and looks away around the room. When his eyes settle back on you, they’re black and burning.

‘I’ve thought about it,’ he says, scratching his beard, ‘A lot. But I guessed you were too caught up on Frankie.’

You freeze at his words and sit up straight, clearing your throat.

‘I don’t -’ but Santi shakes his head at you, cutting you off. He says your name softly.

‘I know about last night,’ he says quietly. Your cheeks begin to burn again, but this time for a completely different reason. ‘He told me about it after he walked you home. And I told him he was the biggest fuckin’ idiot I know.’ 

Despite yourself, you smile.

‘I’m not gonna take you home, baby,’ Santi continues as you watch him, curious, ‘Not right now, anyway. My shit is complicated enough -’ Santi cuts himself off with a sigh, and your brows bunch together.

‘What’s wrong?’ you ask, your voice low and kind despite the fire sparking at his words.

Santi looks at you again, and whatever’s in his eyes looks too complex to divulge. He thumbs your knuckles, swirling patterns onto your hand.

‘Nothing,’ he says, but you frown at him again. ‘Just… stuff. Stuff to do with Frankie. It’s - complicated. I’ll tell you about it some other time. But what I wanted to say was - I wanted you to meet Joel. Because I think you’d be great for each other.’ 

Your jaw drops again, but before you can ask any questions, anything about his stuff with Frankie, Joel reappears with new drinks for the three of you. Santi gives you a tight-lipped smile, squeezing your hand before picking up his bottle. But you drop his gaze when Joel places a hand at the top of your back as he sits down.

‘Everything okay, baby?’ He asks. 

Santi doesn’t leave early, but he doesn’t leave late, either. He stays long enough to know exactly where this thing with you and Joel is going, and then bails when he knows he should. Even if you still kinda wish he’d stay. 

Even if you didn’t get the chance to ask him more about Frankie.

You and Joel linger for an hour longer, the ache in your core and the wetness in your underwear in response to him now almost impossible to ignore. Joel keeps a hand on your thigh. He sweeps a palm down your arm, tucks your hair behind your ear. And when the bell for closing rings out, he takes your hand and leads you out into the night.

He keeps a hold of your hand the whole way to your door. 

When you get home, you turn to him on your doorstep. He smiles at you, taking you in through his eyelashes. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

You grip your keys tightly in your fist, the metal leaving marks and almost drawing blood as he leans in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You forget to breathe as his scent crowds your senses, as the scruff of his beard scratches your cheek. You want to lick his neck, find out if he tastes as good as he smells, want to know what it feels like to have him pressed against you, on top of you, under you, behind you -

Joel cuts through your thoughts with a low chuckle against your ear.

‘Breathe, darlin’.’ He murmurs.

You open your eyes, take a deep breath, and sigh a laugh as you look down at your feet. 

He is still unbearably close, and you know, you know you shouldn’t, but you don’t know if you’ll ever see this man again, and everything Santi said at the bar, and the fact that you feel like Joel could make you come with just a flick of his wrist is likely what sparks your tongue to stutter out - 

‘Do you want to come in?’

Joel looks down at you again, a fire alight in his eyes. The heat sends a shiver down your spine.

He doesn’t give you an answer. Just pushes your front door open, takes your wrist, and pulls you inside.

---

Being with Joel is great.

It’s amazing. It’s like you finally have someone who can keep up with you. Your brain, your days, your plans. It’s like someone plopped Joel Miller on earth with a little note saying he was yours.

In the three weeks after you first meet him, you share countless breakfasts and dinners and spend your weekends wrapped up in sheets watching reruns of Golden Girls. It’s so simple to spend time with someone who is so easy to be around, someone who just gets you. 

Joel makes you laugh, makes you feel important, wanted.

And the sex is incredible.

Like nothing you’ve ever had with anyone else. He seems to know what to do, exactly how you want it done, every time - it’s effortless. And somehow, you seem to do the same for him. In fact, the only problems you seem to have found are his size (because he’s huge) and the fact that you can’t be inside each other all the time.

Which is why it takes so much effort for you to peel yourself away from him when Santi asks if you’d like to join him and the guys for drinks on Saturday. You give him an affirmative before promptly being distracted by Joel coming out of the shower.

You see his reply forty minutes later.

Frankie will b there. That OK?

You type back a quick -

Of course :)

 - before getting on with your day.

Drinks are almost the same as usual. It’s surprisingly easy to slot right back into where you were. Laughing, chatting, joking with Will and Benny. What they’ve been up to, who they’ve been with. Questions you manage to dodge with only a knowing smirk from Santi to remind you he knows exactly who you’ve been doing. 

Frankie joins in from across the table. He couldn’t meet your eye when you first arrived, but over the course of the evening and a few drinks, he seems to have relaxed enough to look at you. Really look at you.

Which is unfortunate, because you can still feel Joel’s come from earlier in the day seeping into your underwear.

At some point in the evening, Benny and Will make their excuses - they have a family get together tomorrow they can’t be too hungover for - and it’s just you, Frankie, and Santi left. 

It’s easy for the most part. Santi bridging the gap so effortlessly that it begins to feel like nothing happened between you and Frankie at all. And it didn’t, you remind yourself. Nothing happened. And then you met Joel.

So why are you still thinking about it?

You try to distract yourself, lose yourself in the conversation taking place between the two men. Something about Star Wars, new castings they’ve chosen for a series coming out later in the year. You try to contribute as much as you can, but fail miserably, earning yourself a brief history of the franchise from Santi. Eventually you get him to ease off with a hand to his chest, laughing until he starts to giggle, too. He uses the interlude to get up to use the bathroom and get more drinks, leaving you with Frankie and his soft, brown eyes.

You peer at each other nervously from across the table. You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lip, as he chews the inside of his cheek before taking a deep breath and meeting your eye. 

You feel your jaw clench.

‘About the other night, a few weeks back,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I was a fuckin’ moron -’ he pauses for a moment, sweeps a hand over his face. ‘I’m real rusty at this. The whole dating thing. I don’t think I even realised what it was you were sayin’ to me.’ Frankie huffs a laugh. A horrible, anxious feeling starts to work its way up your throat. ‘But I -’

He’s interrupted as a bartender floats by your booth, sweeping up some of the empty glasses. You smile up at her and thank her sweetly. 

Maybe you can stall whatever Frankie has to say.

She swats at the air with her free hand.

‘Not at all, sugar,’ she says, ‘Can’t let a thing like empties get in the way of a date like this.’

You smile at her and bite your tongue, feeling hot. A blush begins to claw up your cheeks as she winks at you both and swings away. Had she not seen Santi? And - fuck - now how do you brush this off with Frankie? How do you stop where this is going?

You turn your eyes back to him, and he hasn’t even flushed at the insinuation. Instead, he bites his lip, something which sends a jolt of heat to the space between your thighs. He scratches the back of his neck, and rushes out in a lowered voice that even though he’s busy with work at the moment, he’d like to make it right -

‘I’d really love to take you out this weekend.’

Your stomach plummets to your feet. Fuck. 

Tears of frustration prickle in your eyes. A lump of panic settles in your throat, and you almost feel like you could run out of the bar. Why is he doing this now?

You take a deep breath and try to form the kindest smile, the most apologetic furrow in your brows that you can.

‘Frankie,’ you breathe, and already his face begins to fall. You lean across the table and take one of his massive hands. ‘I’d have loved to, but -’

He shakes his head quickly, trying to draw his hand back.

‘It’s okay,’ he begins, ‘Fuck, I’m sorry. I must have just misread - I didn’t mean - I don’t want you to feel -’

But his interruption only serves to further spark the surge of irritation. You squeeze his hand tighter so he can’t rip it away and utter his name harshly. He stops immediately, his eyes whipping back to yours. Something stirs in you at his immediate obedience.

‘Listen to me,’ you say, shaking off your traitorous thoughts. ‘I’d have loved to. But I - I literally just started seeing someone, and I -’ you break off, groaning in frustration, ‘I don’t know if it’s serious, or if it’s exclusive, but he’s great, and I don’t want anyone - especially you - to get hurt by me being selfish or not knowing where things are at.’ You huff out a breath and meet his eye. He looks disappointed, upset even - but worst of all he looks understanding, almost grateful that you don’t want him to get caught up in this complex knot of wanting. 

‘Frankie,’ you say softly, and try to smile, ‘I mean this in the least… damaging way. If you had asked me three weeks ago, when we were here last, I’d have said yes. In a heartbeat.’

Maybe it does make you an asshole. Maybe it does make you selfish. But it feels important in this moment to make sure that Frankie understands - you like him. You wanted him.

It’s just timing. 

Frankie grimaces.

‘Fuck.’ He hisses. And when he tries to withdraw his hand this time, you let him. But you don’t look away. 

A low light flickers in his eye. Something close to anger, you think - at himself, or at you, you’re not sure.

‘Is it -’ he begins, ‘Is it Pope?’

‘Pope?’ You ask, confused. Frankie shakes his head.

‘Santi. Is it Santi?’

You bark a laugh. You can’t help it.

‘Santi? Your Santi?’ you ask, bewildered. Frankie’s cheeks heat again. You want to put a pin in that, the flush at your, but your brain is suddenly so riddled with dredged up questions you can hardly order them.

‘What do you mean, Frankie?’ you ask, exasperated.

Frankie shakes his head again, realising his mistake, but you are beyond dropping the topic.

‘Frankie,’ you say, stern this time. ‘What do you mean?’

Frankie whips his cap off, runs an agitated hand through his hair, shifts his gaze around the bar for the other man.

‘He - he likes you, too,’ he says. ‘I was worried - worried he’d beat me to it ‘cos I didn’t ask before I went away. He said it was taking me too long to do - to gather the confidence to ask you -’ Now Frankie barks a laugh. ‘But it looks like we were both too late.’

You shake your head, the cogs in your brain turning slowly. How Santi looked at you was no secret. But if what Frankie was saying about how Santi felt was true, why had he introduced you to Joel? And if that was true, had you misunderstood what Santi said about him and Frankie? You feel your mouth open and close, but Frankie takes your silence to ask you another question.

‘Who is it?’

‘What?’

‘Who is it?’

You splutter over your answer, hesitating, stalling -

‘Frankie, how the fuck would you know?’

Because he would. And, rightly or wrongly, that panics you a little.

‘Is it someo-’

You cut him off, holding up your palm.

‘Frankie -’ you press a hand to your throat, feeling your rapid pulse. Fuck it. ‘I thought - I thought Santi was interested in you.’

Frankie chokes on his breath.

He stares at you, calculating something, breathing heavily.

‘It’s not - we’re not -’ he fumbles. You slouch back in your seat. Frankie’s eyes flutter closed. ‘We fuck around sometimes. And sometimes - sometimes other people -’ You groan, your head tipping back against the leather. Your head is spinning. ‘But we wouldn’t - I wouldn’t - fuck. I don’t want you to think that that’s what this is about -’ Frankie splays his hands in front of you. ‘God,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to explain any of this.’

The room suddenly feels too warm. You cradle your head in your hands, and stare at the way the table swims beneath you. What the fuck is happening?

You glance up at Frankie, but he’s watching you so intensely, so much concern and panic and want in his eyes that it makes you feel claustrophobic.

‘I need some air.’ You mumble across the table, and stumble out of the booth on unsteady legs. From the corner of your eye, you see Santi begin to cross the floor to return to the booth with drinks in his hands, see him watch you trip across the bar. In the back of your brain, you hear him call your name, but your hands are already on the handle of the front door, pushing it open and feeling the cool night air hit your clammy skin.

What the fuck is going on?

You fumble in your pocket for your phone and find Joel’s contact. You want to go home, and you want his help to forget about this. And, you think, you should probably ask whether he had any idea about Santi, or Frankie, or Santi and Frankie. 

The call with Joel is quick, and he sounds appropriately concerned without needing to hear any details. He tells you to stay in view of the bar and to not move a muscle, and that he’ll be there in 10. You hope he can make it in five.

He’s too slow. After seven minutes, Frankie bursts out of the bar, Santi quickly following him.

‘Fish -’ Santi’s calling, but he catches himself when he sees you still standing there. Frankie screeches to a halt, too.

The three of you stare between each other, eyes wide, like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off. 

Frankie says your name before you shake your head - rushing out a not now, Frankie just as Joel’s pickup peels into the parking lot.

Frankie can’t see him with his back turned, but he sure does when Joel comes striding from behind the two men to stand at your side.

‘Everything okay, baby?’ he asks in his low, southern drawl, and you instinctively lift your mouth for a kiss before realising how cruel that would be.

Joel tenses as you withdraw, finally taking in the other two men.

‘Pope,’ he says with a nod, and Santi smiles weakly back at him.

‘Frankie,’ Joel says a little softer, ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Joel.’ Frankie says through his teeth, realisation burning in his eyes. 

‘How ya doin’, kid?’ Joel asks him, placing a hand on your lower back. Frankie juts out his chin.

‘Fine. Great.’ He says, ‘I was just leavin’, actually.’ Frankie whips his cap off, runs a hand through his hair. His jaw is set, angry. He shakes his head at the ground. ‘I’ll see you guys around.’ He says to no one in particular, turning on his heel and fleeing towards the car park. 

Santi and Joel meet each others’ eyes in some kind of understanding, and you look angrily between them. Being left out of the loop again was not feeling cute.

Joel sighs, wrapping his arm around your waist.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.’ He murmurs, but you lurch out of his grasp and turn on the two of them. They watch you, surprised.

‘No,’ you say, ‘Nu-uh. We aren’t going anywhere until one of you tells me what the fuck is going on.’

Joel and Santi look at each other, expressions unreadable. 

Santi shakes his head.

‘Come back inside,’ he says, turning back to the bar entrance, ‘We’re gonna need more beers for this.’

---

When you get down to the root of it, the truth isn’t even that complex. That’s the laughable part.

The long and short of it is this. One: Pope knew Frankie liked you. But he knew Frankie moved slow. And he’d gotten tired of watching, of knowing he’d be a dick if he made a play instead. And he cares about you, his friend. Wants to see you happy. Enter Joel. Two: Santi and Frankie fooled around while they were in Delta Force. It’s not a secret, but it’s never really been discussed. Sometimes they still fool around, but it’s been less frequent as they’ve gotten older. As they date other people. Three: Sometimes, when those other people they’re dating are willing, they bring them in, and they all have fun together. 

Something Santi would have been fine with if you were his. Something Frankie was less cool with doing if he’d made his move. 

Santi admits that he’s likely just been a dick throughout the whole thing. You make him promise to do better over another beer. He does. He also now knows not to cock block his best buddy with a mutual friend.

And Joel feels kinda bad about that. Not bad enough to pump the brakes with you, but uncomfortable, sure. He’s had Frankie round for barbecues, he likes the guy. He’s sorry he whisked you away from him. But not sorry enough.

Joel hasn’t been involved in any of Frankie and Santi’s adventures, but it’s something he’s played around with before. He’s had threesomes, but he doesn’t really volunteer more than that. The thought ignites something deep in your belly and you file it away for another day, a different conversation.

Once it’s all explained and you’re laughing together again, everything feels fine. Normal.

Except you don’t see Frankie for weeks afterwards.

You drop him a text every now and again, just wanting to know whether he’s okay, but you hear nothing back. Santi tries to assure you that you’ve done nothing wrong. There’s nothing for you to worry about.

But it still sits uneasy in your gut.

You see Joel almost every day. And Santi once a week. 

The three of you meet for beers in a different bar from the one Santi meets Frankie, Will and Benny in - your bar. And you have fun. 

It never goes beyond touches with Santi, though you find yourself wishing more and more often that it would. He rests a hand on your thigh under the table, his thumb swiping patterns over your flushed skin. Sometimes he has an arm flung around the back of your seat, sometimes rubbing the back of your neck, sometimes tucking hair behind your ear. He watches and stares and smiles and laughs at you and Joel, and you watch back with delighted curiosity. You like the way he makes you squirm while you sit next to the older man. And Joel loves to watch you squirm, too.

He loves getting you home and finding your panties soaked with arousal. He loves swiping two of his thick fingers through your folds with the front door barely closed, his hand shoved down the front of your jeans, your back arched already, a needy whine heavy in the back of your throat. He loves talking you through the things he’d like to watch Santi do to you, how good he knows you’d be for the two of them, how well behaved, how you’d take, take, take it, and how proud he’d be to show you off. My girl. He growls as he fucks into you at night. My girl.

And it suits you, how giving, how generous Joel is. 

Seems to suit Santi, too.

At some point ideas had been swapped between you and Joel - some thinly disguised remark dropped by him over dinner one night had led to you picking at the thread and grinding him down over three days, trying to get to the bottom of it. He liked to share, he’d said. He liked to watch. He liked the control, and the pride, and the possession of it all. And goddammit, you liked the sound of it, too. Because after serious discussion - serious boundaries, limits, run throughs of possible scenarios, you talked through people who you wouldn’t mind trying it with.

And there was obvious one name you both settled on.

Santi.

And well, given his history, it didn’t take too long for you to convince him to join you.

And if it hadn't been for Santi’s suggestion, his knowledge, his understanding of his best friend, there’s a chance Frankie’s name wouldn’t have come up at all. You’re not sure if you’d have dared, considering how things were left. But, lo and behold, it does, and along with it the chance for him to see exactly what he's missing out on. 

---

All the rules have been arranged for tonight, but the most important one, which you must remember, is that Frankie is not allowed to touch you.

At all. At any point. 

You and Joel head to the usual bar to meet Santi and Frankie for drinks. You make sure to wear a dress which clings to your curves, dips at your cleavage, and settles just high enough on your thigh to be bordering on acceptable. And it must be more than acceptable, because Joel threatens to fuck you out of it three times before you leave the house.

It must be acceptable, because Santi cannot keep his eyes or his hands off you when you arrive at the venue, and Frankie from across the table cannot regain control of his jaw.

They both look good - you all look good - Joel with his hair combed back, a deep green flannel on, Santi in all black - and suddenly all you want to do is call the drinks off now and just head back to Joel’s. But the patience, the build up is critical. It’s foreplay.

Instead, you lean back in your chair, sipping on your cocktail as you take in the three men.

The conversation flows easily after a while. Joel is a master at it, weaving questions in and out, making sure to put both you and Frankie at ease. Besides, it’s been a while since you last saw each other. Not that either of you were any less eager for him to be involved. He’d been very keen, according to Santi. 

He’s in dark jeans and a tight navy blue t-shirt tonight, his trademark cap confining his curls. He’s not dressed up, but he’s made an effort, and his shy looks across the table, his kind questions and easy jokes have begun healing the fractures of what happened weeks ago.

It doesn’t hurt that he and Santi had a good, long talk, and that you then shared a sweet phone call. 

All the same, he sits opposite you, unable to touch you for the rest of the night.

Instead, he just gets to watch as Joel presses kisses to your neck, pulls you into his chest, skates his hands over your thighs - anything he can get away with doing to turn you on. And Santi isn’t far behind. Holding your hand on top of the table, bringing your knuckles to his lips, keeping a hand on your knee almost the entire time.

Your brain is a hot, buzzing mess by the time Santi checks his phone.

‘It’s getting late.’ He says, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Eager, no?’ You tease, trying - and failing - to cover the scent of your own desperate need.

‘Of course,’ Santi smirks over the rim of his glass, ‘But I’ll take my time with you.’

You try to laugh but fall back into Joel’s shoulder at his words, and the older man chuckles. He kisses your forehead tenderly. Frankie watches hungrily from across the table, the dark void of his eyes flicking towards his watch, desperate to leave. 

When you do, he walks at a distance behind the three of you. You smile to yourself and sway your hips a little more for his benefit. And you swear you get a low whine as your reward.

---

You’re quiet the whole way home, trying not to clench your thighs too hard or rock yourself against the seat. You're so desperate for friction, for relief, that it’s hard for you to concentrate on what’s going on in the car. Hard for you to think of anything beyond Joel’s warm, heavy hand on your thigh as he drives. 

He leans over to you halfway home, and whispers -

‘You’re quiet, baby. Everything okay?’

You flick a glance to him and find his eyes equal parts concerned and equal parts aflame. You smile.

‘I’m trying to be good,’ you murmur, ‘But you’re making it very difficult.’

Joel dips his chin in a smirk and squeezes your thigh, his fingers drifting dangerously close to your panties. You squirm a little in your seat, and it goads him to drift his hand further until it catches at the lace of the gusset. You gasp at the feeling, a tiny whimper making its way out from your lips, and all conversation in the back of the truck grinds to a halt. Your cheeks heat, and you turn to look out the window again, clamping your lip beneath your teeth.

No one says a word the rest of the way home.

Once you're all home, a silence settles around you. Everybody wide eyed, geared up, on edge. You’re not sure who to look at or what to say until Joel does it for you.

‘Upstairs.’ He commands, and everybody moves to follow him up the staircase. You keep your eyes on his broad back the whole way up, and once you reach the top, he holds his hand out behind him for you to grab. You do.

When you get to his bedroom door, Joel leads you in. You turn just as Santi crosses the threshold, as he pivots to Frankie behind him and says -

‘Kneel.’

Frankie glances at you, swallows, and returns his eyes to Santi. He drops down to his knees in the hallway.

‘Good,’ Santi murmurs, stepping forward to crouch down in front of him. ‘Do you remember the rules?’ He asks Frankie.

The younger man nods, his eyes dropping to the floor.

‘Yes.’

Santi nods once. 

‘Good. Listen. And do not leave this spot.’

Santi straightens, turning his back on Frankie. You can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him on the floor - small, submissive - and you can’t help the little gasp you let out as Santi steps towards you and closes the door slowly behind him, leaving just enough of a gap so that Frankie can hear everything that happens but watch none of it. 

Joel skirts his fingers down your waist and presses a kiss just under your ear.

‘You ready, baby girl?’ he rumbles. You turn your face to look at him over your shoulder, finding his eyes dark, a familiar power behind them. You nod.

‘Yes.’ you say. He nods, pleased, twisting to kiss your mouth before guiding you towards Santi.

‘Good,’ he says. He turns and moves towards the armchair in the far corner of the room, sitting heavily in it.

Santi steps towards you and gently takes your face in his hands.

‘You okay?’ He asks quietly. You nod.

‘Yeah,’ you whisper, ‘Are you?’ 

Santi nods, his eyes searching yours for a hint of hesitation. You try to open up your mind to show him the excitement, the want you feel. Satisfied, he licks his lips.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He asks. You nod again, and Santi leans forwards, capturing your mouth in hard, slow movement.

Santi means to make a study of you, you think. His tongue is everywhere, his teeth grazing over your bottom lip, his hands gentle and then needy, already figuring out exactly what it is that makes you tick. And to make it even worse, every time you take a moment to catch your breath, he has that fucking smirk on his face. It’s infuriating, and you quickly need to find something  which will wipe it off.

So you begin to undo his belt.

Pope huffs a chuckle against your lips, but doesn’t stop the work your hands are doing. Instead, he matches it with his own fingers. 

With deft movements, he slips a hand under your dress and finds his way to your panties, touching you through the fabric. You groan against his mouth, and he smiles, ghosting over your folds. Not to be out done, you slip your hand into his jeans and palm him over his boxers. He hums against you.

‘Are we racing?’ He asks.

You cock your head to the side.

‘Thought you wanted to take your time?’ You quip back, and something flashes in his eyes. 

He steps back.

‘Take this off.’ He says, tugging at the hem of your dress, and you pout at him. 

‘Does that mean you take these off, too?’ You ask, tugging at his jeans. You’re pushing your luck, you know. But you think this might be easier if Santi undresses with you, if only to really see what you held in your hand. 

Santi raises an eyebrow. ‘We’ll see,’ he says, ‘But you go first.’

You step back from him and glance at Joel, assessing. He nods at you, encouraging, and you pull your dress up and over your head. You stand before them in only your panties, and Santi takes a deep breath, biting his lip, smiling again.

‘Gorgeous, baby.’ He says. And you feel it. The way this man looks at you makes you feel weak, giddy - like your core is on fire. 

Santi steps towards you to kiss you again, making sure his hand returns to where it had been, ghosting over your underwear. You groan into his mouth, impatient now, and his teeth scrape at your chin as he clicks his tongue. In answer, he sweeps your panties to the side, and grazes two digits along your slit. You moan loudly again, and Santi groans up at the ceiling.

‘Fuck, querida.’ He says, before stretching a thumb to your clit and sinking the two fingers deep inside you. You stumble against him as he begins to work you, breathing heavily against his clothed chest. You turn your face so your teeth can nip at his skin underneath.

‘Take - this - off.’ You hiss, and he laughs, slipping his fingers out of you with a groan to oblige. Santi removes his t-shirt quickly and chucks it somewhere across the room before pushing his jeans down and stepping out of them. He hurries to find purchase within your body once more, rocking you against him, curling his fingers deep inside you. His tongue returns to your mouth and you remember his hard cock in his boxers. You reach for it, but he blocks you with his arm. You whine.

‘Tan mojada ya, baby.’ He drawls. Santi removes his fingers from where they were curling inside of you and brings them to your mouth, tapping your lips. You open for him, and he presses them in, allowing you to swirl your tongue over them. You clean off the scent of your heady arousal as Santi watches you. He presses them hard, once, against your tongue, and you open your mouth wide for him. 

He retracts his fingers.

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs, and it goes straight to your cunt. You whimper a little, and he grins, stepping back and out of his boxers. ‘Take those off for me.’ He says, motioning at your soaked panties. You almost trip in your eagerness to do so. He retreats backwards until his calves hit the mattress, and he sits down before laying back, getting comfortable.

Santi watches you from the bed, laid out on his back. His lips curl as you rake your eyes over him - hands folded behind his head, his biceps rounding by his ears, his firm, strong torso spattered with dark hair, and his long, hard cock, bobbing and drooling as he takes you in.

‘Come here.’ He says. 

You begin a slow walk to the bed, hesitating only for a moment as you crawl onto it and towards him. He licks his lips as you come closer, and you bite your lip back.

You feel unsure without being given specific direction, but you know that Joel will put you right if you step a toe out of line. So you place a knee on either side of Santi’s hips, and sink your heat down onto him as he pulls you forward by the back of your neck, searching for your lips.

You start to move, to adjust to try and let him inside, before Joel’s voice cracks like a whip out of the corner.

‘Either of us tell you you could fuck him yet?’ He growls.

You try to draw your mouth away from Santi to give your response, but he clamps your bottom lip between his teeth so you can go no further. You whimper and shake your head.

‘So put your fuckin’ hips back down. Y’ain’t earned it yet.’

Santi lets your lip go and flops back against the sheets with a shit-eating grin. You lower your hips again and place both your palms on his stomach, pushing your tits together. He eyes them greedily, reaching out and flicking a thumb over each nipple. You feel your pout grow, your brows drawn tight together and your bottom lip swollen, jutting out almost comically. Santi catches a glimpse of your face, and puffs out a laugh.

‘Poor baby,’ he coos, ‘Just wanna get fucked, don’t ya?’ You nod pathetically, but don’t dare move. He is achingly hard beneath you, his thick length resting perfectly between your folds. Santi lowers his hands from your nipples until he has them on your hips, and like he’s read your fucking mind, he begins to rock you back and forth.

A wanton, needy moan drools out of your mouth as your pussy wets him, fresh slick leaking out of your clenching hole. You wonder how much of this Frankie can hear. 

Santi groans beneath you, watching the head of his cock disappear under you every time he slides you forwards. The pressure of him just against your lips is heady, and you watch as he guides you forwards just a little more, urges you to lean a little further forward until your clit catches on the head of his cock on every slide. You throw your head back, your fingers scratching at his torso, and he watches you. He whispers that you look so pretty like this, how he can feel you, look at how wet you’re making my cock, baby, can feel you twitchin’ on me already, angel. He guides you back and forth until you feel a heavy pressure begin to settle in your pussy, a burning beginning deep in your gut. Your moans become more frantic as you begin to plead with him, though you’re not sure what for.

‘Use your words, baby,’ Joel reminds you from his seat. ‘Ask Santi. Tell him what you need.’

You release a hot breath of air, biting your lip.

‘Gonna come, Santi,’ you tell him breathlessly, ‘Need to stop. Gonna come.’

But Santi just smiles sweetly up at you, his eyes heavy lidded. You pussy twitches, the knot pulling tighter. He reaches up with one hand and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Why would I want you to stop, angel?’ He asks. You shake your head. You don’t know. ‘Talk to me, baby.’ He prompts.

‘I don’t know. Haven’t been - fuck - told -’ you whimper. He nods, swallows harshly.

‘I want you to come,’ he tells you, ‘I want you to come now, and then I’m going to make you come again, and then as many more times as I see fit, do you understand?’

You groan and nod.

‘Yes, Santi.’

‘Good girl,’ he says. ‘And when I’m done with you, I’m gonna give you back to your daddy, and he’s gonna make you come as many times as he sees fit, too. Okay, baby?’

You clench around nothing, painfully, moving faster over Santi’s cock of your own accord.

‘Fuck. Yes, Santi.’

Santi settles his head back against the bed again, running his hands all over your body, anywhere he can touch you.

‘Go on, baby,’ he says, ‘Use me.’

Fuck, you groan out, tilting your hips to allow your clit to scrape down the underside of his cock at every pass. Without thinking, you lean so far forward that you plant a hand around the base of Santi’s throat to keep yourself upright, tightening your fingers over his pulse point. He lets out a strangled moan, his eyes fluttering closed, and you feel the pressure in your core build heavier and heavier until the white hot heat snaps. You throw your head back, coming with gasps of his name and loud moans, still rocking yourself back and forth, still squeezing over his neck.

Your vision is fuzzy and your breathing still feverish when Santi grabs at your fingers and pries them away from him. You flush at your carelessness, an Imsosorry rushing out as you stare at your hand in his. He shushes you tenderly, breathing deeply.

‘S’okay, baby,’ he says, ‘I like it. Don’t have a problem with it.’ He squeezes your hand, and then fixes you with a wicked, cruel look. ‘Just don’t wanna come yet, that’s all. Only so much a man can stand when I can feel you falling apart on top of me.’

You flush even deeper, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, laving hot, open mouthed kisses along the hard muscle there. He groans and chuckles against you, kneading your ass.

‘Want me to fuck you now, baby?’ He murmurs into your ear.

You whine against him, lick across his jaw.

‘Yes, Santi,’ you groan. ‘Please fuck me.’

Santi grips the hair at the base of your neck to pull you away from him, and you let yourself be led. He slides you off him, and rests on his knees before you. Your eyes dip hungrily to his bobbing cock, shining with your come, tip an angry red, precum dripping down its length. It twitches under your gaze, and you lick your lips. 

Santi chuckles again, his hand still buried in your hair.

‘Dirty fuckin’ girl.’ He murmurs as he manipulates your body. ‘Turn around,’ he says, ‘Hands and knees, baby.’ You follow his directions, turning on the bed towards Joel before planting your limbs and curving your spine, angling your ass in the air. You’re not sure where you should look until Santi releases your hair and leans over your back, a hand on your hip.

‘Look at your daddy,’ he says into your ear, gripping your chin softly to angle your head. You look at Joel through heavy lidded eyes, only to find his are similar. ‘Keep your eyes on him.’

Joel is still fully dressed in the chair, head heavy against the back of it. His legs are spread wide, a hand on either arm, fingers spread and clenched slightly against the fabric. His jaw is tense, and you can see how his jeans strain over his cock - fully hard by the looks of it. You moan into the sheets as you watch him watch you. Santi kneels behind you, running his hands over your soft skin, as he dips two fingers through your folds, swearing softly.

‘She’s so wet, Joel.’ He whispers, and Joel’s eyes leave yours momentarily to see Santi hold his fingers up to the light, coated in slick. Joel’s hips move slightly, bucking into nothing, and he barely manages to grunt out a response. You wonder again how much of this Frankie can hear behind the door, whether he’s straining in his jeans just as Joel is, whether his ear is pressed against the crack just so he can hear what Santi is whispering to you both.

Pope grips one of your hips, and uses his other hand to line himself up at your entrance. He uses his tip to spread your slick around a little more until you whine again, fisting the sheets.

‘Please, Santi, please -’

And he needs no more encouragement, sinking all the way in on the first thrust. You cry out into the mattress, your sounds coming out choked, overwhelmed as he sets a relentless pace.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he hisses out behind you, neither of you able to get more words out. 

You quickly lose yourself to the feel of him pumping in and out, every part of you wound up tight, hot. You can feel yourself squeezing him already, making his hips stutter. Joel notices, too. You wonder whether he remembers Frankie is outside, as well, because he manages to force out in a low grumble -

‘How does she feel?’

Santi gathers your hair up in a fist, bringing your face up from the sheets just so they can hear you better. He grits his teeth, tries to stutter out his answer -

‘So - fucking - good -’ and at this, a delicious smile sweeps across Joel’s face. He’s proud. You moan even louder and manage to garble out a daddy, which makes him positively grin.

‘Atta girl, baby,’ he says to you, before turning back to Santi, ‘Just good?’

You and Santi both hear the prod in his words, and it shoots another thrill through you to remember just how much control Joel has; how he wants him to tell him what he already knows, to prove that his worth.

‘Not just good,’ Santi groans, ‘Fuckin’ perfect. So tight. So warm. She’s clenchin’ me already, makin’ me feel like a fuckin’ teenager,’ he laughs around a puff of air, before leaning back into you. ‘Tómatelo con calma, hermosa - quiero que esto dure.’ You moan again at his words, as they spark the opposite of their desired effect.

‘Shit,’ Santi chuckles out, ‘God, Joel. Pussy like I’ve never felt. And so responsive, too.’ To prove his point Santi lands a firm smack on your ass and you yelp, pulsing around him, biting your lip. He moans behind you. ‘Don’t know how you ever get anything done,’ he bites out, ‘I’d never be able to leave her alone.’ 

You glow under Santi’s praise and Joel’s warming stare, and push yourself up loosely onto your elbows as Santi returns both of his hands to your hips. You push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Santi gasps, before reaching around you to rub desperately at your clit. Your moans bounce off the walls, sharp gasps and whines melting into begging -

‘Please, Santi - fuck - oh my god, oh my god, please - ‘m so close. So close -’

‘Gonna come again, baby?’ He coos from above you. You nod furiously.

‘Yes,’ you gasp out, ‘God, please Santi, fuckin’ me so good -’

With a grunt, Santi hauls you upwards so your back is flush against his chest. He fucks into you harshly, fingers still working your clit, his other hand pinching and twisting a nipple as he kisses and bites his way along your neck, you shoulder, below your ear.

‘Good girl,’ he says, and your head dips back onto his shoulder, mouth open in a sob because he feels so good - 

Santi grips your chin again, yanking your face down and towards Joel.

‘Look at your daddy,’ he snaps at you, ‘You look at your daddy when you come for me.’

And you do. You can barely keep your eyes open as your body gives out, loud, broken moans escaping your mouth, Santi and daddy alternating somewhere in there as Santi fucks you through it, fingers still on your clit as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder -

‘Good - fucking - girl.’

And you see even Joel’s eyes close momentarily, his hands clenching to fists on the arms of the chair, a growl of desperation only you can hear tumbling out of his chest.

Santi is relentless as he chases his own release, but you’re so tight around him that he refocuses his efforts.

‘Again, baby,’ he orders, ‘Give me another. I can feel it. Come on. It’s right there. You gotta give it to me, hermosa -’

But you whine against him, twitching, trembling, sobbing through the overstimulation, unsure where the boundary between pleasure and pain is. You shake your head, try to catch your breath.

‘Too much, Santi, too much,’ you cry, ‘Can’t - don’t know -’

‘You can, baby,’ he breathes, voice like steel, and you whimper. That tone so similar to Joel’s, how he knows, how now Santi knows, that you can.

At his insistence, you tumble off the cliff again, weakly calling his name as a gush of arousal spills onto his lap, as you pulse and contract around his cock. He releases a strangled groan, his hips stuttering, his breathing heavy. He peers over your shoulder at Joel.

‘Where do you want it?’ he gasps.

‘Inside her.’ Joel growls, and you moan again as Santi sheathes himself to the hilt and comes and comes and comes. You feel him fill you, his dick pulsing and twitching deep in your pussy, and he sags as he begins to leak out. You both hit the mattress, Santi just about propping himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. You both breathe heavily for a second, until he moves your hair from your face and touches your cheek.

‘You okay?’ he rasps, throat dry. You chuckle breathily.

‘Yes.’ You sigh. Santi licks his lips and laughs quietly, too, shifting gently to slip out of you. You both groan, trying to catch your breath again. Your limbs are liquid, your body heavy, and somewhere in your dazed state you feel him dip a kiss to your shoulder blade before using his tongue to soothe the bite mark he’d left earlier.

You turn your face towards him as you feel his weight leave the bed. He smiles at you, muttering something about getting himself cleaned up before gesturing to the opposite way you're facing. You turn your head to find Joel, pulled to his full height, standing at the foot of the bed, still fully fucking clothed.

You slowly rise to your knees on the mattress, and Joel smiles at you, lifting a hand to settle against your cheek. You lean into it, turning your head to kiss his palm.

‘You okay, baby?’ he asks softly.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You breathe.

He nods, pleased.

‘Good. On your knees, on the floor for me, baby girl.’ He says.

You pull your languid limbs off the bed and settle on your knees on the floor, waiting patiently for him. You rest your palms on top of your thighs, tingling and relaxed, and wait for your instruction. It comes before Santi even leaves the bathroom. 

‘Mouth.’ Joel says, and you shuffle forward towards him, hungry hands grappling with his belt as he chuckles down at you. ‘My eager girl.’ And you shine a blinding smile up at him. 

You whip his belt off, launch it across the room, and make quick work of the button and zipper, pulling his jeans down his thighs so just his boxers are left. You lick your teeth at the sight of his barely contained cock, the front of his underwear stretched, the tip of his dick peeking from above his waistband, leaking and swollen. You rise up on your knees as you reach for the band, lifting your eyes to Joel’s as you pull his underwear down, smiling again as one of his big hands comes to rest at the back of your head, impatient already. 

His boxers and jeans pulled down, you take Joel into your hand, pumping him gently before pulling the tip to your mouth, blowing on it lightly before pressing a kiss to the weeping slit. Joel sucks a breath in through his teeth, and presses his hips forward, sinking his cock past your lips. You take him gratefully, opening as wide as you can, your tongue soft and firm against him, tracing and twirling as you hollow your cheeks.

‘So good t’me.’ Joel breathes out, pushing a little further, just to hit the back of your throat and hear you choke lightly. You moan around his length, your eyelids flickering shut as he begins to fuck your throat slowly, making sure to feel every inch you allow him access to.

Santi emerges from the bathroom, and he can’t help but grin as he takes in the sight of you on your knees before Joel, swiping a hand over his mouth to try and hide his mirth. You flutter your eyelashes at him, and he shakes his head before crossing the room to sit in the chair Joel was in before. He crosses an ankle over his knee, leaning back to watch you both. 

You hum around Joel and begin to bob up and down his length, using your fist to pump what you don’t have the patience to take in your mouth. Joel tangles his fingers in your hair and groans as he feels your tongue dip into his slit, slip over the sensitive spot on the underside of his head. 

‘Fuckin’ hell,’ he grunts, ‘Putting on a show for Santi, are we?’

You smile wickedly around his cock, before taking him all the way to the base on your own. You hold your head there as long as possible as Joel chokes out moan after moan, and from behind you Santi mumbles -

‘Fuck, Joel. She’s leaking all over the floor.’

Joel huffs out a breath, pulling you off his cock. He peers down at you, eyes dark.

‘Are you, baby?’ He asks.

You wiggle your ass to feel what even you hadn’t noticed, too caught up in sucking his dick. A small puddle of you and Santi has been dripping down onto the hardwood where you kneel. More slick pulses out of you at the realisation.

‘Yes, daddy,' you sigh, and Joel’s eyes roll up into his head. He yanks your hair roughly to bring you to your feet.

‘Get up,’ he snarls, ‘And get on the bed.’

Joel all but throws you back on to the mattress, and it happens in such a rush that you wonder if you’ve done something wrong. You wrack your brain as Joel undresses before you, his eyes scouring your body, taking in the marks, the bruises already forming, how your hair is wet with sweat at the roots, how your pussy still drips onto the sheets - 

And then you get it. Joel is getting off on it - on the thought of you being full, used, wanted, shown off -

Once he is down to just his skin, he crawls over you, lifting and pushing your hips to move you up the bed. He dips his head to lick and kiss and bite at your neck, and your hands flutter around him, touching him everywhere. His back, his arms, his neck, his face, scraping your nails down his exposed skin. He makes his way to your mouth, devouring you - all tongue and teeth until he rears back to look at you, sprawled and gorgeous below him. 

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he groans, ‘So perfect like this. Open your mouth for me.’ You do as he says, flattening your tongue out against your lower lip for good measure. He groans again, and then leans forward to spit in your mouth. You swallow it down hungrily.

‘Thank you, daddy.’ You say, and he leans back down to kiss you again before retracing down your neck, your collarbones, your breasts -

‘Such a good girl, rememberin’ your manners,’ he grumbles, ‘So good, takin’ Santi, look so good when you’re takin’ his cock.’ You whimper as he bites down on each of your nipples, soothing them with open-mouthed kisses. He kisses down your stomach, around your heat, nipping the inside of your thighs, making sure to leave marks, breathing hotly onto your skin.

‘But now you’ve made a mess, baby, haven’t you?’ He says. You mewl at the ceiling, clutching the sheets around you as Joel blows on your clit, hovering just above where you need him. ‘Words, baby.’ He reminds you, with a sharp slap to your thigh.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You cry.

‘And what do we do when we make a mess?’ He asks.

‘Clean it up, daddy.’ You pant.

‘Good girl,’ he coos, ‘Good girl.’ Before he licks a fat, hot stripe from your leaking hole up to your clit.

You gasp at the sensation, your back arching off the bed, the coil in your stomach already wound impossible tight, every part of your body still so sensitive. Joel works with abandon at your pussy, flattening his tongue to lap at you, tasting the mixture of you and Santi, slurping around your opening before focusing his efforts on your bundle of nerves, sharpening his tongue to work it in tight circles, then figure eights. Your hips buck strongly against him, and he secures a forearm against your lower belly to stop you struggling. He hums against you as your hand winds its way into his curls, scratching lightly at his scalp.

‘Daddy, daddy, daddy, so good - fuck - so good - tongue feels so good, baby -’ You babble to him, to yourself, and Joel lowers his mouth, working his tongue inside you, grinding his nose against your clit. Your shoulders shoot off the bed, and you pull his hair now, biting a curse between your teeth. Joel doesn’t let up for a second, just moves his forearm so he can force your upper body back down onto the bed. Your fingers loosen their grip on his hair, coming up instead to scrub at your face as moan after moan escapes you.

A groan echoes from the chair, and you flick your gaze behind you to see Santi watching greedily, palming himself through his boxers. The sight only serves to work you up more, your core tightening and tightening and tightening, an unbearable heat settling where Joel’s tongue is, but you need him deeper -

‘You close, baby?’ He mumbles against you.

‘Y-es.’ You force out, as he pinches your clit between his lips.

‘What do you need?’ He asks.

‘Fuck - your fingers, Joel, please -’ 

Joel obliges, slipping one, and then two digits into your cunt easily, fucking them in and out as he licks again at your nub, swirling and sucking and lapping -

‘Come on, baby,’ he groans, ‘Give me what I want.’

The forearm he has braced against your middle barely keeps your back on the bed as you come, hard and loud against his tongue. Your whole body twitches, so warm, as he laps and laps and laps at you, as you beg him to stop, to let you breathe for just a second - but he doesn’t, he never does, just eats until he’s had his fill, until he’s satisfied. 

When he lifts his head from between your thighs, his beard and cheeks are glistening with your come. He releases his grip on you and begins to crawl upwards again, and you clamp your thighs shut to stop him from provoking anymore overstimulation. He laughs down at you, kneeling back to yank your legs back open with his strong hands.

‘We’re not done with you, yet, baby,’ he coos, ‘I ain’t had all my fun.’

You shake your head at him, pitiful, your lower lip jutting out. He pouts back at you.

‘You don’t want daddy’s cock, darlin’?’ He asks. You can’t even find it in you to hesitate.

‘I do,’ you cry, ‘Just don’t wanna be touched anymore.’

Joel nods at your words, strokes your cheek, kisses your forehead.

‘It’s okay, baby girl,’ he murmurs, ‘I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. Won’t make you come again if you don’t want to.’ Liar. He knows just as well as you do what his cock does to you. But still, he pauses, makes sure you’re looking at him. ‘Can I still have this pussy, angel?’

You blink up at him. Something warm curls in your stomach. Relief, you think, that he’s heard you, understands - that you know - even with Santi and Frankie here - you could stop this at any time.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You say. 

He smiles, wraps you up in a tender kiss.

‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ He murmurs as he lines himself up at your entrance, and begins to sink in.

Joel tugs at the backs of your thighs, hitching them to your chest so he can watch as he splits you open. His eyes flick from your cunt to your face, the glistening slit stretching to accommodate him and the way your jaw falls loose in a silent ‘o’, your brows brunched, your eyes rolling and falling shut. The slip of him is sinful tonight - your orgasms leaving your body like jelly, Santi’s cock preparing you for Joel’s thickness. But he still moves toe-curlingly slow, inch after inch after inch providing a delicious stretch. He groans as he feels you flutter and tense and contract around him, still unable to breathe, unable to speak. Only he can get you like this - not a babble slipping past your lips, unable to do anything but feel him. Joel pants, moaning again as he bottoms out, tip kissing your cervix. He runs a finger over your cheek, letting you adjust further.

‘Talk to me, baby,’ he urges.

He rocks his hips back and forth, no more than an inch, but it punches out the breath you were holding.

‘Fuck, Joel,’ the whisper all you can get out. He smiles at you.

‘Yeah, angel?’

‘So big.’ you breathe, shifting your hips so he can sink even further in.

‘There she is,’ he huffs, pulling out again, ‘There’s my girl.’

Joel rocks forward again, and you cry out around him, the noise setting him off into a languid pace which allows him to hit every single spot inside you. You can’t bear to touch your own body, frightened of sending yourself into the void, but you do touch Joel. You clutch at his biceps, his tight forearms, nails leaving little crescent moons wherever you grip. You tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper curls, swipe the lines on his forehead, the stubble on his cheeks. He twists his head to kiss and suck at your thumb, and you mewl at him, eyes wide and glassy, so full of him you don’t know what to do.

You’re barely aware, even, of the slick sound of skin and Santi’s soft groans as he works his cock in the chair, caught up in the intensity of you and Joel fucking, his chest flushed and shining with sweat. 

There’s still not a noise, not a peep from the other side of the door.

All you can hear is Joel; his deep breathing, low grunts and moans, his whispered praises, and the startlingly wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you. You can’t stop the contractions that build inside you, and every time one ripples through your pussy Joel’s head drops a little lower towards your chest. 

Your orgasm feels deafeningly close and impossibly strong, brought on by every shift of Joel’s dick. You try to breathe through it, your moans getting louder, soaking the room with sound, but it’s hopeless. 

Joel dips his head to kiss you softly, swallowing your sounds for just a minute. When he pulls away, you teeter on the edge, everything feeling heavy and blurred and blazingly good.

‘Joel.’ You whisper urgently.

‘I know, baby,’ he says, ‘I can feel it. You’re taking it so well, sweet girl. So good f’me. I know it feels good. You can let go. You can do it. Come on.’

You all but scream against him, your orgasm ripping through your body, every muscle on fire. Your legs shake and your arms tighten around his neck as you shiver and twitch around him, and he moans, long and loud, like you’ve never heard him do before. 

As he fucks you through it, the relief, the pleasure catches up with you, and tears swell and pour out of your eyes.

‘So good,’ you sob, ‘So good daddy, God -’

Joel coos back at you. ‘Atta girl, baby. Knew you could do it. Knew you could give me one more. And it was so pretty, baby.’ he grins at you, before picking up his pace. You whine beneath him.

‘’S okay,’ he promises, ‘Where do you want me, darlin’?’ and you huff at him, as if you could ever give a different answer.

‘Inside. Come inside me.’ You say. And Joel crowds you out, pushing all the way in so you’re moaning again, pumping in the deepest part of you as his hips flex against yours, his head in your shoulder. You stroke his curls, breathing deeply as he relaxes. 

‘Jesus Christ,’ he mumbles against your skin. He pulls his head away, blinking. You giggle up at him.

‘Y’alright?’ you ask, and he smiles back.

‘Fuckin’ more’n alright,’ he laughs, ‘Are you?’

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘Real good.’

Joel slides himself out of you, both grunting at the loss, and he flicks a look over your shoulder.

‘You good, Pope?’ He asks, grinning at the other man. You twist your head to look at him too, giggling again when you take in his fucked out face, exhausted in the corner, his stomach covered in come. Santi can’t help but grin back.

‘Yeah, great.’ he answers wryly, and you giggle even more.

Joel laughs with you, rolling onto his back and pulling you against his shoulder, kissing your hair.

‘Did so good, baby.’ he reminds you again as you feel him begin to dribble out of you.

Santi stands with a groan, and makes his way back towards the bathroom, muttering something about having to clean himself up again. 

You press your face to Joel’s neck with a smile, leaving soft kisses, only coming away when you hear the jingle of a belt buckle. Santi is dressing at the end of the bed, just short of pulling his top on. You frown at him.

‘You’re leaving?’ you ask. He looks up, smirking again.

‘Not yet, querida,’ he says, ‘Just cold. Besides, there’s still someone we need to look after.’ 

You watch him as he buckles his belt with baited breath, curious as to how this will play out. You aren’t sure what exactly will happen next - whether Frankie will come in, or who will… deal with him. Your breath hitches in your throat before Joel answers your questions for you.

‘Go check on Frankie, baby girl,’ he murmurs, stroking your hair back. You bury your face in his chest again, and breathe in deeply. You scrunch the sheets at his waist in your fist, and Santi chuckles at your reluctance to leave the bed. You plant a kiss to Joel’s exposed skin before pulling yourself away to sit up on the bed. Planting your feet and gathering your strength before standing. You pick up Joel’s flannel from the floor and slip your arms into it, bundling yourself against the chill you now also feel as you pad towards the door. You feel Joel and Santi’s eyes on you, silent, assessing.

When you reach the bedroom door, you touch it gingerly, breathing deeply. You feel… nervous. How would Frankie react to everything he’d heard? You knew he’d done things like it before, but you knew you would be so… angry. Jealous and frustrated. You bite your lip, and slowly pull the door back.

Frankie is exactly where Santi left him, on his knees a step back from the threshold. Your breath catches in your throat as you take him in.

At some point during it all, he'd removed his cap. It’s tossed on the floor a few feet away, and his hair is… fucked. Strands stick out on all sides, his curls mussed and frazzled. Sweat is gathered at his temples, and his skin has a warm, glossy sheen to it. All across his face, right down to the hollow of his throat peeking above his t-shirt. His lips are swollen and bitten, wet with spit as his tongue pokes out to lick them again at the sight of you, and his eyes… Eyes so dark they’re almost black, pupils blown so wide they just sparkle back at you. Deep, dangerous, and hungry. 

He’s ravenous as he looks you up and down - your smooth skin, naked thighs, bare pussy - still dripping with come - up to your exposed tits, bitten and bruised, your neck, your face… totally fucked out, swollen lips, smudged makeup, your own blown out eyes. He moans as he takes you in, and you go weak at the knees at the sight of his hands raking up and down his jean-clad thighs. His dick is straining against the denim, against the claw of his zipper, and as you look closer, you see a wet patch much larger than just precum darkening the fabric. Your cheeks flush at the sight, at the knowledge - Frankie had come in his pants just listening to the three of you.

You breathe out shakily and get to your knees, so close to him you're almost touching. You reach a hand out to cup his cheek, and he leans into it, breathing in and out deeply, closing his eyes.

‘You okay, baby?’ You ask him softly, voice low. Frankie groans again.

‘Yes.’ He croaks out. 

You don’t know if you’re allowed, but you figure you’ll find out soon enough. You lean forward, tits spilling out of Joel’s shirt, and place your hands on his thighs. His breathing sputters, and his head drops forward, but not before you can catch his lips in a sweet, soft kiss. Just like you’ve wanted to, for so long. 

He sighs against you, lips seeking yours. But he seems so exhausted, so on edge, that he can hardly pour any fire into it. His tongue searches your mouth, almost like a plea. 

Please. Please.

As though he hears it too, Joel says quietly from the bed -

‘Help him, baby.’

You pull away from Frankie’s kiss and lean your forehead to his.

‘What do you need?’ You whisper. 

He looses a ragged sigh, too turned on to even know himself.

‘Can I touch you?’ He breathes.

You nod, and he reaches out his hands - carefully, gently - to skirt over and up your waist, to touch your stomach, to skate over your tits. You wince, once, as he traces over one of your nipples, and he freezes. You smile shyly at him.

‘It’s okay,’ you whisper, ‘’M just sore.’ He nods, and continues to touch, caressing your neck, thumbing your jaw, your cheekbone, stroking your brow. He’s so tender, so Frankie, that you feel tears well behind your eyelids. As though he can sense it, tell the gravity of the moment, he drops his hands, skirting them along your thighs, drifting towards your hips, thumbs rubbing the sides of your tummy, before creeping towards your heat.

‘Is this okay?’ He asks.

‘Yes.’ You sigh, this time against his mouth, drawing his lips back to yours. 

When Frankie dips one of his hands to sweep through your folds, you both moan. Low and long against each other. 

‘Fuck,’ he breathes against you, stalling. Slowly, slowly, he brings his coated fingers to his mouth, so close to you that you can smell it, the mix of you and Joel and Santi, and he slips the digits between his lips. He holds your eye the whole time, devouring, tongue swiping over every knuckle, every valley, until they’re clean. He releases them with a pop. You groan, wanting him, impossibly, and you ask again.

‘What do you need, Frankie?’

‘You.’ He says. Frankie swoops forward again to kiss you, one hand now at the back of your head, one back between your legs, gathering the mess between your thighs. You rock against his hand as he parts you, feels you, and you reach forward for his belt, his button, his zipper, undoing all three in record time. You slip a hand into his jeans, under his boxers, impatient to feel him, all of him, and he gasps against you, stilling his movements. He groans your name, almost in warning. 

‘It’s okay,’ you tell him, stroking his hair soothingly, ‘You’ve waited so long, Frankie. It’s okay.’

You take your hand out from his pants, and join his at your pussy, just for a moment, just to collect what’s left and what’s already pooling from you again, before returning your hand to his cock, using the combined juices to move your hand easily up and down. Frankie moans brokenly against you, his body slumping forwards. 

You can’t see him like this, but you can feel him - and Frankie is big. Not quite as big as Joel, but thicker and pulsing against your palm, already wet from his come and what you have just provided him. You swipe your thumb over his tip, collecting his precum to spread down his length, and he jerks against you at the movement. 

‘Fuck, baby,’ he whispers, ‘I can’t, I’m not gonna last, hermosa -’

You shush him again, kissing at his temple, his brow, his cheek, before nudging to his lips.

‘It’s okay, Frankie,’ you say again. ‘I want you to come. You deserve to come. You’ve been so good for us.’ 

And it’s all Frankie needs as he moans loudly against your lips, body seizing and relaxing harshly against yours as he spills himself over your fist, over his jeans, over your thighs and the top of your mound. There is so much of him it’s almost comical, and you laugh softly as he finally starts to relax.

He looks up at you shyly, questioningly.

‘Look at you, Frankie,’ you breathe, and he flushes right to the tops of his ears. ‘So good.’ You murmur.

‘All for you,’ he whispers so only you can hear. He holds your gaze, trying to communicate everything he’s been thinking behind that door. ‘All for you.’

You lean forward and kiss him again. Try to forget, for now, the scratch of those unanswered questions, what it could all mean. Later.

‘Come on,’ you say, taking his hand and rising from the floor. He follows and returns your smile. ‘Let's get you cleaned up.’

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 27

First of all: look at this beautiful banner @i-own-loki made for my fic! It's amazing, I love it and she is my saviour since I cannot figure out Canva! I'm going to go back and update all the previous posts so this will now be the official fic banner.

Also, chapter 27! I've been looking forward to this one for a while and I hope you enjoy!

Series Master List

Chapter 28 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 10k

Half the morning passes before you stir, only moving because Frankie slips away to the bathroom. When he comes back you stretch, yawning widely as he wraps around you, his hand running down your side. 

“I woke up wondering if I’d dreamt that Will was back,” he mumbles, “I can’t believe you found him, couldn’t fucking believe my eyes last night.” 

“Imagine my face when I saw him, they put a hood over my head and Will pulled it off, he’d recognized my voice and I was just dumbstruck, started crying straight away.” 

“You’re in good company, I’ve never seen Benny that emotional before, except,” he hesitates “except with Hannah, at the end.” 

“That was hard, telling Will about Hannah,” you sigh,” I wonder if Benny told him the whole story, all the details, or if maybe he wants to spare him that? I’m not sure I’d wanna know, it can’t be changed.” 

“I’d wanna know,” Frankie says, shifting in bed so that he can look at you, “It would fuck me up, but I’d wanna know anyway.” 

You shudder, shaking the thoughts off you, “I don’t wanna think about it, I’m happy Will is back, I wanna leave it at that.” You go to push yourself off the bed but Frankie grabs hold of you, his hand behind your neck, and pulls you down to his lips in a hard kiss. There’s an edge of desperation in the way he grips your neck and holds you close to his mouth while his tongue licks into you, all teeth and urgency.  

“Yesterday, before you came back,” he says, pulling back a little so that he can look at you, his eyes almost black, “I imagined what I’d do to them if they got even close to doing what Myers did to Hannah. I’d wanna know every detail, because I would do a hundred times worse to them.” His tone is rigid, harsher than you’ve heard from him before, and the intensity behind his words makes you frightened, not for you, but for him. 

“Don’t go down that route, Frankie, please,” you say, taking hold of his hand, “don’t even think about it, it’s not a good head space to be in.” 

“I can’t help it, the thought of that happening to you…” he trails off, you feel his fingers flexing around the back of your neck, “I just wanna fucking make them-” 

“Stop, Frankie,” you cut him off, “I don’t want you thinking about it, and if anything was to happen to me, I don’t want you doing anything,” you take his hand from behind your neck, putting the other one on his cheek. “If I go missing, come find me, please, tear the world apart if you have to, I’ll do the same for you. But don’t lose yourself to revenge, I don’t want that for you.” Frankie’s eyes soften at your words as you run your thumb over his cheek, “You’ll break my heart if you let hatred take over, I want you to be my sweet Frankie, even if I’m not here.” 

“Please don’t talk about not being here,” he says, his voice thick, “that thought fucking kills me, that’s what scares me more than anything.” 

“Being without you scares me the most too, Frankie, but promise you won’t wreck yourself trying to get revenge if something happens to me.” 

He takes in your worried face, your eyes searching his for assurance. The very thought of someone hurting you, or worse, makes his heart stutter, his first instinct is to think of all the ways he can bring retribution. But your pleading eyes, your hand on his check as you beg him to promise you a different path, makes him squash it down, he can’t deny you anything, even this. 

“I promise, cariño, I promise I won’t lose myself.” His kiss is gentle this time, his arms wrapping around you, as you cup his face. You let yourself stay wrapped up by him for a few, quiet minutes, breathing in his warm scent, his soft lips and hands on your skin. 

“We should go downstairs and see the others,” he mumbles, still close to your lips, “see what Will has to say about the smugglers.” 

You nod and pull away a little from him, taking his hand and tugging him off the bed. It’s a couple of quick showers for the both of you and then you go downstairs. Will and Benny are on the couch as you walk in, Pope making coffee in the kitchen. 

“Morning, sleepy heads!” Benny greets you, he’s got a wide grin, looking happy and relaxed next to his brother. 

“Morning,” you say as Will pushes off the couch and comes over for a hug. 

“Did you sleep ok?” he asks, tilting your head up to check on the cut his men left on your cheek. 

“Out like a light,” you say, and it was true, you hadn’t even had a nightmare. “You ok?” you ask in a lower voice and he catches your meaning, giving you a nod and a small crooked smile. 

“I’m good, it’s surreal to suddenly have breakfast with you guys like nothing changed, and about Hannah…” he shakes his head a little, “I always hoped, a little at least, that she was still ok. But to know that she was alive until just a few months ago…that’s gonna take some time to process.” He shrugs and you nod, leaving it at that for now. 

Will, Benny and Pope have obviously been talking before Frankie and you arrived and they fill you in on the details while you have breakfast. 

“So, the thing with Conway yesterday,” Will says, “had been brewing for a while. The guy’s an asshole, he was only part of the crew because he had good connections when we first started out. He’s been pushing for us to start smuggling and trading drugs, opiates mainly, but I’ve said no to that from the beginning, not happening.” 

“We heard that from Jodie Graham, she said you guys wouldn’t sell any to her,” you say, refilling your coffee mug.

“Jodie’s good to trade with but that was always our disagreement, but she was fine with it, didn’t push it.” 

“So what’s the plan for your crew now?” Frankie’s looking over at Will, “We talked about approaching you guys and working together before but now,” he glances over at you, “I’m not gonna trust them, they attacked us and we’ve taken out a lot of your guys, there’s gonna be bad blood.” 

“Yeah, the idea of you joining my crew died when you killed Conway’s brother in the warehouse,” Will says, shaking his head. “They had orders to scare you, ‘bit of intimidation, not kill you, but that obviously backfired.” 

“Ok, so collaboration is out of the question,” Benny says, “then what the fuck do we do? Take them out?” 

Will sighs and leans back against the counter, uncrossing his arms to rub one hand over his face. “I don’t think that’s gonna work, I mean, yeah we can take them out, we can handle them, no problem. But first off, I don’t wanna, not all of them are bad like Conway, and I’ve been working with some of them for years, I don’t wanna turn around and kill them, or give them a reason to kill me. But,” he shifts on his feet, crossing his arms again, “the guys who you’ve killed, they had family, and friends, in this QZ. And I’m not saying you did the wrong thing when you killed them, they attacked you,” Will’s holding up his hands as both Benny and Pope start to object. “But, as a result, the guys in the crew are out for your blood, and as they start spreading the word about who killed their friends and family, we’re toast, we can’t stay in this QZ.” 

You breath out a low fuck….and sink your head into your hands. You’ve just settled in New York, you just fucking got here, and now you’re all stuck with either leaving, or watching you back at every step.

“Great, back into no man’s land,” Pope growls.

“We should’ve just come to you straight away, Will,” you say, looking over at the other three guys, “We were being fucking stupid.” 

“I’ve been keeping a low profile, and my guys wouldn’t have trusted you, you’re new in the QZ, unknown, too risky. And,” Will shrugs, “what’s done is done, and the Conway situation would’ve blown up anyway.” 

“So we need to leave again,” Frankie says, seemingly shaking himself out of inactivity, “when, how and where to? We need to figure out where the fuck we’re going this time.” 

“I think I can answer the ‘how’,” Will says, “I talked to Jodie in private the last time I saw her. She was willing to let me sail with them up to Dartmouth, outside Providence. They trade up there. Their ship is big enough for the five of us, and them, so as long as we pay our way, they’ll take us.” 

“That gets us a long way away from New York,” Pope says, “sounds like a good idea. And getting to Orchard Beach is no problem, we’ll just have to be extra cautious and avoid your guys, Will.” 

“And then what?” you ask. “Is there a QZ in Providence?” 

“Yeah, there is,” Will nodded, “Jodie says it’s small but decent, might be good to check out, if not, the Boston QZ isn’t much further north and that’s a big one.” 

You look over at Frankie who nods at you, “I’m in, if we have to leave, that sounds like a solid idea.”

“I’m in too, and sailing sounds like a really nice way to travel,” you look back at Will, nodding your agreement. 

“Alright, if everyone’s in, I’ll get in touch with Jodie, set it up. In the meantime, we need to lay low,” Will says and everyone agrees. 

The next few days are spent collecting supplies and going over the resources you have while trying to stay out of sight. Frankie and Pope do a short trip outside the wall to clear a cache they’ve got stashed. You pace the apartment while they’re gone, glancing out through the window every time you hear a noise. When they get back you breathe a long sigh of relief, pulling Frankie in for a long hug. He tangles his fingers in your hair as he holds you close, letting his solid body under your arms sooth you. 

You choose to leave just after the curfew comes into effect at six pm, jogging through the empty QZ until you get to a tunnel you rarely use because it’s broken up and slow going. Slipping into it, the five of you stop just inside the entrance, waiting for anyone who might’ve followed you. After fifteen minutes you continue on, nothing moves behind you. You get through to the other end without any issues and quickly make your way through the Bronx towards Orchard Beach. Nothing stirs in the night and it’s almost worse, you’re expecting something to happen, something to go wrong, but you arrive at the beach with plenty of time to spare.

You camp out on the side of the beach, waiting for Jodie and Damon to show up. You’re nervous while you wait, pacing back and forth until Frankie stops you by pulling you to the side and wrapping his arms around you. He doesn’t have to say anything, you just bury your face against his soft flannel shirt, and let him rub his hands up and down your back. 

By the time the ship sails into the bay, a thin new moon has risen over Long Island and there’s a steady breeze. Jodie comes in with the small dinghy and gets you all out to the ship, it takes two trips to get you all and your bags onto the sailing vessel. Once you’ve climbed onboard and look back towards the shore, you feel your shoulders relax, leaving New York QZ and the exposed world outside the walls behind. Damon and Jodie get the sails up, helped by Pope, the only one of you with any kind of sailing experience, and the ship starts moving north. Damon sets a course that takes the ship out through the Long Island Sound and as it widens the shorelines on both sides disappear from view. 

“I’ll take the first watch,” he says, “Jodie will take the second one so you’re all welcome to sleep in the bunks below deck, might be a bit cramped though but there’s plenty of room to sleep on deck.” 

Benny, Will and Pope disappear beneath deck and you poke your head down too. There’s two bunk beds set up on either side of the narrow hull. At the aft of the ship there’s a small bedroom where Jodie and Damon sleep. 

“I wouldn’t mind sleeping up on deck, what about you?” you ask Frankie, eyeing the one single bunk bed available. 

“Sounds like a very nice idea,” he smiles, “Will snores.” 

“I do not,” Will grumbles in reply from the top bunk he’s climbed into, already inside his sleeping bag. 

Frankie chuckles and pulls you back up top. There’s plenty of room on deck and you roll out your sleeping mats, cushioning them with a few thick pillows Damon offers you, and zipping your sleeping bag together. The night air is cool but fresh and salty as Frankie pulls you close, your head on his arm as you both look up at the sky. The stars are impossibly bright out here on the water and in a low voice Frankie points out the different constellations, showing you the north star, a bright light in the sky. 

“It’s less than one degree away from the north pole, so if you see it, you always know where north is.”

“Did you ever use it to navigate with?” you ask, tilting your head to get a better look at it. 

“Several times, it’s a quick reference when you’re moving at night.” 

“You’re such a boy scout, Francisco,” you tease him, “Big, scary, Delta Force boy scout.” You giggle as he growls into your ear, his fingers finding the soft skin at your waist and tickling you.

“If we were in a bed I’d show you how I got my knot tying merit badge,” he chuckles as you squirm under his fingers. 

“Pretty sure we’ve already done that,” you smile as his hands return to their soft caresses over your skin. 

“Pretty sure you really enjoyed it too,” Frankie smirks, the memory of several occasions when he’d used his one tie to restrain your hands making you squeeze your legs together. Something to remember for when you’re next in a safe location and on your own. Right now you’re getting sleepy and you turn, your back pressed up against his chest.

“Sleep well, hermosa, te amo.” Frankie nudges his nose against your neck as he gives you a soft kiss. 

“I love you too, my sweet Frankie,” you mumble, his arm a warm weight over your body. 

Damon and Jodie make sure the ship sails safely through the night and when the early morning sun wakes you, the ship has already passed New Haven. It’s another full day of sailing before you reach Dartmouth according to Damon and you’ve already agreed to spend a second night on the ship so that you can disembark the next morning in daylight. A whole day on a sailing ship turns into what feels like a well deserved holiday and you’re starting to think Jodie and Damon really have the best idea about how to live in the apocalypse. 

“Do you ever see other ships out here?” You ask as Damon brings out the fishing rods after breakfast.

“Not much anymore,” he says, “in the beginning there were a lot of boats around, both sailing boats and motor ones, nowadays we only see sailing ships but even they are rare. Might get one passing on the horizon.”

“Do you ever approach them, see if anyone is alive?” you ask as he hands you one of the rods and a tub of homemade bait. 

“Sometimes, depends on how badly we need supplies or gear. We follow them for a bit, see if anything stirs, most times the ships are empty or have infected on them. In the past year we’ve only come across two other ships with people on them. Trade with one of them, the other one wanted nothing to do with us.” 

You cast out, following Damon’s instructions, the other guys are also casting out around the ship, Frankie’s next to you, he’s been listening to Damon speaking. 

“Do you ever go ashore?” he asks, “For supplies?” 

“No need any more, we trade for what we need most times, scavenge ships for the rest.” 

“And eat a lot of fish,” Jodie sighs from the steering wheel, “I used to love eating fresh fish, now I’d be happy if I never ate fish again in my life.” 

“I’ll see if I can catch a burger for you, Jodie,” Will jokes from the stern and everyone laughs, it’s a nice relaxed, holiday feeling on deck. Frankie insists on you wearing his cap as he sees you squinting at the sun, it smells like him and you give him a grateful kiss on the cheek. The sun has already given him a deeper tan and more freckles and he looks irresistible as he pulls off his t-shirt, he catches you staring and winks at you with a grin. 

“You look like a snack, Frankie,” you whisper into his ear as you kiss his cheek again and he smiles, turning his head and kissing your lips. 

“Never thought I’d be getting a tan in the apocalypse.” 

Between the six of you fishing, you catch plenty, more than you need. But Damon has figured out how to extract salt from the ocean water, and shows you all how he preserves the fish by drying and salting it. He gives you plenty of what he’s already dried as extra rations, and prepares what you’ve caught while the best catch gets grilled straight away. 

None of you have eaten fresh fish in years and it feels like a feast and even more like a holiday when Damon serves up what you’ve just caught. You stuff yourself, tipping back on the deck after lunch with your hands on your belly, groaning at how full you are. Frankie smiles down at you from above, his unruly curls waving in the breeze as his eyes crinkle at the corners with a smile, sunlight filtering in and out between the sails and lighting up his tan skin. You’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia, a memory of your first date with him, lying back on his blanket in the park, your belly full of tacos and smiling up at this gorgeous man who’d just taken you up for your first helicopter ride. 

“Do you remember when we had tacos in the park?” you ask and put your hand up to his curls, running your fingers through them. 

“How could I forget,” he smiles, “our first date. I fell asleep on your chest and if you keep doing that I’m going to fall asleep again.” 

You smile up at him and rake your nails across his scalp, always his favorite thing. He drops down and puts his arm over your waist, head on your chest just like he did in the park and it doesn’t take long before you can hear his soft snoring. You catch Will glancing over at the two of you with a smile but when he turns away it slips off his face, replaced with something more doleful. He turns and looks out over the empty ocean and you see his hand curl, white knuckled, around the railing and you know what he’s thinking about. You blink back sudden tears as you look up at the blue sky, dotted with little white tufts. You’d give anything to have Hannah safe on this ship with Will too. 

By the time the sun slips under the western horizon, you’ve reached Dartmouth, the old town dark but still relatively unbroken by the looks of it. Damon takes the ship out further into Buzzards Bay and anchors up. You’re sleepy and relaxed after a day in the sun when you curl up next to Frankie on deck, falling asleep almost instantly as the ship gently sways on the waves. 

The following morning the fog is thick over the bay, but Jodie and Damon have sailed here many times and they easily navigate to the shore, bringing you in at Nonquitt Beach outside Dartmouth. Jodie rows the dinghy in, bringing Pope, Frankie and you in last. 

“Thanks for everything, Jodie,” Pope says, as he unloads the last of the bags. “Safe sailing, we’ll try to get word to you about where we end up.” 

“Take care of yourselves now,” she gives you all a final wave before pushing off the shore again. 

“Ok, back on dry land,” Benny says, looking over across the beach, towards the residential area behind it, “What does the map say, what route?” 

“We head north up to route six, follow that to Taunton River, route six crosses it but if that bridge is out, there’s another one just to the north,” Pope says. “After that it’s a straight stretch into Providence.

Will looks over Pope’s shoulder and points at the neighborhood beyond the beach, “I suggest we try to get through this area and then go inland up to route six. Less houses when we’re away from the coast here.” 

Pope nods in agreement and pockets the map while the rest of you ready your guns. You’ve got three rifles between you now, and you’ve each got a handgun. In silence you all start moving across the beach, Pope in the lead, Will bringing up the rear. It’s not fast going but the neighborhood is empty and quiet. Jodie and Damon had left you here because it was a regular spot for them to meet traders and the area was regularly cleared by people who moved through it and it shows. The buildings are empty, looted, and nothing stirs. 

Finding route six is easy and then you turn west, following it to the river. The trek takes most of the day, a few detours necessary to avoid infected and by the time you see the river, it’s too late to go further, but at least your first day off the ship has been uneventful. Finding a safe looking building to stay in for the night, Pope, Will and Benny go through it, making sure it’s empty, before you make camp in the top apartment. You all divvy up the watches and despite being outside the wall in an unknown city, you sleep fairly well after your watch, and the night passes quietly. You wake up on your side with Frankie’s arm around your waist and his solid body pressed up against your back, by the sound of his heavy breathing, he’s still sound asleep. Desperate for a pee, you carefully move away from his arm and step into your boots. Will is on watch, the final one for the night, and he gives you a warm smile as you step out of the apartment after a quick bathroom visit. He’s standing at the top of the stairs and you lean against the window ledge next to him. 

“All quiet?” you ask in a low voice, not wanting to wake the others still sleeping inside the apartment. 

“All quiet,” he confirms with a nod, “Did you sleep well?” 

“Yeah, it felt pretty safe here, and having you four around helps,” you smile, “It’s really good having you back, Will,” you give his hand a quick squeeze and he smiles again. 

“It’s good being back with you all too,” he says but then hesitates, falling silent for a minute while you watch his mind work, and you reflect over how Will was always more like Frankie with his words, never speaking just for the sake of speaking, they always consider what they want to say before they speak. 

“It’s good being back with family,” he offers eventually, “and not just Benny. You, Frankie and Pope too. I had people I trusted to a certain degree in New York, mostly because I had to trust them. But they were never friends, never family. I’d forgotten what it feels like to be with family.” He looks over at you again, “I missed it more than I realized.” 

“I’m sorry we didn’t find each other sooner. We heard rumors about a guy who sounded like you in the months after the outbreak, but we didn’t think it could be you because it was all the way up in New York.” 

“Yeah, Benny told me about it, I don’t think I would’ve believed it myself.” He shoulders the rifle and comes to stand next to you, leaning back against the window ledge. “I...I feel guilty for not trying harder to get back to Hannah, to Arlington. Things might’ve been different if I had.”

“Or you could’ve died on the way there, there’s no point in thinking you could’ve changed anything. We did what we thought we could do.” 

Will stays silent for a few minutes, you turn to glance out through the window, down at the street, it’s slowly getting lighter now. As you turn back you hear him exhale slowly.  

“Benny told me about Lucía, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to Frankie about it yet,” Will says, his voice even lower, looking over at you. “I’m really sorry, Ben told me it got pretty bad.” 

“It did, we were at Denny’s cabin after and he shut off, barely even spoke. I…I had moments when I wasn’t sure we’d make it, it would’ve been so easy to just stop trying to survive. Frankie didn’t seem to see a reason to live either, I had to keep him alive.”

“What got him out of it?”   

“He got kinda jolted out of it when we got attacked on our way to the Franklin QZ, we were attacked by raiders, we got separated but Frankie killed them, burnt their place down and got us out. But what he had to do…to Lucía…” you trail off, exhaling slowly, “He’s…there’s something darker in him now, it changed him.”

“I think we’ve all changed, forced by circumstances,” Will says, keeping an eye on the open door to the apartment down the hall, “but that kind of trauma would break anyone, and Frankie had been through a lot even before it.” He looks over at you again, “He’d be a lot worse off if it wasn’t for you though, you know that right?” Will gently nudges your shoulder with his own, “You were good for him from the start, before the outbreak, and anyone can see now how you ground him, keep him centered.” 

“I hope it’s enough,” you sigh. Frankie’s darker moments were less frequent after the years he’d spent getting help from Herb, but you’d seen them flare back up when things got heated. The anger was closer to the surface than ever, never directed at you, but always present if he perceived a threat to you, or the violent thoughts he fell into when he thought of revenge. 

“Morning guys,” Pope comes out of the apartment, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, “all quiet?” 

“Yeah, we’re just catching up,” Will says and you push off from the window ledge. 

“Morning, Pope.”

“Morning, hermana,” he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze, “Please go wake Fish, he responds so much better to your morning kisses than mine.” 

“Tonto del culo,” you smirk at him and he chuckles. 

“He really is only teaching you the bad ones.” 

You find Frankie still sound asleep and you almost don’t want to wake him, he looks peaceful and younger, splayed on his belly with his arm as a pillow, the other one thrown over where you’d slept. Benny has stirred across the room, sitting up and scratching his chest. 

“Is it morning?” he asks, his voice drowsy. 

“Yeah, the others are up, I’m just gonna wake Frankie,” you whisper and Benny nods, pushing back his sleeping bag. You sink down on your side, next to Frankie, and run your fingers through his curls, pressing your lips to his scruffy cheek. His nose twitches and a low rumble comes from his chest. 

“Keep doing that, hermosa,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep and you smile into his patchy beard, your nails scratching across his scalp. 

“Time to wake up, love,” you whisper and he grumbles again, his arm coming up to wrap around your waist and pull you closer, his nose buried against the soft skin of your throat. 

“Despiértate, el pececito,” Pope says, coming into the apartment again, grinning at Frankie’s grumbling. 

“Don’t fucking call me that, I’m bigger and older than you,” he mutters, rolling over on his back as you sit up. 

Coffee and breakfast is quickly done and then packed up before you all head down to the street again. Route six leads right up to the river’s edge, but that’s where it stops, the huge six lane bridge has been wiped out by the bombing after outbreak day. The twisted blue girders lay rusting in the water next to the USS Massachusetts.

“Alright, plan B,” Pope says, pointing north, “there’s another bridge about two miles upriver.” 

“I wonder if anyone thought to make camp on the warship,” Benny says as you walk past it. Nothing stirs and it looks uninhabited but also like it would make a regular fortress with a few guards.

“Probably, but I prefer Jodie and Damon’s idea,” Frankie says, “be far out on the ocean, away from everything, that’s how I’d like to do it.” 

“Wish I could sail,” he adds in a lower voice so that only you can hear, “then that’s what I’d do, take us out there, maybe find a small, uninhabited island down south for shelter during the winter.”

“I’d like that, Frankie,” you whisper back at him and he gives you a quick wink, before he turns forward again. 

“ ‘Veterans’ Memorial Bridge’, how appropriate,” Benny says as you approach the smaller bridge, “But it doesn’t look too good.” 

“Looks like it should hold though,” Pope says, “Let’s get a closer look.” 

The bridge is low and flat and used to open in the middle to let ships through, the center section splitting in two parts and standing straight up. Most of the bridge is still in place and looks solid, but the part that opens hangs below the bridge, as if the two movable slabs have collapsed and sunk lower than their hinges should allow. You all walk up to the edge of the bridge and look out over the tilting road surface. The opposite side of the bridge sits lower than the eastern side, you have to jump across and down to get to it but it seems doable, even to you. 

Benny takes a cautious step onto the part of the bridge that slopes downwards, it doesn’t move under him and he tests it by bouncing on his feets, as if he was on a trampoline, finally jumping up and slamming his boots down onto the surface. The bridge doesn’t budge and Benny looks up at the rest of you. 

“Seems solid enough,” he says, bouncing a few more times. 

“What’s our option, Pope?” Frankie asks, eyeing the gap at the end. 

“Next bridge is twelve miles north of here,” Pope replies, “Doable, but it takes us a long way away from Providence.” 

Will steps out on the bridge next to his brother and does a few test jumps, moving further out from the solid section. 

“It’s not moving an inch, I say we go this way, the jump at the end is easy enough.” 

“Ok,” Frankie agrees, “But let’s go slowly and carefully, I don’t want a fucking bridge collapsing under me.” 

“Too many arepas, fishsticks,” Benny taunts and Frankie flips him off. 

Slowly you all move down the sloping road surface, it remains solid, even when you get to the end of the section and look down at the jump. 

“That side tilts a bit more, be careful when you jump, Benny,” Will says, eyeing his brother as he gets ready to jump. 

“Nothing to it, Ironhead,” Benny says and takes a gigantic leap, overshooting the gap by several feet and slamming down onto the road surface with a grin. 

“Beat that, bro!” he calls, flexing his arms, posing for imaginary cameras. 

Will chuckles and backs up, “Watch me, Benny boy.” Will takes a running start and launches himself over the gap, landing a clear foot further than Benny who scowls. 

“I didn’t have a running start, that doesn’t count.” 

“Yeah, whatever, big bro beat ya, kid.” Will smirks and dodges Benny’s playful swipe at his head. 

“I’ll jump first, you follow me, cariño, ok?” Frankie says, “I’ll catch you when you land.” 

“Ok, but it’s a tiny jump, I’ll be fine, Frankie,” you smile and he gets ready to jump, he’s not going to take part in the Miller brother’s pissing contest. He takes a few steps back and clears the gap, landing just in front of Benny who whoops. 

“Still in the lea - oh fuck!” 

The bridge groans and drops, the section screeching further down towards the water, the angle suddenly sharp. 

“Grab the railing!” Will yells, yanking Benny towards the side while Frankie scrambles to find purchase on something. 

“Frankie!” you yell, you see his boots scraping across the asphalt as he slips down the road. “Will!” Pope shouts, “Grab Fish! Grab him!”  

“Take my hand, Benny!” He grabs Benny’s hand in an armlock and Benny hooks his other arm around the railing, Will reaching out towards Frankie. 

Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest as you watch Frankie scraping along the road, slipping further down as he tries to get to the railing and Will’s hand. You can hear him cursing as his boots slip and he skids down closer to the edge. The bridge groans again and Frankie stumbles, at the last second launching himself forward and grabbing hold of the last part of the railing, his boots dangling over the fifty feet drop. 

“Pull me up!” he shouts, “Pull me the fuck up!”

“I got you,” Will calls, scrambling down the railing, using it as a ladder, “I got you!” He hangs on with one hand and reaches down to Frankie, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling him up. Benny manages to hook his arm around Will’s waist and together they get Frankie high enough so that he can get his feet up on the railing too. 

“Climb!” you yell, “You’ve got to get off the bridge!” You can hear it groaning under them. Benny is already scrambling up the railing, Will makes sure Frankie’s got a good grip and then they both start climbing, rushing as the bridge section slips lower. It’s hanging at almost ninety degrees now and the screech of the metal hinges makes you and Santi yell at them to climb faster. 

Frankie heaves himself over the ledge, Will and Benny holding on to his arms, dragging him up. They scramble to their feet and run backwards as the section rips loose and crashes into the water below. 

“Fuck…” you hear Benny gasp, Frankie’s bent double, his hands on his knees as he looks over to the other side where you and Pope are now stuck. 

“How far did you say the next bridge was?” you ask Santi, your eyes still on Frankie. 

“Twelve miles, four hour hike if we don’t run into trouble.” He gives the guys on the other side a wave, “You guys ok, no injuries?” 

Frankie shakes his head and Benny gives a thumbs up, they’re both standing up now, a safe distance from the ledge. 

“Pope!” Will calls from across the bridge, “what’s the name of the next bridge?”

Pope pulls out the map, “Berkley Bridge, twelve miles north,” he calls back, “Follow the one thirty eight, along the river. There’s a high school next to the bridge, on the west side.” 

“Alright, we’ll meet you there,” Will calls back, “we’ll leave markers if we get there first.” 

“See you there, stay safe!” Pope calls back, giving them a wave. Frankie’s eyes meet yours and despite the distance you can see the anxiety, you know you’ve got the same look. 

“Pope!” he calls, and Pope cuts him off. 

“I know, hermano, I’ll keep her safe, I’ll get her back to you, don’t worry about it.” You feel Santi put his hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze, pulling you back towards the eastern shore. You raise your hand to Frankie, and he does the same. 

“Stay safe, Frankie, I love you.” 

“Te amo, mi vida. Stay safe!” 

Pope and you head back to the eastern shore, you feel your legs shaking, the adrenaline leaving your system and you stumble slightly. Pope reaches out and grabs your shoulder, holding you steady. 

“Take it easy, hermana, you doing ok?”

“Just a bit shaky after all that,” you say, “that was way too fucking close.” 

“Yeah, it was,” Santi gives you a squeeze and keeps walking, “thank fuck Will and Benny were there too.” 

“I wish I could be as cool as you guys in situations like that, and then just brush it off and keep going.” 

“We had years of training, remember? And it didn’t always do us a lot of good, trained to do some fucked up shit but no one taught us how to deal with the aftermath.” Pope pulls out the map and scans the street for any landmarks. “We basically just need to follow the river but it curves around a bit so I’m gonna try to not get us too lost.” 

Off in the distance you hear the tell tale sound of infected and you both freeze in your tracks before Pope grabs your arm and pulls you into an alley. Skirting around, moving slowly and carefully, it’s slow going for the rest of the day. You end up spending an hour hiding inside a building while a horde of at least fifty infected shamble past on the street outside. 

“It might’ve been the noise of the bridge falling that attracted them,” Pope says, peeking out through the window at the last infected stragglers. 

“I hope there's no more heading this way,” you say, it’s already been three hours since you left the others at the bridge and you’ve still got a long way to go. At this pace you won’t get the next bridge before nightfall. 

Together you carefully leave the building and move quickly away from the horde, checking every street corner and blind spot before you move on. You manage to move a few more miles, but then a chilling screech goes up close by and Pope pulls you down behind a car, crouching down. It’s in the nick of time, four runners stumble out of an alley across the street. 

“Fuck, they’re everywhere today,” Pope breathes. Glancing behind you he motions you backwards, into a shop, “In here, we need to get off the street.”

It looks like a small mom and pop dry cleaning business inside, you see racks of empty coat hangers behind a counter as Pope scouts forwards and finds the door to the second floor. The door opens up with a small tap of his boot and you both make your way up the stairs slowly. Whoever ran this shop clearly lived on top of it, the stairs leading to a small landing with a closed front door. Pope pushes it open without resistance and quickly scans the small hallway that it opens to. He motions for you to close the door behind you and it shuts with a soft click. Nothing stirs and you quietly follow Pope towards what looks like the living room. You’ve both got your guns out, Pope in front as he steps through the doorway and sweeps the room. He spots the man a split second before the butt of a rifle comes down on the side of his head and he’s thrown to the floor. The crack to his skull disorientates him but he manages to hold on to his gun, rolling onto his back and aiming at the man now advancing on him, a shotgun raised and cocked. His head throbs and he blinks rapidly to clear the fog threatening to envelope him. 

“Lower the gun or your girl gets hurt.” The growl comes from a second man, holding you firm, your arm twisted up behind your back and a large hunting knife pressed against your throat. He’d grabbed you as Pope stumbled to the ground, twisting the gun out of your hand as he yanked you into the room and bent your arm painfully up behind your back. You can feel the cold blade press into your throat, just shy of nicking your skin. 

You see Pope quickly scan the situation, the determination in the two men, the knife against your throat, and he drops his gun, sliding it across the floor.. 

“Check him for any other weapons and tie him up,” your captor orders the man with the shotgun. “On your belly, hands behind your back,” he tells Pope. You see the anger in Santi’s eyes as he rolls over, gritting his teeth. The man holding you doesn’t relent his grip, your shoulder is screaming, another half an inch and he’ll dislocate it. 

“Please, my shoulder,” you whimper, “you’re breaking it.” 

“Don’t worry, darlin´, as soon as he’s secured I’ll loosen my grip.” He’s still got the blade tight against your throat, forcing your head back, his voice is close to your ear and the deep drawl of his rough voice makes your skin crawl.

The man with the shotgun quickly secures Pope’s hands with a cable tie, patting him down and stepping back. 

“He’s clear, Joel, now what?” 

He looks over at the man holding you and your brain goes into overdrive, putting the face of the man in front of you, older now, more worn, together with the deep Texan drawl of the man behind you. 

“Miller!” you gasp, your throat scraping against the knife as the man’s eyes snap to yours. “You’re Tommy Miller! We met, fourth of July, at Denny’s cabin.” You feel the man behind you tighten his grip on your arm, bending it just a little bit further back and you sob, “You’re Will and Benny’s cousins!”

“You’re Frankie’s girl!” Tommy blurts out, his eyes suddenly wide with recognition, “And you,” he looks at Pope, still belly down on the floor, “you’re one of the Delta Force guys.” 

“Yeah, I’m Pope, get these fucking things off me, man,” he spits. Tommy takes a step forward but Joel barks. 

“Tommy, wait! What the fuck are you doing, we can’t trust them!”

“C’mon, Joel, we know them,” Tommy says but he stops in his tracks. 

“Yeah, we knew them, for a weekend, six fucking years ago!” Joel snaps back, Now the-” 

“We’re with Will and Benny,” you interrupt, moving your head back as much as you can from the sharp blade. “We got separated this morning, they’re on the other side of the river, we’re trying to get to the next bridge to meet them.” 

“Will and Benny are alive?” Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he shoots Joel a hopeful look before he quickly schools his face back into neutrality. 

“How do we know you’re not just lying? Who else is with you?” Joel growls from behind you. 

“Why the fuck would we lie about that?” Pope growls right back at him from the floor, “We’ve been with Benny since Arlington, at the beginning, and we just found Will in New York about a week ago.” 

“Frankie’s with us,” you say, “It’s just us, Frankie, Will and Benny.” 

“Joel…” Tommy says, “We can’t walk away from this, we gotta see if they’re telling the truth:” 

Joel remains silent behind you, you can see Tommy’s eyes on him but his grip on your arm is still firm. It’s like the two brother’s are having a silent conversation, deciding your fate as your shoulder screams in protest. 

“Fine,” Joel finally spits, ���but if they fuck us, it’s on you, Tommy!” He removes the knife from your throat and releases your arms. You collapse forward, stumbling away from him with your arm cradled to your chest. Tommy kneels next to Pope and cuts his ties and Pope gets to his feet with a grumbled thanks. 

“Lead the way then, you two in front,” Joel says as you glance back at him. He’s changed more than Tommy, a bit more gray around his temples and on his jaw, but it’s his face, the expression in his eyes that’s made him almost unrecognizable. The Joel you knew for a long weekend six years ago had a friendly, warm face. You still remember his belly laughs when his daughter and Lucía brought him down with tickles, a friendly giant who didn’t even protest when Lucía lay flat across his legs with Sarah over his chest. The man scowling at you now looks dangerous and feral, angry lines carved into his face and a hard set jaw. 

“Sure, I’ll take the lead,” Pope says, accepting his gun back from Tommy, much to Joel’s dissatisfaction. “Let me just check her shoulder first, you twisted it pretty hard by the looks of it.” The sharp tone in his voice isn’t lost on Joel and he only answers with another low growl. 

Pope gently prods your shoulder and you wince under his touch. “Feels like the muscle has been torn, like a sprain,” he says, “I’ll make you a sling when we get to the others, keep your hand hooked into your jacket for now.” He briefly cups your cheek with his hand, “You ok, hermana?” he asks in a low voice and you’re reminded of how similar his eyes are to Frankie’s when they share the same look of concern. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say, giving him a small smile and he smiles back. 

“Ok, we’ve got about two hours I think, to the bridge,” he says, looking over at Joel who gives a curt nod. “We good to go?” 

“Yeah, take the lead,” Joel says and motions to the door. 

Pope quickly finds the back door of the shop, scanning the narrow alley before stepping out. You stay behind him, then Tommy, with Joel covering the rear. You move as fast as possible through the streets, eventually coming out into the countryside and cutting across fields. Twice you have to hastily hide from groups of infected, still moving south towards the broken bridge but after the second group has passed you see no more. By the time you see the river again the sun has just sunk below the horizon, it’s taken you almost the whole day to cover the twelve miles and you’re exhausted. As the Berkley Bridge finally comes into view you’re dead on your feet, hungry and thirsty and your shoulder aches. 

“Hang in there,” Pope says to you in a low voice, dropping back and giving your uninjured shoulder a squeeze, “the high school is just on the other side of the bridge.” 

“I can’t wait to just lie down and sleep,” you reply, “I really hope the others got there ok.” 

Pope nods in response and steps forward again, taking the lead as you all step onto the bridge. It’s in one piece and you breathe a sigh of relief when you’re across it. It doesn’t take long to reach the high school and Pope quickly finds a marker carved into the gate post. 

“Back door,” he says and leads you around the building. It’s fully dark now and it’s slow going, but you finally see a half open door to a smaller section of the school and as you approach you hear the sound of a weapon cocking. 

“Stop, identify yourself!” you hear Frankie’s low voice, stern and commanding, he’s expecting two people, not four, and he’s raised the rifle, aiming at you through the darkness. 

“Catfish,” Pope calls, “stand down, it’s us.” 

You see Frankie lower his rifle a little bit as the four of you come out of the gloom, his finger is still near the trigger and he doesn’t put the safety on. 

“Who’s with you?” he asks, his eyes landing on Joel and Tommy behind you. 

“Joel and Tommy Miller, Ben and Will’s cousins,” Pope replies and you see recognition flash across Frankie’s face before his eyes widen. . 

“Holy shit, what are the odds of that?” 

“Pretty high I’d say,” Tommy replies, stepping forward and extending his hand, “Good to see you again, man.” Frankie shakes his hand and then Joel, who, a bit more reluctantly, grabs Frankie’s hand as he extends it.

“Come inside, and we’ll bar this door for the night,” Frankie says, stepping to the side and motioning the men towards the door before he turns to you. His eyebrows knit together as he sees your arm, still hooked into the opening of your jacket to support your shoulder. 

“You’re hurt, what happened?” He shoulders the rifle and steps forward as gently reaches for your wrist. 

“It’s my shoulder, Pope says the muscle is torn a bit. He’s gonna make me a sling.” 

“How did it happen?” he asks, moving his hands up to your shoulder, his eyes searching yours for any discomfort. 

“I’ll tell you later, I just wanna get inside and sit down, I’m exhausted, Frankie.”

“Of course, c’mere, I’ve got you,” he leads you inside and helps you off with your pack as Pope and Tommy shut the door and slide a heavy iron girder in place.  

“We’re just a bit further in, we found a room with shuttered windows so we can have some light.” Frankie leads you all down a hallway and turns right, pushing open a door he steps into a classroom. The desks have been pushed up along the walls and in the middle Will’s got a couple of camper stoves set up, the smell of food making your stomach growl. 

“Look who we found,” Pope grins as he waves Tommy and Joel in through the door. You can’t help but smile as you see Will and Benny look up, confusion on their faces at first and then, almost simultaneously, shift into huge smiles as they recognise their cousins. 

“Holy shit, what the actual fuck?!” Benny whoops and jumps to his feet, grabbing Joel into a bear hug, “Where the fuck did you come from?!” he says as he tries to pick Joel up off the floor under loud protests. 

“Put me the fuck down, Benny,” he laughs, slapping him on the back. Will and Tommy hug, big grins on both men and then Benny pulls Tommy into another bear hug, laughing as Will embraces Joel. It’s good to see the tension melt away from Tommy and especially Joel. He’d been guarded the whole way, not quite trusting that Pope and you were telling the truth. But now, seeing the four Miller cousins hug it out with big smiles, even Joel looks less intimidating. 

Frankie gently takes your uninjured hand and leads you over to where his sleeping bag is rolled out, helping you sit down. You sink down gratefully and lean back against the wall, finally relaxing. 

“Let me get your boots off,” he says in a low voice, the Miller boys still catching up and laughing behind him. You nod and rest your head against the wall, closing your eyes. Your shoulder is throbbing, you’re going to have to dip into your small supply of expired painkillers soon. Frankie pulls your boots off, and your damp socks, gently rubbing the soles of your feet as you sigh and shoot him a pleased smile. 

“Thanks, Frankie,” you mumble. 

“Anything, hermosa,” he smiles back, letting go of your feet. “But I need to check your shoulder, might be less nice.” 

“Do what you have to do as long as I can have food afterwards, I’m starving.” 

“You took a long time getting here, what happened?” Frankie asks, making you sit up so that he can slide your jacket off. 

“There were infected everywhere, we had to stay hidden for long periods of time. Pope thinks maybe the noise from the bridge collapsing attracted them.” 

“Yeah, we saw some on our side of the river, but not that many. How does this feel?” He gently prods the joint of your shoulder and you wince as he carefully moves your arm. 

“Hurts and feels very stiff,” you say, glancing down at it. There’s a dark bruise forming and you can see the swelling around the joint.. 

“If we had an ice pack I’d put it on,” Frankie says, “But for now, keep it still, I’ll get you that sling.” Frankie steps over to his pack and rifles through it, coming back and setting your shoulder more comfortably against your chest. You watch his deft hands as he works and when he’s done you lean in and capture his lips in a soft kiss. He hums against you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. 

“I’m so happy you’re ok, Frankie,” you whisper, “Did you get hurt on the bridge?” 

“Just a few scrapes,” he says, his mouth still close to yours as he turns up his palms and shows you a few angry looking lines. “I had to clean them with alcohol, that fucking stung,” he chuckles, “but they’re fine now. How did you hurt your shoulder?” 

“Promise you won’t get mad?” you say, pulling back a little so that you can see his face clearly and he frowns at you. 

“What happened?” His eyebrows come together in a frown, his body stiffening under your touch.  

“We, Pope and me, had to hide in a building when a group of infected surprised us.Turned out Joel and Tommy were already in there and they grabbed us, Joel twisted my arm behind my back. But they didn’t know it was us,” you say hastily as you see Frankie scowl and look towards Joel. “Frankie,” you pull his eyes back to you, “they just did what we would’ve done if someone unknown walked in here now.” 

“Yeah, ok,” he relents, his face softening again, “Let me get you some food, should be done now.” 

As Frankie stands up Joel comes over, he’s got a bowl in his hand and as he crouches down he hands it to you. 

“How’s the shoulder? Sorry ‘bout it,” he says, looking at the makeshift sling Frankie’s put together. 

“It’s sore, but it’ll heal, don’t worry about it,” you reply, gratefully accepting the bowl of stew and rice. 

“Alright,” Joel responds, clearing his throat, “Good, and thanks for…” he waves his hand over at where Benny and Will are deep in conversation with Tommy, going over what’s happened in the six years since they last saw each other. “It’s good seeing them in one piece.” 

“I’m glad we were able to bring you guys together,” you say as Joel gets to his feet again, nodding to Frankie.

“Good to see you too, Frankie.” 

“Yeah, same, Joel,” Frankie replies as Joel turns and begins rolling out his sleeping mat.

Frankie grabs a bowl for himself and sinks down next to you, you’re almost done with the stew, wolfing it down. 

“Got you some painkillers too, cariño,” he hands them to you with his water canteen and you gratefully swallow the two pills. Once they kick in you slip into your sleeping bag, drifting off as Frankie helps Ben take care of the dishes. You barely wake as he slips in next to you, careful to not disturb your shoulder, but you reach for his hand as he puts his arm over your waist, turning your head towards him as he places a soft kiss on your cheek. 

The dull throbbing in your shoulder wakes you early next morning and forces you to get up, just to get some relief. There’s thin slivers of light shining through the shutters, giving you enough light to move around and pad out into the hallway in your socks. You’d missed any talk of having a watch roster last night but it seems you were allowed to sleep through the night. Tommy is sitting on a bench close to the door you came in through, playing cards with himself, a rifle next to him. 

“Morning,” you greet him and he looks up. 

“Hey, how’s the shoulder?” He scoots over on the bench, making room for you as you carefully move your arm. 

“Sore and swollen, it’ll take a few days to get better, but don’t worry about it,” you say as you see his apologetic face, “you did what we would’ve done in the same situation.” 

“Yeah, I suppose, we all have to assume the next person we meet is either infected or the enemy.” 

“Not much trust going ‘round these days,” you agree, watching him gather up the cards and shuffle them. 

“I wanted to ask you,” you begin cautiously as he starts dealing. “Joel’s daughter, Sarah?” 

Tommy nods, his hands stopping as he looks up at you, “She didn’t make it, she died that first night,” he says, his voice low and you sigh and close your eyes. 

“Fuck...I’m sorry, Tommy,” you look up at him again as he leans back against the wall. “I didn’t wanna assume but when she wasn’t with you, I had to ask.”

“Yeah, of course, just don’t mention it to Joel,” Tommy tilts his head so that he can look over at you. “He’s not one to talk about it.” 

You nod, rubbing your hand over your face, “I get it, more than you think.” 

“Frankie’s girl?” Tommy says and you hear the question in his voice. 

“A few days after the outbreak, she got infected.” 

Now it’s Tommy’s turn to breathe out a low Fuck as he drops his head back against the wall again. “I’m sorry, for you and for Frankie, she was a great kid.” 

“So was Sarah,” you say, giving Tommy a weak smile, “Lucìa wouldn’t stop talking about her after we got home, she was bugging Benny to invite you guys over as soon as possible so that they could meet again.” 

Tommy chuckles softly, “Yeah, I remember them thick as thieves at Denny’s, Lucìa following her around like a puppy.” He absentmindedly shuffles the deck of cards in his hand as you both stay silent for a few minutes, the soft snores of the still sleeping men coming from the classroom. 

Tommy suddenly laughs softly, keeping his voice low, “I remember how annoyed Frankie got when I flirted with you that weekend, he got really possessive, those hickeys the next morning,” he grins and you feel your cheeks getting red at the memory, even all these years later. 

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” you say and Tommy nods. 

“Poker? I promise I won’t suggest the strip version,” he grins, dealing out the cards again. 

You play a couple of rounds until you hear people stirring in the classroom. Frankie pokes his head out of the door and comes over when he sees you. 

“Morning, sweetie,” you smile up at him as he bends to give you a kiss. 

“Morning, cariño, you sleep ok? How’s the shoulder?” He lets his kiss linger a little bit longer than usual, his hand cupping the back of your head, before he pulls back and sits down on the bench next to you. 

“Sore and swollen,” you say, shifting it a bit. 

“I’ll get you a better sling today, just need a piece of wood to support your arm.” 

“What’s the plan, down to Providence?” you ask, “I don’t know if you guys made plans after I fell asleep last night.” 

“Not Providence,” Tommy says immediately, “we were on our way there but the QZ’s fell, overrun by infected.” 

“Shit, what happened?” you ask, “We heard it was fine just a few days ago.” 

“Not sure, but we ran into a survivor a week ago and he said FEDRA got challenged by another group when FEDRA kept cutting rations. FEDRA took out the other group pretty harshly, imposed martial law and people tried escaping or rebelling, it had been going on for a couple of months.” Tommy gathers the cards up and shuffles them before putting them back in the box. “The survivor we talked to didn’t know how it had happened, but infected got in, or someone who was infected slipped through the checkpoint, it started spreading on the inside anyway. FEDRA lost control and started executing everyone, so riots broke out and FEDRA left, just took the last working trucks and just took off.” 

“Did you get to Providence, what’s the situation like there now?” Frankie asks, leaning forward to look at Tommy. 

“We didn’t get to the gates, got told to not go anywhere near it, too many infected.” Tommy glances up towards the door as Joel looks out. 

“Morning, Joel.” 

“Morning, coffee’s ready if y'all want some,” he says and you can smell it wafting through the hallway now. 

“So what’s your plan then?” Frankie asks as you go back towards the classroom. 

“Boston, I think,” Tommy says, “It’s the nearest QZ from here, big enough.” 

You sit down next to Will who gives you a quick smile and a mug of coffee, Frankie sinks to the floor next to you too. 

“Thanks, Will,” he says, taking a second mug. “So what’s our plan then, if Providence is a no go?” He looks over at Will and Pope, “Boston for us too?” 

“I don’t know about you guys,” Benny says, “but I think we should stick together, with Joel and Tommy I mean.” 

You see Pope frown, he hasn’t warmed up to Joel after yesterday, and by the way Joel stiffens and scowls at his coffee mug, you know he’s not all for it either. 

“I think it’s a great idea, Benny;” Tommy says, glancing over at Joel, “You guys are family and we know you and Will consider the rest of y’all as family too, we can trust each other.” 

“What do you say, Joel?” Will asks, he can sense that Joel’s not totally onboard and the older man looks down at his coffee, jaw working as he seems to go over the options in his head. 

“Yeah, might be a good idea,” he says eventually, but there’s still hesitation in his voice, “there’s safety in numbers and y’all are ex Special Ops, and like Tommy says, we can trust each other,” he says the last thing looking over at Pope who holds his gaze for a few seconds before nodding. 

“Yeah, we can trust each other.”

Joel nods to Pope, the two men seeming to come to some sort of silent agreement. 

You think it seems like a good idea, it makes sense. You can’t see Will and Benny just walking away from their cousins now, even if they’re maybe not the same people they were six years ago. And like Joel said, there’s safety in numbers and it’s forty miles to Boston, lots of bombed out suburban landscape to cover. You shudder at the thought, your shoulder aches, you’re in no shape to take on anything and the thought of having to cover forty miles on foot makes you miserable. Frankie notices your body shiver and slips his arm around your waist. 

“What’s up, hermosa?” he whispers softly in your ear as he leans his chin on your good shoulder. 

“It’s a long way to Boston,” you whisper back, looking over at him with worried eyes, “I’m scared, so much can go wrong.” 

“We’ll go slow, be cautious, and not let Benny jump on bridges.” The last thing he says with a crooked smile, nudging your nose with the cool tip of his own.  

“No more bridges please,” you say, giving him a small smile. 

“Maybe I should lay off the arepas,” Frankie chuckles softly, his hand now rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. “Amor de mi vida,” he whispers after a while, “I can’t promise everything will be fine, but I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, I promise that.” 

“And keep yourself safe,” you add, “you’re the love of my life too, Frankie.” He gives a little nod before his soft lips press against yours. You’re still sitting next to Will, right by the camping stove, but you’re in a bubble of your own with Frankie. The others talk about Boston, the route and possible dangers. You don’t notice Joel watching you with a frown, his fingers tapping on his thigh, before he glances down at the broken watch on his arm.

Chapter 28

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics @vickie5446

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 15}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (exEMT! Reader)

Summary: With two articles under your belt, you're busy prepping for the final farmer's market of the summer season. Intent on making a good impression on the city once again, but it happens in a way you least expect it.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: canon typical violence, stalking, stranger danger, mention of previous injuries, medical jargon, gun violence, firearms, panic, chaotic scene, high anxiety scene, crowds, mania, allusions to shooting (but not described), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), slow morning smut, description of the male body, food consumption, smoking, cigarettes, talk of past trauma, mentions of past emotional abuse

A/N: this chapter has taken a long time, but i'm back with these two and i'm happy to deliver this to y'all! *header images are for ~vibes~ only, reader is described as having red hair and tattoos

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || kofi

You woke slowly, warm from the body curled around you. Strong arms were laid over your back, keeping you in place where you leaned into Frankie with your face pressed into his chest and legs tangled with his own.

Frankie’s breathing was even, until he huffed as consciousness took hold. He buried his nose into the back of your neck, lips parting for him to nip at the skin there before he was pulling away altogether.

His strong back was on display as he padded across the rug and toward the bedroom door, the morning light peeking through the blinds catching in the notches of his muscles. Grunting lightly, you rolled over onto your back to lay in the warm spot he left on the sheets, eyes closing as sleep pulled at the edges of your mind.

The muffled sounds of him stirring about in the kitchen kept you from slipping back into deep sleep, simply laying there and enjoying the domestic moment as you heard the rush of water as he set up the coffee machine. Soft meows sounded from underneath the blankets and two head popped up from beneath them as the cats realized it was waking hours. They jumped from the bed and the sound of their trotting and the creak of the bedroom door let you know that they were seeking Frankie out in hopes of breakfast.

His soft murmuring as he talked to them pulled your lips up in a lazy smile.

You must’ve dozed off a bit, because the next thing you knew was the hot press of broad hands over your middle, the blankets suddenly gone from atop your body to be replaced with Frankie’s body. He was hovering low, over your stomach, the feel of his nose as it trailed down over the skin there, nerves jumping as it tickled just a bit.

“I got you, querida, I’m gonna make you feel so good,” His breath wafted over your core, causing you to whine as your hips bucked to get him closer. Fingers digging into the give of your thighs, he looked up at you through his lashes to see you already watching him with dazed eyes. Not breaking the connection, he leaned in and licked up your seam with the flat of his tongue. The heavy wet weight of his tongue parted your lips and you sucked in a shuddering breath as tingles of pleasure sparked over your skin.

He licked at you clit gently, testing how sensitive you were. When your hips pressed toward him, he sucked it into his mouth and laved attention on it. A borderline pornographic moan sounded loud into the air, igniting Frankie’s body. He pushed a hand down to the crotch of his boxers, trying to focus himself. He was aching, his touch only bringing his arousal to the forefront of his mind. He moved the hand to reach up and graze soft touches over your swollen lips, gathering the slick you were making just for him.

As his fingertips grazed your fluttering entrance, your hips bucked. The action caused him to release your clit with a wet pop.

“Frankie, please, I need more.”

“I’m gonna give it to you, sweet girl, don’t you worry.” He dove back down, mouth moving against you with the hot wet of his tongue while two fingers slid easily into you. He crooked them and you mewled at the budge to your g-spot he always found so effortlessly.

“F-uck.”

He hummed against you, the vibrations taking you closer to the edge you were balances so precariously on. His fingers pumped out of you at a fast pace, knowing that’s what you liked best, what you responded to best.

Peeking through heavy eyes, you caught sight of him rutting against the sheets where he splayed below you. The way he took pleasure in giving it, suddenly too much to handle. White spots exploded over your vision as your release washes over you in a cresting wave. The heat of it making sweat pill on the small of your back, in between the valley of your breasts, on the skin of your forehead. Frankie moaned into your core as he felt you clench tight around his flingers, the creamy release leaking out around his fingers still deep inside.

“Fuck, mi vida, you’re…you did such a good job for me.”

You whined as he carefully slid his fingers from you, bringing them up to his lips to lick his reward from them. A deep groan past over his plush lips, shiny with your slick. Fingers scrabbling at his chest, you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him up, the hot line of his body coming to rest against yours. His hard length dragged across your thigh, leaving sticky drops of precum from his leaking tip.

His hands were gentle as they propped up the still healing knee up to wrap around his waist, and he notched the head of his cock right at your entrance.

“Dame un beso,” He demanded as he leaned down, lips hovering your own as your eyes watched the way his body moved. The softness of his middle hot where it hovered over, the way one of his hands was wrapped around the length of him as he held it there, waiting for his kiss. You surged up to desperately kiss him, mouth open and tongue licking into his own. He swallowed the moan from you as he pushed in and bottomed out in one thrust.

-

The grocery store was busy in the early morning, but you had put off going to grab the coffee creamer you preferred for basic brews up in the apartment. You were on your phone in the middle of the baking aisle, text open to Frankie and asking him what type of salsa he preferred, you were going to cook dinner that night, to celebrate the end of the market season. Someone bumped into you, the phone nearly falling from your hands when you turned to see a young woman far too close to you. She had a panicked look about her, her hair mused from moving too fast. Her hands came around your upper arm and she pressed close to you.

“Someone is following me, and I just didn’t want to look like I was alone, I’m so sorry.” She whispered lowly to you, explaining her breach of your personal space. You nodded once, so slight that she could only feel it against her head close to yours. You feigned looking over the stuff in your cart, voice light as your eyes swept over the rest of the aisle.

“You think we should do white or dark chocolate this time?” There was a man hovering at the end of the aisle, too engrossed in the coffee filters for your comfort. He was breathing a touch too fast, his chest rising and falling in a way that gave him away underneath his dark hoodie. The cap atop his head looked so much like Frankie’s beloved one, but only in silhouette. This man was nothing but creepy and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end as you noticed him shift slightly closer.

You hit the call button on Frankie’s text chain, slipping it into your front pocket to allow for the speaker to catch sound easier.

“Oh, well, you know how I feel about white chocolate?”

“Of course,” You tittered, voice a little breathy as you looked at her out of the corner of your eye. You could hear Frankie’s voice coming out small from the speaker on the phone but it was indiscernible as the man at the end of the aisle began to approach. His attention was on the offerings of flavored coffee syrups now, but his ear was facing the two of you. “But let’s work through what we have left over from the last batch, win-win?”

“Win-win, thank you so much.” She tightened the hold she had on your arm before releasing it and going to the head of the cart and began moving toward the end of the aisle. You took to the side, placing a hand on the lip of the basket. “Alright then, next stop?”

“I think we should get some coffee, at that cute place?” You could picture Frankie’s confused and worried expression smoothing over as he realized you were trying to talk to him without being obvious.

“Errands and a treat!” She allowed you to guide the cart toward the front of the store, her steps even as she tried to match your easy pace.

“We’ll check out and then you can follow me.”

The shadow of the man followed you all the way through the checkout process and getting the girl to her car. You gave her the address to the bakery, typed it into her phone’s map, told her to follow after your truck once you got loaded up yourself and drove by her spot to lead the way.

Frankie was already at the shop when you pulled up into a regular spot like you were a customer, the girl parking beside you. You both walked into the shop, hand in hand, making your way straight to Frankie who had taken up the couch that faced the window. He had been watching the street since that distressing call, in the middle of work errands that could wait until he made sure you were safe.

He kissed your cheek and squeezed your hand tight when you approached him. Bringing his arm around the girl in a light embrace to keep up appearances that you all knew each other after a shared look to ensure that was okay with her. She smiled sheepishly at him as she sat down on the couch across the coffee table.

“Thank you both so much, I had no idea what to do.”

“Someone was definitely following her, Frankie. Kept close to us the whole way through the store and a black hatchback followed us here too.”

“Cops won’t do anything until he makes a move, unfortunately.”

You thanked Louise as she came over to greet you, she must’ve sensed that something was wrong because she treated you like a customer. Asking after you and seeing what your trio wanted to drink.

“Don’t worry about the charge,” You leaned close to the girl, her dark hair brushing against your bare upper arm. “I own this place, just keeping up appearances in case he comes in.”

“Thank you, really, I just moved here so I don’t have anyone to help with…whatever this is.”

“Well, you’ve made two new friends today.” You smiled at her, helping to distribute the drinks Louise had brought over. As you stood to do so, you noticed another car pull up out front, taking the last spot against the curb. They parked well for how packed the street was, but again, that’s why you had opted to put in a small lot on the right side of the building. It wasn’t the car that had driven by twice now, with a shrouded figure hunched over the steering wheel and you felt comfortable enough to take a seat beside Frankie on his own couch.

You introduced yourselves, saying you had a small group of friends the girl was welcome to join on any occasion. Frankie’s held his drink in one hand, his other resting warmly on the top of your thigh as you settled into the cushions. Easy conversation flowed as the girl seemed to calm down and gather her bearings. Frankie even offered to follow her home before going back to his work errands when she was ready.

“Frankie?” A hesitant voice broke into the conversation from the front door. You looked over as if your own name had been called. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg and you felt a pang at the action. He looked like he had gotten caught in the middle of something he shouldn’t have been, when you glanced from the woman who had just walked into the shop to him, confusion painting your features.

His hand came up to rub at the back of his neck as he scooted slightly away from you, sides no longer touching. The curls reaching over his neck from underneath his cap fluffed up at his nervous tick.

“Lucy.” Was all he could say in response, the white-hot prickles of anxiety crawling through him at the surprise encounter.

“Oh!” You stood and offered your hand with a polite smile. You looked back at the flustered man, making sure it was okay to interact with his daughter’s mother. He nodded, the movement stilted. But it had been there, his comfortability: the permission to interact with her. “Frankie’s told me you were in town, it’s nice to meet you.”

“And you are…?”

“She’s my girlfriend.” He didn’t stand to greet her more intimately, staying seated with his coffee in his grip. She nodded along, taking in the way he seemed to find himself as he spoke about you. The nervous air about him dissipating as the focus shifted to you. “Been together for a while, she’s the owner of this place. She’s been…a really important part of my life lately, so please, be respectful.”

You reached over and placed a hand over the one he had resting atop the back of the couch. Eyes soft when you looked over at him.

“Please, feel free to try anything from the case or on the menu, my treat.” You looked back over to her, she was watching Frankie closely. Thankfully, she didn’t look too upset, maybe surprised would be a more accurate description as small lines were apparent around her brows and the corners of her eyes. A shaky exhale and a nod came from her, before you ushered her over to the case and explained some of the items. She asked a few questions, mostly about the bakery but when you were both waiting beside the register for Louise to make her choice of drink, her eyes glinted with something as she spoke in a hushed tone.

“Is…is my- is she happy?”

“…she is.” You wanted to reach out and place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but you hesitated, unsure of how that would go over. Instead you spoke as genuinely as you could while still being respectful yourself. “She really enjoys coming here and seeing how things are made, to cook at home when it’s the three of us. But…she is, happy. Frankie is doing a wonderful job, even if he doesn’t feel like it all the time.”

“You love him.”

Her words weren’t accusatory.

“I do love him, very much so. And your daughter, Lucy.” You worried your bottom lip, slightly anxious as you mulled deeper thoughts over. “I…can’t begin to imagine the situation you were in…back then. But I have been through some rather difficult stuff myself. We all make choices that haunt us, but know that he doesn’t hold any grudge nor does Lex. I don’t know what all he’s told her since he’s seen you last and y’all talked. But…you aren’t considered the bad guy.”

Your breath was pushed from your lungs when her arms came around you in a sudden embrace. The few tears she couldn’t tamp down dampening the collar of your tank top. You carefully brought one of your own arms up around her to return the hug. When she pulled back, her smile was watery.

“Thank you, it’s…the regret is what kept me away for so long, but seeing him in that flower shop. It was…it was like a chance to finally breath again, to make amends. I feel guilty for not having been able to commit to him…to them. But I never really wanted to be a mother…”

“And that’s perfectly okay, you tried, but I don’t fault you for leaving…just the way that you did.”

“You have every right to…it wasn’t my finest hour.”

“Everything’s okay, we’ll all be okay. I promise.”

-

The second you were up the staircase under the eyes of a watchful Frankie, he enveloped you in a tight embrace. The scent of him strong as it surrounded you, the cedar and motor oil undertones that always seemed to linger on him comforting as his entire body wrapped around your own. He was corralling you as he tried to breathe you in, his mouth open against any skin he could reach. The scruff of his patchy facial hair and full mustache tickling as he did so. His lips plush and velvety where they pressed against your skin.

“…thank you.”

The words were searing into your skin with a swipe of his tongue.

“You don’t have to- ah!” The sting of his teeth on a nipple through the fabric of your tank top stole the words of your response. His hands were moving to unbutton your jeans, thick fingers hooking into the waistband of them and igniting a spark low in your middle. He mirrored the bite onto your other breast as your hands came to grip his shoulders and you gave a small push. He rocked into you, the line of him hard and hot through his own pants as he rutted against your hip.

“Frankie!” You giggled, a little lightheaded at the sudden affection. You were about to tell him why he needed to reign himself in, when a voice sounded from in the kitchen.

“Damn, Fish, let the woman breath.”

He sprung from you just as suddenly as he had been on you, face hot and eyes a bit wild at being caught in such a state. He was more concerned for your privacy, your integrity, than his own and he shifted to stand between you and his best friend. His body shielding your own as one of his hands came to cover the slight tent at the front of his pants. You giggled again as you looked around him to see Pope giving him the biggest shit eating grin as he chewed on a bite of whatever he had just seasoned in the hot pan behind him.

“Pendejo! What’re you doin’ sneaking around in here?”

“Wasn’t sneaking, primo, was just making dinner, like we planned?”

Frankie huffed, looking down at you where you had moved toward the island and settled on a stool. You leaned over to take the bite off of the spoon Pope was extended to you, his hand cupped up under it so as to not spill.

“Lex is still napping, but she had a good day at the park. Wants to go camping soon, so we should all plan to book the cabin soon, yeah?”

“Oooh, I wanna go!” You wiggled your shoulders as you nodded toward the pan and gave the man a thumbs up.

“Of course, mantequilla, that’s a given.” Pope looked over at you with a softened expression, voice tender as he watched you rub at your knee gently. Frankie walked over to the coffee table and picked up the bottle of your pain meds. He busied himself getting a glass of water with only two shoulder bumps to his friend and brought both over to you.

“I’m making pasta, easy enough. Figured we’d take it easy tonight since it’s gonna be a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I don’t think there’s a speed rack that isn’t loaded down to capacity down in the kitchen.”

“Tio Santi! That smells so good!” She sprouted from the gust room off to the left of the kitchen, door creaking open. She greeted you both with side hugs before she picked up the smaller of your two cats and snuggled her. Loud purring could be heard over the sound of Pope getting plates down from a cabinet.

“Wash your hands, Lex, and set the table please.” Frankie pulled the small creature from her, gently nudging her toward the bathroom.

“Yes, papa.” She was gone for maybe a minute before she was twirling around the kitchen, grabbing the plates from Pope and dancing around him to fetch the silverware. She set it all atop the small table by the laundry nook before taking her seat and waiting patiently for family dinner.

“Do I have time to shower, Santi?”

“It’s nearly done, but I still have the bread to make.”

“I’m gonna go wash off all this buttercream then, I feel like a damn frosted cookie.”

“Look as good as one too,” Frankie whispered into your hair as he helped you stand on your tired legs. A busy day had continued after the weirdness of the morning. Frankie had returned to his work errands while you went to preparing for the market tomorrow. But you had texted the girl from the supermarket to ensure she was okay, told her to call you if she caught so much as a glimpse of the man or his car and then the police. Offered her to come by the shop tomorrow or whenever she wanted.

“Oh hush you,” You let him steady you as you walked toward the bathroom, desperately needing to not smell like sugar and butter. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as he ushered you through the door. He made sure you were able to safely step into the large stall before he returned to the kitchen to help with the last bit of dinner.

-

The air was filled with the hum of voices and faint music. The sun shining down warmly over the Saturday morning scene of the last farmer’s market of the season. Everything was going as planned for the exciting day, you and Will were managing customers, the inside help tending to drinks. But as with everything, it all changed in the blink of an eye.

A gunshot rang out, a plume of smoke following the sound up into the open air of the street. Screams and the rumbling sound of dozens of footsteps on asphalt filled the air in its wake. You had instinctively ducked, hands dropping the bag you were holding out to a patron to cover your head. As soon as you looked back up you saw what chaos had resulted. Will’s hands over your back where he had curled over you were steady as he pulled away from you as you straightened back up to your full height.

“Everyone inside!” You shouted, wanting to be heard over the scene, you and Will were picking up the folding table set up in front of the door and moving it to the side. He was ushering people into the shop, instructing them to hide further in the kitchen and behind the counter, to turn the lights off and be quiet. A good crowd had formed, the people closest to the store seeking the much appreciated shelter.

“Will, watch over them. I’m gonna look for the others!” You were tugging your apron off and handing it to him, walking away from the safety of the shop. Benny had gone off with Lucianna while Pope, Frankie, and Lex had gone off in a little group to explore the markets offerings.

Everything around you oversaturated, the scene so crisp and sharp that it hurt your eyes. Your focus fell on the small figure of Lex as she cowered in the protection of a flower stand, hidden in the blooms of them. Frankie was further down with Pope, both of them helping to get people out of the way in the craziness. Someone had been shot, you could smell the tang of blood wafting down the street. Police sirens were far off, those that had already been acting as security for the market scrambling to get people to safety and inside the businesses lining the blocked off street.

Lucianna was hidden in the flower stand as well, her arms tight across Lex’s chest as she held her smaller form close. As soon as the little girls frantic brown eyes landed on you, she was pulling from the woman’s grip, rushing toward you. Everything froze, the world tilting on a dizzying axis as the sun glinted off of the muzzle of a gun behind her. Frankie spotted it the same second you did, but he was so far down the street, so far from his daughter out in the open as people scattered, tripping over themselves.

You were rushing toward her, no thoughts for yourself as you tried to close the distance. She was running as fast as she could toward you, her hands held out as tears fell from her eyes. She was so scared, it was palpable. Fear a thick blanket of tension over the entire street. As soon as she was close enough, you were gripping her tight and pulling her into you, turning your back on the man firing into the panicking crowd.

Pain blossomed at the base of your spine.

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taglist: @tanzthompson @clevergirl74 @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @anoverwhelmingdin

[virtie333]

Aww, this one was beautiful! I love seeing tough guys show emotion. You had me crying right along with Santiago. Well done!

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Six (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. 

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Hope you like this one. Weirdly it's one of my fave chapters. (I love Frankie, you'll see.) Slightly shorter chapter this time. The angst continues (I’m so sorry... but also I'm really I'm not sorry at all, yk? :P)!  As always, I would be super, super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way, and I'm so touched that anyone would even consider reading this far along in the story! ILY :-*

Word count: 3.7k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Santiago watches you go. Feels the violence of you being snatched from his side like a wound. 

He feels lost for a moment. Paralysed as he watches you retreating, barging by Frankie and Will and Benny in the doorway; most of the boys - barring Tom- having mobilised downstairs. They are soldiers, after all, and so they can sense a conflict. They look like it too. They look primed: to assess, attack, defend. Defend you. Always was that way. That’s all Santiago ever wanted too. 

“Hey. Hey, hey. Come on. What is all this?”. Frankie attempts to soothe as you hasten your approach across the sand, towards the refuge of that doorway. As though Santiago is an earthquake and you must take shelter from him there. “Come on,” he calls out to the two of you, indiscriminately. And then, to Santiago only. “For fuck’s sake, man. You care about each other.”

Santiago can’t move. He desperately wants his feet to move after you but he can’t seem to get them to cooperate. Can’t seem to get any sound of protest to birth from his throat. Can’t seem to bring himself to stop you from walking away. Just like last time. Maybe he thinks he knows what’s better for you, and so he dare not try. 

Instead, he watches as Frankie futilely tries to smooth things -to slow you down - but on your approach he must see little chance of reconciliation in the folds and caving of your face, for he lets you barge right by him. You slip clean by Will on the porch too, and just past Will’s broad shoulders, Santiago can see his brother spinning on his heel. Launching himself to follow you back upstairs. To offer you the comfort you deserve after the wounds you didn’t. The wounds he has created by telling you the one thing he’d always feared himself. 

That there was no hope for the two of you. 

God. He had simply tried to love you, but how could he reach out to you softly when his hands are so lethal? How could he hold you, when all he ever did was hurt? 

He huffs a sharp breath out of his nose, cursing at himself under his breath. His heart is hammering in his chest. There is a ringing in his ears. Guilt. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Guilt most of all. Santiago watches dissociatively as Frankie beelines across the sands for him, not to comfort, he thinks, but to blame. It’s all he deserves, isn’t it? Maybe, but he feels exposed out here, alone on the sand, so he too mobilises towards the house. His head down and his pace purposeful, face locked in a grimace, as though perhaps he too could somehow slip by unnoticed, despite its guarded perimeter. Even though the whole squad is primed for damage control. Even though he’s flagged as the danger. The wrecking ball, the shell, the strike, threatening to bring this house to its knees. 

He’s done worse. 

He had wanted better for you.

“I’ve had enough of this bullshit, man,” he spits to Frankie - without looking at his buddy as he rounds on him, attempting to get in his way and slow him down. Santiago doesn’t like to feel caged in. To feel small. Vulnerable. He rasps the palm of his hand down over his mouth and chin. “Fuck.” 

Santiago reaches the porch, still ignoring Frankie, and moves to pass Will too. But, his old captain is having none of that. He pushes Santiago back firmly - heel of hand to shoulder. “Why don’t you leave it?” he warns, the words frothing between his teeth. Santiago still does not look up, his face a snarl, trying once more to shoulder barge and bypass his way into the house. “No, no way.” Will stands taller, knocking him back, practically looming over Santiago now. 

Santiago looks at him this time, in accusation. He squares off to him, tension writhing along his jaw, Will bearing down on him with all the weight of his bulk and presence and his track record. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Frankie placates from behind him, and Santiago feels the man’s hands settle on his tense, packed shoulders. He quickly shrugs them off. “Let’s take a walk. Let’s take a walk.”

“You fucking kidding me?” Santiago bites, his breath raging through his nose. 

“Take a fucking walk, Garcia.” Will orders coolly. The shorter man’s jaw writhes, tension rippling through his body, but he doesn’t plan on going toe to toe with Captain Miller. He knows that wouldn’t end well. 

Frankie tries again, planting his hands once more on Santiago’s shoulders and twisting him away from the porch. Santiago still hasn’t looked at the man. He can only feel him there. This quiet, calming presence, reflecting the grotesqueness of own anger back at him. Forcing him to face himself in the mirror. “Let’s take a walk. Come on, hermano. Take a walk.” 

Santiago rips his gaze and head away from Will and with an unbecoming grunt begins pacing it down the long strip of beach, adrenalin still piping into his veins. His body shaking, tremoring, and fists clenched by his sides. “Can you believe her? I’m just so… fucking-” He growls. 

And still, Frankie is behind him, in his PJs and sliders and just shoving him forward, palms planted on his shoulder blades. “Walk, man. Just fucking walk. Don’t talk. Move your legs.” Santiago tries it one more time, tries to twist around but Frankie just shoves him onward again, keeping pace behind him. He sticks with him, despite the huffed breaths and snipes and everything else. He walks him like a fucking dog until the adrenalin has burnt off. Until Santiago feels only jitters through his weak legs. Until he feels a pit open up inside and swallow him. Until he can carry himself no further away from you. Until he realises that no matter how far he walks he cannot run from himself. 

“You cooled off now, huh?” Frankie manages to soothe, even with the bitter lime-wedge bite in his tone. “Okay. Okay.” 

Santiago crashes. 

“Fuck, Frankie.”It is as though he turns to sand, knees buckling and dropping to a crouch, burying his face into his gently tremoring hands. “Shit.” He scoops up a handful of sand, tossing a tiny grit storm into the air. “Fuuuuucckk.” He crests, and he sags back on to his ass with a sorry thud into the sand, his legs spread and knees drawn up. He rests his elbows on top of them, his head sagging down in between his legs and his fingers lacing behind his neck. He looks like he’s protecting himself from debris. From the aftermath.  

To his side, Santiago hears Frankie sigh deeply, and he plonks himself on the floor beside his buddy. Santiago squirms performatively to dismiss the circles Frankie’s broad hand smooth into his shoulder, but he is eminently glad when his friend doesn’t quit. He needs this. Someone who won’t give up on him. 

Frankie’s robust voice is a comfort too, yet he can still hear some judgement in it. Knows it is coming. Still, generously, Frankie allows Santiago a moment. A breathing cycle before he must face another onslaught. “Hey. Hey, come on.” He pats his back more firmly, and Santiago just sits, tears piping freely down his cheeks. 

There is a groan around a bitten lip, and Santiago finally looks. Finally looks to see Frankie softly shake his head from side to side. Something is coming. Santiago can guess what. It’s somehow always his fault, isn’t it, and so he should expect the onslaught? Frankie’s voice is deceptively soft, but he always strikes in stealth. That’s where he does his best work. He applies another couple of slow, forceful pats to Santiago’s back, before scrunching his hand into his t-shirt and jostling him, perhaps as though he could shake some sense into him once and for all. “I don’t get it, man,” Frankie intones. “Isn’t she everything you ever wanted?”

Santiago closes his eyes, the final smattering of tears beading in his long lashes. “I don’t know why I can’t…” His shoulders tug up as he sucks in a steadying breath and promptly releases it again, digging his closed fists into the sand before him. “I don’t. I just…” His eyebrows leap up in distress as he wrestles with the complexity. “I want to. I want to, but she’s better off without me. She doesn’t deserve all of my bullshit.”

“I don’t think she’s once tolerated any bullshit, hermano, least of all yours.” 

Santiago sees what his buddy is trying to do, but Santiago shakes his head forlornly from side to side. “I wouldn’t be good for her. Wouldn’t be good enough…” 

Frankie clicks his tongue. “She wants you. Don’t patronise her by thinking you know better.” 

“No. It’s too late. I fucked it. I… Shit.”

Frankie’s voice drops an octave. “I’ve been patient. But I’m tiring of your fucking excuses, man.” He does; he sounds tired. Everyone, always so tired of him. “Look ahead with me for a minute, alright?” Frankie gestures with a sweep of his arm through the air, as though Santiago could fix on a vision of the future before him. Instead, all he sees is a black, rolling sea, fringed with frayed white lace. A round disk of mellow light shining down through the night. “What do you see in your life? Christ - what’s your endgame? Getting shot in some fucking ditch?” Frankie swats Santiago’s arm with the back of his hand when he receives no reply, the man instead looking wistfully out over the water, his eyes as soft as the moon. “I asked you a question. So answer me. What’s your endgame? If you can’t even say it aloud, I can’t fucking help you.” 

“Her,” Santiago breathes, without looking away from the water. “Her. You know it is.” He scratches nervously over the stubble on his cheek. “I’m so in love, man. So gone for her I can’t fucking think straight.” 

“Right,” Frankie nods firmly, looking at Santiago unblinkingly from beneath his lashes. “So what the fuck are you going to do about it?” 

“I can’t just leave everything, Cat. Walk away and-” 

“-Can’t you?” Frankie smacks the back of his hand definitively against his own open palm. “I did. Tom. Will. She did.” 

Santiago actually scoffs then, as if something is funny. “Yeah. Yeah, Cat,” he concedes, pushing himself up from his hunched position in the sand, voice oddly taut. “You did.” Frankie stands with him, his chin raising as he defends from whatever low blow Santiago has brewing, a healthy dose of cynicism dripping from him already. “You did, and fucking look at you. You’re all a goddamn mess. A hot steaming pile of shit.” His eyes tighten with resolve, a solemnity shrouding his sharp features. “I can’t do that to her.” 

“Fuck you, man,” Frankie revs. “I’m good. I have a little girl on the way.” 

“Oh, please. Give me a break.” Santiago slices his hand through the air. “Tom’s eyes are fucking hollow. Selling fucking condos?” Frankie’s eyes flash with a rage and a sadness that seem to cancel each other out at first, and so he can all but listen as his buddy winds up his tirade. “Will - fucking Captain Miller - this burly bastard walking on eggshells because he’s afraid of flipping that switch and blacking out again. He choked a man out, no flag on his shoulder. Lost the love of his life. I thought those two were it, man. You’re scraping by on lines and don’t think we haven’t noticed.” Frankie’s head ducks down then, and he lets out an undone noise, something between a protest and a whimper. “Fuck, even Benny. The fucker gets beat to shit for fun. Do we sound fucking healthy to you, Cat? Is that how good it is getting out?” 

Frankie’s breaths are turbulent now. Santiago can see the familiar look of restraint on the man. Nostrils flaring, brow drawing down. The dark, formidable edge behind Frankie’s quiet exterior barely kept in check. He meets his gaze and he almost looks battle-drunk. On the offensive and ready to do whatever it takes to get off the backfoot. But, he reins it in. Swallows it down. Until all he delivers is a march forward, pacing Santiago backward, his finger jabbed into his chest and his words snarling directly against his cheek. “Fuck you, pendejo. You think you’re any better than us?” 

Santiago lets him have it. He’s not sure he has any fight left anyway. Isn’t sure he’d mind anymore if he got punched down into the dirt. 

“No. No, I don’t. That’s exactly my point.” Frankie searches his face, the knife in his keen eyes blunting to a wet sheen as Santiago lays it out in a small, fractured voice. “If you can’t do it, how in the hell can I make a go of it? I’m not the best of you. I’m so fucked up. I’ve got all this… fucking baggage. My mom. The nightmares. Lorea. The blood on my hands. I can’t be ‘it’ for her. I can’t. Because she deserves better. Deserves the fucking world, man.” 

Frankie clamps his hands down on Santiago’s shoulders, drawing back to look him squarely in the eyes. “Guess what? You’ll be fucked up in or out, trust me. But you may as well be fucked up with fewer bullets grazing your vitals daily, no?” 

Santiago shakes his head as if getting “out” is simply impossible. “I’m doing something, man,” he mutters, as if he can’t muster the strength to believe his own line anymore. As if all his old mantras are dead. Washed away in the sand. “I’m trying to do something down there.” 

“This mother’s homeland bullshit again?” Frankie really does sound eminently tired. Trust Santiago to hit on an argument within an argument, right? He can always twist just about everything. “Wake up call, Pope. You can’t fix it. You don’t even care if you fix it. You just want to keep fucking running.” 

Santiago tears away from Frankie’s grip, pacing in a small circle. “Fuck you.”

Frankie raises his palms in the air. As if he really is about to give up. What does he do if every one of his best friends gives up on him, Santiago thinks? “Fine. Whatever. That’s your shit, not mine. But look at it this way. You tell me you can’t walk away from that life. Look me in the eye and tell me this. You okay walking away from her?”

“She walked away,” Santiago spits, even though he scarce believes it any longer. Yes, you might have walked away. But he was the one who ran. “She was the one who-”

“-I don’t care!” Frankie yells, quickly losing patience, waving his palms of surrender around.  “I’m tired of this. Shit - I do not care about these little technicalities. Yeah. Okay. She left, right? She moved on, Santiago. Moved along the road. Life is moving on. Don’t blame her because you’re standing still, cabrón.”

Santi shifts his weight from foot to foot, swipes his palm back and forth over his mouth. “Fuck you, man, standing still my ass.” 

“Oh, what?” Frankie retaliates. “You can come at me but I can’t come at you?” Santiago’s expression is stark, all straight lines and angles and shadowed planes. “You stayed and for what? To spite her? To prove yourself right? Jesus, Pope. Lorea has you chasing your tail. You’re going round in circles. You fuck your problems away but you wake up and, hey, guess what? They’re still there. Still a big steaming stack of turds in the corner.” Santiago curses under his breath, spitting insults and deflections, but Frankie is undeterred. “And the worst thing is, you could fucking have it! You could have everything you want! What the rest of us wouldn’t give for that, pendejo.” 

“Right, yeah. Thanks for that assessment. I’m just a fucking chump, is that it?” 

“Hey, look. It’s you. I’m just saying what I see.” Frankie’s mouth curls into a tentative smile, yet the blow dealt by Santiago’s stony expression manages to dull it. 

“Asshole.” 

“Whatever. I’m done helping. You don’t want her? Fine. You don’t have to change a thing. Can drive her away all on your own, I’m sure.” 

A hard swallow bobs down Santiago’s corded neck, and he chews on some words before offering them up. “And if I do? Want her?” 

“If you do? Then, Christ. Stop moaning about it like a little bitch and do something about it.” Santiago’s face sours all over again, and Frankie holds his hands up once more in surrender. “I’ve tried the softly, softly approach, man. We’ve all got our own shit going on. It’s past time for a fucking intervention with you.” Santiago writhes his jaw, but there is no further protest from him. Eventually, he concedes with the barest of nods. Frankie braces his arm on his shoulder, his expression growing wistful. “I just want to see you happy, man. I gotta know that some of us can still be happy. Of all of us? She fucking deserves it. And, look. You deserve it too, alright?”

Tears ball in Santiago’s eyes. It’s been a long time since he felt like he deserved to be happy. A very long time. He concedes, with the barest of nods. “It’s… I’m….” He chucks out a breath, frustrated at his lack of ability to get his words out, his mouth and brows pinching together.  

“What? Spit it out.” Frankie gives his shoulder an encouraging jostle. 

Santiago looks him in the eyes, about to level with him. Perhaps upon seeing the vulnerability there, the pilot’s eyes soften. “I’m fucking… scared, man.” 

Frankie’s eyes tighten with a wistful mirth, and his hand slips up to curl around the back of Santiago’s neck in a brotherly embrace, emotion flooding the cracks in his grit-flecked voice, making it warm and robust. “Santiago. Idiota. The way she looks at you, man? You don’t have a damn thing to be scared about.”

Tears glisten in Santiago’s eyes once more, and Frankie draws him into a tight, enclosing hug. Santiago lets himself collapse into it, wrapping his arms around Frankie’s broad, slender torso. After a few moments, and an extra squeeze for good measure, Frankie draws back, still cupping the nape of his buddy’s neck. 

“Cool down and come back to the house okay?” Frankie encourages, eyes needling Santiago for an answer until he nods. “Look. You okay?” He nods again, more adamantly this time as Frankie soothes him, dipping his chin down and raising his brows to hammer home the seriousness of his inquiry. “Yeah? Not gonna do anything stupid? Santiago?” 

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll be okay.” 

Frankie drops his arms, evidently feeling somewhat reassured. Yet, with Santiago, the fact that he promises not to do anything stupid bears repeating. “What are you gonna do?” 

“I’ll take a walk,” Santiago nods, his face drawn down into stern lines. “I’ll come back to the house.” He regards his friend, his eyes still painted with concern. 

Santiago frowns. Scratches the back of his neck. “Listen. You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Frankie grins, an element of deflection in it. “I’ll be okay.” He bumps Santiago in the shoulder with his fist. “Fuck you though.” 

“Yeah. Sounds about right. Listen, we gotta talk soon, huh?” 

The smile drops from Frankie’s face as he contemplates being the one placed under scrutiny. “Yep.” 

Santiago shuffles from foot to foot. “Will you…”

“Yeah,” Frankie reassures. “I’ll make sure she’s alright.”  

“Love you, man,” Santiago calls, as Frankie turns on his heel. 

He calls back over his shoulder, walking a few backward paces. He comes to a halt a few metres from his friend. “Yeah, I know. Love you too.” 

“And… I’m sorry.” He had no right to drag Frankie’s shit into this. 

“Yeah. I know that too,” Frankie revs. “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be if you ever say shit like that to me again. I’m too old for this bullshit, man.” Still, Frankie shrugs, indicating no hard feelings. “Anything else you want to say for yourself?” He juts his chin up. Watches Santiago struggle with the words, but allows him the time to pattern them out.  

“She said she wants to fucking marry me. Can you believe that? But… I’m not that guy, Cat. I’m not the picket fence guy. I…” A frown layers over his already stern face, and he gazes intently at a spot in the sand, mid-way between them. “I don’t want to be the guy who… ruins her life.” 

Frankie inhales deeply, letting the whole gust of breath go in one, puffing it out through his pouted mouth. He looks far too tired for this. “Fuck, I don’t know man. You’ve got so many hang-ups I could use you as a coat rack. But that doesn’t mean you’re not loved. And that’s enough, no? Picket fence doesn’t suit you? I don’t fucking know.” Frankie shrugs, palms tipped up towards the sky. “Shit. Have whatever kinda perimeter you want. Just -for Christ’s sake - make sure you put her on the right side of it. Don’t keep shutting her out.” 

“That’s some deep shit, Cat.” 

“Not just a pretty face, cariño.” 

Santi grins. 

“Now, are you done? I gotta fucking sleep.” 

Santiago nods, and watches as Frankie begins to turn away again. But, there must be something in Santiago’s face which causes him to think better of it. Instead, he surges towards the man, cupping the back of his head in his hand and planting a kiss to the middle of his forehead. The frown lingering there disappears. “I love you, asshole.” 

There are several things which bear repeating when it comes to Santiago.

“I know.” Santi stares intently at his feet. 

And, finally satisfied, apparently, Frankie seems willing to leave his buddy to it - granting him a moment to contemplate things alone. To contemplate you. To contemplate his words of advice. 

Santiago feels grateful for Frankie. Even feels bolstered for a moment, until he realises that what he’d assured him might not be true. That even a love that feels too abundant to bear? That it is not always enough. After all, you’d told him as much, hadn’t you? 

His love wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. 

Frankie walks away. 

Santiago will have to decide if he’s going to do the same. 

Or maybe he’ll run. 

After all. Isn’t that all he’s good for?