#santiago pope garcia x ofc

[absurdthirst]

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

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.9k

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

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

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

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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 👀

[backtothefanfiction]

All The Good Girls Go To Hell | TF!Boys Mafia AU~ Part ONE

Summary: When Phoenix comes home to find her fiancé banging some other girl, her whole life changes seemingly overnight. Forced to go back and live with her Dad, she's about to be dragged into a life with the men her Dad is indebted to.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (Mature Content), Dark Mafia Romance Au, setting things on fire, swearing, dead parent, debt, mental health issues, brain tumour, broken family, anger issues (female rage), AFAB OFC, objectification of the female body, pyromania, little bit of theft (smut to come)

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: I didn't need to have yet another idea for a story. I also didn't need to write it straight away, but I recently read Den of Vipers and figured I could do something better featuring the Triple Frontier boys. I don't know how many parts of this there will be, or how regularly this will ultimately be updated, but I thought I'd share anyway. Smut will come, featuring all four guys this time. This will use an ofc but apart from the hair, there aren't too many descriptors. This will also be written from multiple characters points of view throughout to keep things interesting. Enjoy!

ONE

PHEONIX

My fingers itch as I grip the steering wheel tighter. I should have worn gloves, I say to myself as I drop one hand from the wheel and rub it vigorously against my torn jeans, hoping the friction from the denim will- at the very least- satiate the itch left behind from the lighter fluid long enough for me to get to the next gas station, so I can stop in and wash my hands properly.

It was reckless of me really- the whole damn thing. My brothers taught me better than this, but then again, everyone said I had a temper that was only second to Archie’s in my family- so I’m really not that surprised. People say my Dad used to be equally hot headed before he got remarried to Marina and took over the club, but I’ve still yet to see it- even after all the shit me and my brothers have pulled over the years. It’s like after our Mother died he just gave up. But I don’t blame him. I would too if I lost the love of my life to a fucking disease like that. I had barely known her anyway, so I didn’t really notice all that much when the brain tumor turned her into a “literal monster”, as my older brothers used to so fondly call her when she was on one of her rampages.

I’d always said that my only real memory of her was when she tried to burn down the house by settling alight to the curtains in their bedroom. I remember we all stood out on the front grass as the smoke billowed out of the windows and mixed with the night air. Archie stood on my right holding one of my hands, E.Z stood on my left holding the other. Maybe that’s why I’ve always had a thing for fire myself. Messing about with lighters, setting things on fire- all so I can try and understand that night… At least, that’s what a therapist would probably say.

My Dad tried to make me go to one once, after I ended up burning down the whole science block at my school at 16, but alas, that never happened. Which is why I’m probably still using fire as a coping method after all these years.

My phone is blowing up by the time I reach the nearest gas station. I scan the messages from my brothers over quickly as I pull into the lot.

Deano: Heard what you did, I’d say he fucking deserved it.

Archie: Dad is pissed. Gonna try to calm him down before he does something stupid.

E.Z: Seriously, Phe, again! Dad is gonna be so pissed.

Leo: Just heard about your latest work, props little sis, I think your balls might be even bigger than Dean’s.

Rolling my eyes, I shove my phone in the glove box as it begins to buzz again. Uhh, I really don’t want or need a lecture right now about how I should or should not have acted upon finding my fiance in bed with another woman. Did I over react… by some people’s standards- maybe. But did I also live out every woman’s fantasy of dousing the bed in lighter fluid and striking a match whilst they were still in the bed… yes- yes I did- and do I give two fucks about any repercussions? Absolutely- fucking- not. Because there won’t be. Never have been. My Dad works for some of the most powerful men in the city- and I’m not talking about the Governor or the Mayor. No- someone will send some money over to keep them sweet and in a couple days time, everything will go back to normal.

I scrub at my hands with the shitty cheap soap in the tiny cubicle inside the gas station to the point the giant rock, still on my finger, almost slips off and down the drain. It’s the first time I’ve thought about it. I’ve been wearing it so long, it’s just an extension of my hand at this point. What am I gonna do with it? I mean- it’s worth a fucking fortune. Freddie was fucking loaded after all. None of it fucking his mind you. His Dad was a close business partner for the same guys my Dad worked for. Let’s just say, crime pays and his Dad has made so much money over the years working for Santiago Garcia and his crew, Freddie has never had to lift a single finger, let alone do a days work, to get what he wants.

I grab a handful of shitty paper towels, drying off my hands and the ring, holding it up to the fluorescent bathroom light. Uhhh it wasn’t even my style. I hate diamonds, they’re so basic and boring. Give me a massive fuck off ruby or saphire anyday. 

Still unsure what to do with it, I tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans before assessing how I look in the mirror. It’s like waking up from the weirdest dream and not recognising yourself. I look at my blonde hair in the mirror, the plain white t-shirt covering my breasts. I look like one of those young Barbie, trophy wife wannabe types. Where did the color and fun go? He drained it all out of me.

In college, when I met Freddie, I had pink in my hair and always had on something bright. At least my ripped jeans still have some character. 

Exiting out back onto the shop floor, I grab myself a large bag of cheetos and a cherry icee- that's as big as my head- from the machine in the back. As I place the large bag of cheesy puffs on the counter, I take a large sip of my drink, before placing that too on the counter, reaching for a pair of bright yellow heart sunglasses on a display next to the cashier.

“What d’ya think?” I ask the portly man behind the counter, who’s polo shirt doesn’t look or smell like it’s been washed for at least two weeks with its armpit stains and ranch dressing smear on the front.

It’s obvious he’s trying to come across as if he’s not checking out my whole body as he looks at me, but his eyes scan lower than my face, falling on the V neck of my t-shirt and my breasts for a hint too long. I flash him a sickly sweet smile as I take the sunglasses off my face and hook them into my shirt where his eyes seem to linger instead. “How about now?” I ask.

He quickly clears his throat as he looks back to the register. “Uhhh, yes- Yes- I think they suit you, yes.” he rambles and I can’t help but laugh. Men like that were always so predictable.

I reach for the icee taking another sip and try to school my features when I get brain freeze. “With the sunglasses,” he says, “16 bucks.” I sigh, but fish a couple notes out my back pocket and hand them over, just as my eyes land on a lighter covered in black and white harlequin print. My fingers instantly reach for it.

I turn the lighter over and over again in my fingers before flipping the top of it open and striking up a flame, my eyes getting lost in its amber glow as it sways hypnotically back and forth. It instantly takes me back to not 20 minutes ago and Fred and the girl’s screams, as the bed covers went up in flames and they both shot out from underneath them as he screamed about how much of a psycho I was. 

The ding of the till draw brings me back to the present and I flick the lighter closed. “Oh, and I’m taking this as payment for you oggling me.” I smile at the balding cashier, as I pocket the lighter and grab my bits off the counter.

I can hear him calling after me, “HEY, COME BACK HERE! YOU NEED TO PAY FOR THAT!” but I just laugh and take another sip of the slush and place the sunglasses back on my head.

As I walk back to my car, I notice a bum, sitting in the shade of the wall at the back corner of the station. As I look at him, I can feel the weight of the ring in my back pocket, dragging me towards him. Hey, the ring might not have changed my life, but it doesn’t mean it can’t change someone else’s life.

“Hey.” I say, lifting the yellow sunglasses on top of my head so I can meet his eyes. “Catch.” I toss him the ring. It sparkles as it hits the afternoon sun and I know from the look on his eyes as it makes contact with his fingers, he feels like he just won the lottery. “Pawn it. Get whatever you want with it, I don’t care.” I say as I begin to turn away from him and back to my car.

“Uh-thank you.” he says at first in shock, “Thank you.” he says again, a little more confidently now.

“Don’t mention it.” I shout back to him as I unlock my car with a chirp and climb back inside. 

I open the bag of cheetos, taking one and popping it in my mouth, before dumping them on the passenger seat and reaching to open the glove box, taking my phone back out.

7 more texts from my brothers and 5 missed calls from my Dad; with a final text saying:

DAD: Get your ass home. NOW!

Well, that does it then. I guess I’m going back to the old family home.

I start the engine, shuffling through the radio stations until I find something I like. When I hear the opening riff for Britney Spears’ Toxic, I stop and whack the volume all the way up. My tires screech as I speed out of the forecourt. I sing at the top of my lungs all the way home.

☆

I’m not through the door five seconds when E.Z is trying to usher me back out again. He’s always been the softer one. Third born. The middle child. Always overlooked, but still always trying to appease everyone.

“Dad is pissed.” He says, when he meets me in the foyer. After Mom tried to burn the house down, the place got remodeled. My Dad had to sell his soul to the devil to do it, but it meant we got to stay in our family home. Well, sort of. 

The whole left side of the house needed rebuilding, which meant they got to extend it out a bit more. We lost the basketball court the boys liked to play on, but it meant they finally got their own rooms so they didn’t mind. 

“I know.” I say to E.Z, waving my phone in his face with one hand, while I take a sip of my icee with the other. 

“Give me that.” He says, snatching the drink from my hand, the contents within the straw almost going everywhere as he rips it straight from my mouth. “This is serious Phe, Andy,” Freddie’s dad, “has already been on the phone making threats. You know how important he is for the business. He’s threatening to cut off the club’s supplies.”

“And….” I shrug, before reaching to take back the large cup in his hands. He merely moves it further out of my reach. “Look, I’m sure the guys who own the place have other connections he can use.”

“You sure about that?” My brother presses, raising his eyebrows and looming over me.

“Oh come on, you telling me those four wannabe goodfellas bozos, haven’t got some other dipshit on their payroll to import and export shit for them off record to help keep club costs down.” 

E.Z’s face is a picture. Eyes wide, face serious. It’s clear from his expression and his mouth that keeps gaping like a fish as he tries to get a word in, that he thinks I should shut up. “What!?” I hiss at him, but as I’ve been ranting and raving, I haven’t heard the second set of feet that have made their way through the front door into the foyer. E.Z’s face turns pale as he looks behind me to the figure and back.

“Oh no, don’t stop on my account.” A forced casual voice comes from behind me.

I turn my head and follow the voice to one of the most gorgeous men I have ever laid eyes on. All tanned skin and dark curly hair, a smattering of grays mixed in- the only hint to his age. I frown as a familiarity falls over me, but I can’t quite place from where. “I’m sorry- do I know you?”

He slides his fingers into his trouser pockets, his foot tapping slightly as he looks me up and down. “Oh you know, I’m just one of those bozos who’s now having to help clear up your mess.”

Before I have a chance to respond, my Dad and Archie step out of his office at the end of the hall. “PHEONIX!” My Dad’s voice bellows and I blanche, maybe that anger isn’t as far away as I thought. 

I turn away from the stranger in his Armani suit by the front door, to my Dad, flashing him my sweetest smile. “Hi, Dadd-”

“Uh- No!” He says, holding up a hand to stop me, “Don’t you dare-” He stops as he spots the other gentleman in the foyer. “Pope.” He says, his demeanor growing lighter as he greets the man who actually owns his ass.

“What kind of name is Pope?” I hiss to E.Z under my breathe, but he just nudges me to shut up.

“David… Archie…” Pope nods his head to the two men. “Shall we talk in your office.” He says, nodding back down the hall behind him.

“Uh- yes. Yes.” My Dad says nervously, turning his body to indicate for him to follow him back, before shooting me a stern look, telling me to behave and that this was far from over.

“Pheonix.” Pope nods to me as he passes, a faint smirk in the corner of his mouth and a look in his eye that I could only describe as fascination. But it quickly disappears again as he turns back to my Dad.

As the door to my Father’s office closes, my brother begins to ferry me towards the stairs. “I’d get up there and stay out of trouble if I were you.” He warns. 

I roll my eyes at him before I slip the yellow, heart shaped sunglasses, down over them with annoyance, snatching back my icee, before I stomp upstairs- as usual, out of sight, out of mind.

~

POPE

“Mr Garcia, I am so sorry for my daughters behavior. I really had thought she’d grown out of this,” David Leacher says, as I sit myself down in one of the leather armchairs in his office. “And I never thought she would do something like this that would put your well balanced business in jeopardy.”

I fain disinterest about the subject, because really, it doesn’t actually bother me all that much at all. Sure Andy is a bit pissed now on behalf of his son, but from what I hear, if you’re gonna go sneaking around behind your soon to be Mrs' back and she finds out, you kinda get what your asking for. To be fair, I gotta give the little lady props; it takes real guts to dump lighter fluid on a guy and strike the match, regardless of the consequences. 

“… I just don’t know what to do with her.” David says, slumping back in his chair behind his desk with a large glass of bourbon in his hand. 

“And this is why I never got married and had kids.” I say, giving him a tight lipped smirk. There’s an awkward pause between us, the only sound in the room, the ice clinking in David’s glass as he takes another nervous sip, his hand shaking slightly in anticipation, waiting for the slap on the wrist he thinks is about to come. “Look David, I’ll get to the point, Andy wants compensation for the money he’s already forked out for the wedding.” David puts his drink down and begins rubbing his temples as if this whole ordeal is giving him a headache. 

He sighs, turning to me, an earnest look in his eye, “Pope,” he says softly- imploringly- “you know I don’t have the money for that-“

“I know.” I say, cutting him off. “That’s why, we’ve decided to franchise Medusa’s. We are going to acquire two more clubs, you’ll get a pay rise and oversee all three venues, to help cover the costs. We get more money coming in through the clubs, you get more money to pay off Andy- everyone’s a winner.” 

The look of relief on David’s face is a picture. “Oh thank you, Pope- uh Mr Garcia.” He says, as his whole body seems to let out a very long breath that he had been keeping tight in his body, probably since the first call he got this afternoon about his daughter’s antics. “Thank you, thank you.” He seemingly pants.

“Look Dave, you’re a good guy- a loyal guy-“ I say honestly, “you work hard, you run Medusa’s well. Profits have been up 30% since you took over. I’m not gonna jeopardize that over some silly tiff between a couple kids.”

“No, no… thank you.” He says quietly, acknowledging my words as I continue to speak.

“Whether this had happened or not, we were going to come to you with this proposal this week anyway. Help you pay off your debt to us quicker too- you know.”

“Yes… thank you, Pope. Thank you.”

“Very well then.” I nod to him. “I’ll call Andy, let him know everything is settled.”

“Thank you, Pope, thank you.” He says again. 

David is a good man- a loyal man. He runs our most popular club well, but it was a real shame how soft he had gone in his old age. Ever since he lost his wife, he’s never been the same. Then he married that wannabe wag Marina- who does nothing but spend the rest of what little money he has coming in after he repays some of his debt to us- and walks all over him. Back in the day he had really made a name for himself bare knuckle boxing. They used to call him The Reaper because he could knock a man out with a single blow that brought a man close to death; but nowadays he’d barely hit a fly. This was yet another reason I never settled down and did the whole wife and kids thing- it made you soft.

Still didn’t stop his little girl from being as tough as nails and crazy to boot- but when the only female role models you had growing up were a Mother with a brain tumor that made her- to be polite- unhinged; and then Marina, it's no wonder she’s ended up as she has. She bounced around three different boarding schools in her teens. By the third school- after she had burnt down the science block at the second school- we had to write a fairly hefty donation cheque, in order to get her in. Just another number added to David’s bill to be repaid.

Although he had initially approached us looking for work in order to pay off his wife’s medical bills and then to redo the house after she had burnt half of it down, most of the money he’s borrowed from us over the years has been for Phoenix. Frankie, Will and myself have spent many a night around the table with a drink in our hands speculating on why he continues to bail her out and put himself in more debt to protect her. We’ve long come to assume it’s probably because of guilt. That she was robbed of a proper Mother. Cursed to have a weak Father. If she had been my kid, I would have tossed her ass out on the curb a long time ago and told her to deal with her own shit if she wanted to keep behaving the way she has over the years.

To be fair though, after she met Freddie, we thought she’d finally straightened out- or at least she had become Fred’s problem and he was dealing with it. She stopped going to the clubs. Started wearing more grown up clothing that matched her age. Began running with Freddie and his older friends. But I guess it was only a matter of time and you know what they say- a leopard never changes their spots.

I’m halfway to the door, ready to leave, when David stops me. “Umm, Pope.” He says tentatively. I slowly turn myself back to him, ready to hear his request, even though he’s in no place to be making requests right now after I’ve just bailed his ass out for the fifteenth time. “I was just wondering…” he continues hesitantly, “seeing as Phoenix and Freddie are no longer together, she’ll probably need an actual job of her own now…” I can almost feel myself rubbing at my temples, knowing the question that was about to come out of his mouth. It’s the same question that had come when all of his son’s came of age and needed a job… but this time is different- and we both know it.

Phoenix isn’t like her brothers. Where they are able to be mature and step up and follow orders, she most definitely can not. I’ve seen enough of her school reports over the years to know what kind of employee she’d be. When David had asked about getting the boys jobs, it had been a no brainer. Each one of them had a build similar to their father in his hay day, perfect for a bit of muscle and extra protection in the club. But a job in Medusa’s for Phoenix would be behind the bar- and I know for a fact she’d sooner pour herself shots of liquor and dance on that bar than stand back and serve everyone else whilst they had a good time.

I already know I’m going to regret this when I finally climb into my bed at the end of the night, “She gets one chance.” I say. “One chance.” I hold up my index finger to him for emphasis.

“Thank you, Pope. I promise she won’t let you down.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I mutter to myself, my thumb and forefinger rubbing at my eyes in both irritation and exhaustion, as I finally leave the room. I give Archie a brief nod of acknowledgement as he sees me back out to my car.

I'm about to climb back in when he says, "I know you didn't have to do that, but he needed that, you know. He needs that hope that she'll be okay."

I only give him a nod as I look up to the row of upstairs windows and back to him, "We'll see." I say. "We'll see."

-----------------------------------

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[pedropascalsx]

The Fall Out; The Invitation.

Frankie Morales x F!Reader. 

Summary: You attend an audition for a local band, and all seemingly goes well until it doesn’t.

Warnings: P in V sex, Creampie, Swearing, Some angst, Arguing, Asshole Frankie and Drummer!Benny Miller.

Word Count: 2K.

Chapters: 1 of 6.

A/N: I don’t know what I am doing. I am bad at this. This is mostly flashbacks and throughout the series I will be jumping back and forth. The next chapter will heavily focus on the breakdown of the band/relationships.

[FLASHBACK: TEN YEARS EARLIER].

It was fucking intoxicating, it was four months of unspoken tension and frustrations being hashed out in the most bruising and salacious way. 

Every thrust was fuelled by a different desire, a desire to make you scream his name, a desire to make you his and a desire to stop your smart mouth from spilling anything but moans of pleasure and desperate whimpers of his name. 

His grip was bruising from the very second the tension snapped, he spun you around and pulled down your panties without stopping for breath. He made a snarky comment about how fucking desperate you were for him and the way your thighs were glistening with your wetness meant that for once you couldn’t shut him up with a snide remark of your own. 

Instead you just choked back a moan, ignoring the sharp sting of pain you felt as you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip at a futile attempt to hide the overwhelming feeling of relief that it was finally happening.

He sunk himself into you in one fluid movement and you swore you could see stars. Everything around you disappeared and for a moment you were somewhere else, you weren't in a filthy dressing room at the back of some shady venue that hadn’t seen a vacuum in god knows how long.

And then he spoke. 

“You think I can’t see what you’re doing,” he scolded before ceasing his movements, “Stop biting your lip. I wanna hear how well you take my cock. I can already feel it, so what’s the point in trying to pretend that you’re not fucking gagging for it?” 

The groan that was milliseconds from spilling over your lips was replaced by a moan that you had no chance of suppressing, his cock having speared into that spot inside of you as your lips had parted. 

And from that moment on, you were putty in his hands. All the need to defy him had evaporated and the only thing that you could feel was a stronger need to be consumed by him, to feel the heat of him enveloping you as he relentlessly fucked into you. 

You gave him everything he wanted, you came with a gasp of his name and you let him spill every drop of spend inside of you as he murmured some almost incoherent speech about how you were his and he was going to claim you in every single way.

It was always going to end in tears.

[THE BEGINNING]

“Can I add this to your notice board?” A voice boomed out from across the cafe, as you served a customer their overpriced coffee. 

“Sure,” you replied with a friendly shrug, “Spare pins are placed in the bottom left corner of the board.” 

“Thanks, babe,” the voice called back and before you could get a real glance at him, he was out the door and on his way to cover every spare post or board with copies of the same flyer.

The rest of the day had been so busy you didn’t even think of it again until you were heading out, the hastily made flyer grabbing your attention as you slung your backpack across your shoulder.

You pulled it off the board and studied it for a few moments before shoving it in your backpack, it has been a while since you’d even considered performing in front of people, work and bills getting in the way of the dream you’d had since you were a child, but something about this was calling out to you. 

[THE DAY OF THE AUDITION]

Work was as busy as ever, you had been starting work at four am rather than six because the festive period had seen more visitors popping in before or after doing their Christmas shopping. 

And that had seen the pastries, cakes, tarts and cookies you made for the business selling out quicker than you were used to. 

Work was a helpful distraction, the amount of things you had to freshly bake and prepare meant you didn’t have time to fret or sike yourself out over the audition.

And before you knew it the café was open and filled with hungry and thirsty customers; and your co-worker Callie was bouncing behind the counter to relieve you of your duties. 

“Are you ready for the big audition for the big gig?” she asked with a signature wink, “You’re gonna smash it.” 

“Ooh, the big gig?” you said with a giggle, “Is that what we are calling me potentially hanging out in someone’s garage a couple of times a week?”

“Sounds like superstardom to me,” Callie shot back as she tied her apron around her waist, “Good luck, break a leg or whatever!”

“Yeah, yeah! Thank you babe.”

“Don’t forget to text me how it goes,” she called back as you politely weaved your way past the waiting customers. 

The line of people outside the venue made your nerves tingle, you weren't sure what to expect or just how many people would be interesting but it certainly wasn’t this. There must have been 25 people ahead of you, and that was just waiting outside. 

Instinctively your fingers intertwined with the fingers on your other hand, as you eagerly waited your turn, occasionally fighting the urge to abandon ship and wait for another opportunity to come around.

But the snotty girl in front of you said something to someone else in the queue that made you stand your ground, the anticipation and intrigue outweighing the anxiety and doubt.

She was eavesdropping the conversation in front of her and the sharp scoff she exhaled in judgement immediately caught your attention, “Didn’t you hear? They asked the original lead singer to leave. This is a big fucking deal, they were offered an opening slot that would have been huge for them and he pissed someone off so badly that they withdrew the offer.” 

“Who were they going to open for?” a voice that sounded alarmingly like your own croaked out and the mean girl spun around with a raised eyebrow before looking you up and down and scoffing again. 

“Green Day.”

‘Shit.’ You murmured, and she turned back around before making some unintelligible comment under her breath that made you roll your eyes.

After three agonising hours, it was almost your turn. The pink haired mean girl from the line came crashing out of the room with a smug look splashed across her face and just as you’d made the decision to go home, the door opened again and the same guy from the café was inviting you.

“Hey!” he said with a huge smile, “From the café on main right?” 

“Yeah,” you replied with a shy smile, “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Come meet the guys,” he said as he ushered you in the room, “I’m Benny by the way. Drums!” 

“Oh, yeah, it figures you’re a drummer,” you reply with a laugh before introducing yourself. 

“Why’s that?” Benny says as he gestures to the microphone before climbing back on stage and calling out, “Because the drummers are always the most handsome guy in the band?”

“Something like that,” you roll your eyes and shrug and simply reply, “Your arms.” 

He laughs before telling the guys your name and telling them where you work and then he introduces them all.

“Okay, so we got Pope over there on bass, my brother Will is on keyboard, I’m obviously on drums and this is Frankie our guitarist.”

As he introduced each guy they waved and smiled from behind their instruments, all until Frankie. Who barely glanced up at you. Too busy fiddling with his instrument to give you the time of day, boredom and frustration clearly painted across his face. 

His incredibly handsome face. You hated how obvious it must have been that you did a double take when you looked at him, your breath hitching as you took him in. You couldn’t ignore his strong nose and jaw and his endearing scruffy patchy beard. He was gorgeous. But he seemed so utterly disinterested that he immediately struck a nerve. 

“So what are you going to sing?” Pope called out from the stage, “You want us to play something or do you have a backing track?”

“Shit,” you hissed, “No I didn’t bring one. I just figured I’d sing it without… is that ok?”

“All good, babe,” Benny yelled back with a reassuring smile, “Whenever you’re ready.” 

Run by Snow Patrol had been the song you ultimately settled on singing for the audition, it had been a firm favourite for years and was always something you felt comfortable performing.

“Holy shit,” Benny spluttered as you finished the song, “Café girl has got some pipes.” 

“That she does,” Will replied with an approving nod.

And before you had a chance to thank them a gravelly voice flooded the room, “She’s not exactly what we’re looking for,” he said as his fingers still fiddled with his guitar, “I mean, yeah, nice voice, but come on.”

“And what exactly are you looking for?” you blurted back, “Another arrogant asshole that’ll blow any more chances that may come your way.”

He sneered at you, before standing up and giving you an obvious once over, “Yeah, she’s…uh, real nice. Clearly she would make a great addition to the band” he spat out to his band mates every word dripping with sarcasm before slipping through a door off the stage.

You couldn’t make sense of how quickly he had gotten under your skin, and immediately you were trying to work out if you wanted to slap or kiss him. Slap him. Definitely slap him… Maybe. 

“Is that good for you?” the voice called out from the stage as you tried to regain some focus.

“What?” you stammered, “Uh, sorry, I didn’t catch what you said?”

Will laughed, “He has that effect on people. Could you leave your number on the sheet over there and we will let you know in a few days.” 

You nodded politely before giving the band an unconvincing smile, before stumbling over and scribbling down your name and number on the sheet. 

‘Well, I definitely won’t be hearing from them.’ you thought to yourself as you slowly walked home, replaying it all back over and over until you felt physically sick.

You sipped the hot chocolate in your mug as some absolutely awful but equally captivating hallmark movie played out on your TV, each scene as predictable as the next making you roll your eyes but somehow still being so alluring that you audibly tutted when your phone started ringing and disturbing it.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

“Hello,” you sighed into your cell phone, “If this is a spam just do me a favour and hang up for me.” 

“Depends on what you’d refer to as spam, Café girl,” the voice boomed back into your eye with a laugh, “Not disturbing anything important I hope.” 

“Benny?” you asked with an obvious tone of surprise, “I didn’t expect to actually hear from you.” 

“Can hardly offer you the position if I don’t contact you, babe,” he says and you can picture the cocky grin on his face, “What are you doing Tuesday night?” 

Joining a local band with a guitarist that you’ve already had a spat with? ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ you thought to yourself before answering.

“Sounds like you’re about to tell me.”

[PRESENT DAY; TEN YEARS LATER]

The chill in the air made you grip the mug of hot chocolate in your hand a little tighter, you sat comfortably on the balcony off your bedroom and looked out over the lake whilst enjoying the same silence you had for years.

The rude unexpected ringing of your phone making you wince slightly as you glanced down at the screen.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

Usually you’d just let it ring out, maybe check the voicemail they’d potentially leave a few hours later if you felt like it, but a feeling you hadn’t felt for many years started to bubble up in your stomach, and something was calling out for you to answer.

“Hello,” you quietly murmured into the phone.

“Hello, babe,” a familiar voice boomed back at you, “It’s been a while. What are you doing next month?” 

[artemiseamoon]

Preview: Is this how it ends? 6

Fic info & warnings

Read on A03

Words: 5,218

A03

Rhea’s eyes fixed on the window as the sun rose on the horizon, golden rays of light cast across the sky like brushstrokes accompanied by oranges and blues.

The heaviness of a long night was now absent from the sky, but no matter how much sunlight streamed through the room, it still felt like midnight.

Rhea barely slept. She kept reliving the afternoon before, what she could have done differently if she kept her anger in check, and how good it felt, even in the context of the situation, to see Frankie’s face, finally. And, she was also worried about Will, she had to make sure he was okay with her own eyes too.

In order to do that, she’d need to gain some trust with Pope, which she might have ruined yesterday. She didn’t regret it, she was pissed, and sick of his games; at the same time, she needed to find a way to control herself so she could get on his good side.

When they got back to the house yesterday, she was locked away in the room, where she’s been since then. She had a small amount of food and some water delivered around 6pm by a guard, but Pope himself was a no show.

Rhea kicked the covers off then sat on the side of the bed, her eyes moving to the Armoire full of dresses and shoes. Even the actual closet had clothes in it he picked for her.

“Stuck in a fucking dollhouse.” she muttered with a frown.

Even the pajamas she wore were selected by him. Rhea got up and started to pace.

“Fine Pope, you want me to play, I’ll play,” she opened the closet and thumbed through the clothes while going over a plan in her head.

Read on A03

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@artemiseamoon-updates

More vibes of this trio aka Rheas phone

[wyn-n-tonic]

Did You Think I Had Forgotten?

Word Count: 2.6k Pairing: Santiago Garcia x f!reader (written in third person). Warnings: Unprotected PiV. Talk of murder. Allusion to pregnancy loss (not spoken about in explicit detail). Fucking at a funeral. Author's Note: This may be my favorite thing that I have written. It's right up there with Soft Cries and Sacred Oasis for me.

Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Ao3

He’s got a mean streak.

Deep beneath the calluses of his hands and the surface of his skin, it’s there; golden tan and mean as shit with hard set sable eyes. She’d be terrified if she didn't know any better, didn't know all the shades of softness that warm his cheeks in sun kissed, peach toned blooms.

Santiago Garcia, standing there with a half smile like it’s just another day. Like he’s been around for all this time and all these changes. Like he’s waiting for a hometown hero, movie star style kiss.

She’d fucking hate him if she could.

Not that loving him stopped her from chucking a half full glass of whiskey from halfway across the room. 

He looks down when it shatters at his feet, the amber liquid bleeding into the black of his pants and the shine of his shoes, and looks up at her again. “You still put ice in your whiskey, Sandy Koufax?” 

Ben’s hand fists into his shirt before he can open his mouth again, the starched, black fabric crunching in his grip as he pulls the shorter man away from the mess; the room; her. 

If they were eccentric rich people, this could be written off as performance art—The Scorned Lover and the Man Who Ripped Her Apart. The true bullshit of it all is that he didn’t even have to try. It was all so simple for him, leaving the bed and a note. His cellphone number had been disconnected before he even reached the airport. 

He didn’t even take his fucking clothes.

Back against the closed door, she closes her eyes to fight the welling tears. It’s been two—three?—years, her anger shouldn’t feel like this anymore. Shouldn’t feel so palpable and all encompassing. She got past that stage clinging onto Ben’s hand while his sister and Frankie tiptoed around packing boxes and preparing food like it was a fucking wake. They were downstairs too, she thinks to herself. All that time pretending they didn’t want to fuck each other just to show up here with three rings and an infant between them.

Embarrassment floods her suddenly, overtaking the despair and the rage. A drink. She threw a drink. She threw a glass of watered down whiskey at a mourning man’s feet. She made a spectacle out of her grief that wasn’t even for the man they’d just buried. Of course he was here.

Of course.

This was all his fault, after all.

They should change his nickname to Judge for the way he likes to sentence others into agony. 

She looks down at her feet and then up again, across at the mirror hanging on the bathroom wall that cuts her at the waist. He bought this dress one Christmas, asked her to wear it out the store after he managed to collect his words again. Took her to dinner and then asked her to keep it on a few hours later in the bright white light of their bedroom.

Maybe that smile he wore was for the same memory the dress brings her. But it’s the only black formalwear she has with an appropriate neckline. Tits out in front of old friends at the funeral of another just didn’t sit right.

Pushed forward when the door opens, she breaks her fall on the vanity countertop and swears as she looks up into the reflected eyes of the man who drove her in here.

“Fuck.” 

Who chose black anyway? If this was actually a celebration of life, they’d all be in camouflage and smudged face paint sharing anecdotes of casual racism and laughing about how it makes sense his half functional alcoholism tossed his head against the rocks on another foreign hike.

“He didn’t fall, did he?” She asks, turning towards him. “You did this, didn’t you?”

Santi shrugs. “I played a part—oh, don’t roll your eyes at me, sweetheart.” His eyebrows pinch, hand raised like he’s cutting off the chance of a response. “You fucking hated Tom.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but I needed him.”

“And me?”

He huffs a laugh. “That was more that you didn’t need me.”

“Fuck you, Santiago.” There’s venom in her words but they only seem to land at his feet like the shattered glass from earlier or her knees all the times before that. “You’re a piece of shit.”

A step closer, hands in his pockets, and he looks down at her with pity in his voice. “I don’t know what I missed more—your cunt or the way you like to act like one.”

“I'm so glad I burnt most of your shit.”

“Kept the house though, didn’t you?” He asks, closer still.

“It should be you in that box down there.” She regrets it before it’s halfway out of her mouth, brain already grasping to pull the words back in and down her throat. 

Santi leans forward, hands bracing himself against the counter as the tip of his nose smudges against hers. “Fuck,” he breathes. “It's hot when you talk back. Been a while since somebody could give it as good as I can dish it out.”

“Nice to know you’ve been keeping yourself busy in…” She doesn’t know where he’s been, just that he went.

“Colombia,” he finishes. “There was nobody to keep myself busy with, trust me.”

When she licks her lips, she swears she almost catches his too and swallows back the fresh saltwater sobs threatening to surface. “Why should I do that?” 

He stands straight again, palm rubbing up against the grain of his beard like he’s trying to find a respectful way to speak his thoughts. Finally, his shoulders raise and drop just as quickly again. “Nobody had an ass as great as yours”—his eyes dart down her body and back up—“good to see you’ve still got it. Did you end up having kids? Ben refuses to tell me anything.”

“Yours,” she nods, watching as his eyes open against the permanent jet lag of his life. “But don’t worry,” she continues, “he left me like you did. Guess I wasn’t good enough for either Garcia boy. Like father, like son, right?”

Light reflects off the strands of silver in the salt and pepper curls that spill between his fingers. He pushes them up and away, pulling near the roots before relaxing his grip to slide down against the grain of the half grey scruff across his cheeks and he shakes his head. “It was never that you weren’t good enough, mi vida.”

“You have no right to call me that.”

“Don't I?” He steps forward again, less space than before left between their bodies. “My decision was to value your life, your needs, over mine. I did what I thought was best for you.”

She looks up towards the art prints of ocean views hung on the wall, gently swiping at her lower lid, and takes a deep breath. “No, Santiago.”

A beat passes and then another, the tick of his gold Rolex echoing in the silence as his eyes stay on you and yours stay on a fixed point over his shoulder. 

He’s got a mean streak and he’s stroking it with every breath between them. He’ll push until it’s satisfied, masking it with a warm, honeyed citrus scent and a deft tongue until every barrier breaks for him to take what he wants.

And then he leaves for others to pick up the pieces of the destruction that he left.

“No what, sweetheart?” He finally asks.

“No,” She repeats, turning to face him again. “You did what was best for you, Santiago. Just as you’ve always done. Because the only two people in this world that you have ever served is whatever grey faced man who sits in the oval office and—“

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he interrupts. “Don’t paint me like this, don’t make me the bad guy. I loved you.” His head drops towards her shoulder, turned towards her still and he presses his nose into her hair, breath ghosting across the shell of her ear. “I love you.” 

She laughs, arms hugging closer around her body. “You've got a funny way of showing it.” 

“You want me to tell you I’m sorry?” 

Her head shakes and she turns to face him, warmed over by the liquid coal in his eyes. “I don’t think you’re capable of it.” 

Santiago’s lips turn upward as thick, dark eyebrows rise to the challenge. “I am, baby,” he says. “I didn't know—“

“How could you have? Your phone disconnected and every goddamn email bounced right back to me.”

“I adore you,” he continues. “I always have.” He tucks his palm beneath her jawline, gun callused thumb sweeping across the pout of her lips. 

She wants to hate him but she can’t; not when this simple touch feels like the first warmth she’s had in years. Leaning into it against her will, she feels the levees break as a half choked sob claws its way out of her chest. 

He doesn’t even ask. Doesn’t even wait because his body is operating on pure instinct to push comfort onto her distress. It’s why he left before the sun rose. All he wants to do is keep her away from the bad things, especially when they begin and end with him.

He hates even more that she doesn’t even fight it, doesn’t push him away when it’s what he deserves. Because despite all her words, she’s just as in love with him as she was the night before he left.

Mouth opening beneath his, her body molds easily to his form as if she’s done this every day without interruption.

Nothing’s hurried about their touches, no urgency in the way they grab for one another, and neither of them forgot how to make the other melt.

“Santi, Santi,” she pushes back against his chest as his hands make their way beneath her skirt. “Stop.”

“Is there somebody else?” He asks.

“There was Ben,” she tells him rolling her lips in attempt to smooth out the splotched color he wears now too. “It wasn’t serious, I-I—“ 

“You needed somebody warm and sweet and just as broken by me as you.”

“Well…” When he puts it like that. “Yeah.”

Santiago nods, lips pressing back into the apple of her cheek. “That's exactly what he said when he told me. Mi vida”—he shifts his stance between her legs, pressing his hips against hers—“mi alma, I want to come home. I know you don’t believe me.” She doesn’t. “But I need you to.” But she does. “Leaving you, losing Tom…” He inhales deep, trembling lips and soft eyes fighting to betray an otherwise usually cool demeanor. “It could be me in that box down there; and God knows I fucking deserve it, baby. But all I thought about on the side of that mountain as I dodged bullets was you. I thought about what my life would look like if I hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning, if I’d stayed there in our bed and made you my wife like I wanted to. You were in my mind and it put Tom’s all over the fucking rocks.”

“Yet, they said he fell.”

He laughs. “Yeah, well…shot in the head for being a murderer and a thief doesn’t look too good in an obituary.”

“Santi—“

Again, he kisses her. Harder this time and with both hands gripping her hips, he leverages the press of his own to lift her up onto the counter. “It could’ve been me, baby,” he whispers into her, tears buried somewhere deep in his words. “It could’ve been me and I never would’ve seen you again.” Fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and pull. “Never would’ve told you I love you again. I hate myself, sweetheart. I know you never will but I-I”—the strangled pain of relief cuts his words as his zipper goes next—“Let me hold that anger for you, baby.

Vulnerability is his weakness, he yields to it every time. Hard stuff, he can do. He’s stood face to face with war criminals but this scares the shit out of him. She scares the shit out of him. He walked away time and time again from one night stands until she came along and called him a pussy for it. He never did have the balls to actually say goodbye.

He strokes himself in the space between her legs, chests heaving against each other beneath the fluorescent light.

“You gonna fuck me or what, Garcia?”

“Just waiting for you to tell me that I can, my love.”

She barely even says yes before he pushes himself inside of her, bottoming out quickly from the excitement of it all. Before he can even crack a joke, or swear, about the ease with which she takes him, her fingers wrap around the base of his skull. “Muscle memory,” she whispers, pulling him down to squeeze even more distance from between them.

Sex with Santiago has never been just sex. Never something to just get out of the way. To pass the time. Never too mean or soft; rough all around because he was too but tender all the same. Even the quickies ran with that formula, that same slow grind racing against the clock like a well calculated mission. Not this time, though.

This time he’s sloppy, pace stuttering as he tries to catch his breath but he can’t between all the shit flying out of his mouth. How wet. How hard. How many nights he’s sat up thinking about this moment. The way they sound together. The way they smell together. 

He’s coming before he knows it, a grief filled groan right into the crook of her neck. This isn’t how he wanted it. This isn’t how it should’ve been done. He shouldn’t be leaking out of her onto a dead man’s bathroom counter top but here the fuck they are.

Heat blankets her cheeks and she covers her eyes against his stare, bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth as he pulls himself from between her legs. He says something about grabbing tissue but she’s crying before he can even turn around to find it.

“Shh, shh.” Santiago takes her hand in both of his and kisses the back of it. "Baby, what is it?”

“It's you,” she says. “It's us.” Her head shakes. “It's everything and how fucked this all is. And all of it because you couldn’t open your goddamn mouth to have a conversation in the first place.” 

“I know. I’m sorry, baby.”

She tries to pull her hand back from him but he only turns it upward to continue kissing at her palm, nuzzling against the marks of her own lipstick he leaves as if trying to make up for all the touch he lost.

“Did you see Benny’s sister and Frankie finally got together? A whole baby and everything.”

Everything lights up behind his eyes again as he smiles and nods. “They named her after me,” he says proudly. “She’s one person I haven’t let down and”—he shakes his head—“you don’t understand how close I came to ruining her little life too.”

“But you didn’t.”

They stay there for what feels like hours, small touches to prove reality traded back and forth as the noise that soundtracks their own conversation downstairs dissipates down to nothing.

“We should go.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you really burn most my shit?”

She’s halfway to the door, hand already reaching out to pull at the handle, and turns. “Come home and find out.” 

[nerdieforpedro]

Canta para mi (You sing for me)

Nuestras Canciones (Our Songs)

Santiago Garcia x Amalia (plus size OFC)

Main Masterlist / Santiago Garcia Masterlist

Fic is teens and up. My entire blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 593

Summary: A night like many Amalia shares with her husband Santiago. They intertwine with each other. Her voice explains her love for him.

Warnings: None - just domestic fluff

Notes: I promised it would get sweeter, it is with a tinge of melancholy. ☺️

Though she couldn't play an instrument, Amalia used her voice. Daily. It changed depending on whoever she spoke to and what the subject matter was. 

Soft. Stern. Curious. Kind. Jovial, sullen, compassionate, alluring, indifferent.

“So many things you do with it all day. Forget all that! Come! Let’s sing!” Santiago had told her, wrapping his hands around his wife’s ample hips in the living room and leading her to dance to one of her favorites Stevie Wonder “As.” She laughed and called him ‘loco’ to which he replied “You love it querida!” And nuzzled his bushy beard into the nape of her neck, causing her to giggle. The pair floated around the room laughing and singing to a playlist Santi had set up for her on tough days. The speaker would blast the music throughout the house.

When their dances would end or they’d just get tired enough, they’d sit on the couch and cuddle into one another. Sometimes Santiago would remain the big spoon and other times Amalia’s legs would be spread so Pope could lay his back against his wife's soft belly and breasts. She’d mingle her fingers in his curls as another hand made small circles over his chest. They would remain connected like this for a few hours. If one of them drifted off to sleep, it was the other’s responsibility to wake them and get them to bed.

On one such night, Amalia’s hand was strumming her husband’s chest as she played with his salt and pepper curls. Their color had changed but not their silken texture. “I thought of something for you Santi. Escucha por favor (Listen please).” Pope remained silent as he heard his wife's voice ring out into the room.

My strong anchor when I feel adrift

Kind words when I arrive

Beaming laughter teasing me

Even when I was scared of myself

You held onto me

Never let me go

Forever etched in memory

The day you said you’d never leave

You’ve wiped so many of my tears

I hope I’ve been a balm to your aches

Brought clarity to your muddled waters

Mi esposo Mi corázon Mi vida (My husband, my heart, my everything)

Te amo Santiago (I love you Santiago)

He had closed his eyes while he listened to her voice. It was clear she had worked on it and it wasn’t a spur of the moment song. That made it all the more special. His wife had written a song for him, something only his like she was. Santiago hadn’t realized that his beard was a little wet from his tears. He only knew when he removed his glasses to rub his eyes. Amalia placed both her hands on her husband’s chest and kissed his forehead, his bountiful curls tickling her chin. “Let go Santiago. It’s just you and me. I’m here with you. You’re safe, you’re home.” Quiet sobs of Amalia’s husband now filled the room where there had been music. She let him continue until he fell asleep, remaining with him until the sun rose the next morning. 

“One night of uncomfortable sleep is plenty to give him for what he’s given me.” Amalia told herself when she woke in the morning. Pope’s eyes were puffy but had a subtle glow to them. He was already awake and handed her coffee prepared as she liked it.

“Even after all these years you still surprise me cariño. You’ll sing to me another night won’t you?” Amalia nodded and took her first sip of the day. Bold. Rich. Sweet. Creamy. Warm.

Previous: Verse One

Next: Verse Three

Santi's Peaches 🍑: @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @megamindsecretlair @pedritapascal @rhoorl @dameron-grant-spector @pamasaur @sin-djarin @i-own-loki @soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @readingiskeepingmegoing @saturn-rings-writes @yorksgirl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @musings-of-a-rose

[femmeanonymelives]

Electric Touch (feat. (feat. Francisco Morales) (Val's Version)

Frankie Morales x Valerie "Songbird" Harlow (Singer Songwriter!OC) (platonic)

Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Valerie "Songbird" Harlow (Singer Songwriter!OC) (mentioned in this chapter)

Series Masterlist Part 1

Ari's Note: Finally, I finished this chapter. I took some liberties with the timeline. (In my head, the movie takes place in 2017 and this story takes place in 2019 or 2020ish.) Frankie in my head is in his late thirties, whereas Val is 31 in this story.

Deep breaths, in and out. 

In and out.

“What the fuck,” I think in my head as I pace inside the home studio inside my house back in Florida, a day after the show where I ran into Santiago. My mind is racing over the kiss that he gave me the night prior. I owned the house before I started dating Santiago. A small house near a beach. When we were dating, we balanced staying with each other at both of our homes. I come from an old-fashioned family who never believed in moving in together with someone before an engagement.

Frankie comes into my home, holding two cups of coffee, one for him and one for me. His hunter-green jacket is slightly stained due to wear. His slightly brownish-gray hair is messily curled. His “Standard Heating Oil” hat always seemed attached to his head. We have known each other since childhood. He is a few years older than me; he used to babysit me when he was 10, and I was 6. We were more like siblings than friends. His child refers to me as “auntie” more than anything else.

“Kid and momma are spending the day doing a mommy playdate. I am all yours. You okay?”

“I am fine… you are late, by the way.” I sip the lukewarm, bitter coffee slowly to fully enjoy it. 

“Being late for a demo session for a song that I am not even singing on.” Frankie takes a look at the home studio setup. A setup that I made when trying to get someone- anyone to recognize what I have is real. A random patterned rug that I found on clearance at West Elm. Faux-leather stools that were found at a yard sale when babysitting Frankie’s kid years prior. The only new thing is the technology given to me by the label. 

“The band recorded the instrumentals back in Seattle. The label wanted to see how I would sound doing an actual love song, which is this song. I told them this song is perfect if the male vocalist is a tenor and as a duet. That is why I sent you that text with the lyrics a few days ago. This session to record the vocals and send it to the producer and the label.”

“When you told me about this, I thought you were crazy for wanting me to sing again.”

“Said the man who loved choir in high school.” He rolls his eyes. He takes off his faded trucker hat and tries to straighten his hair. His darkish gray curls are messy like always.

“That was the choir in high school, Val.” He looks at me with concern, fully knowing what happened the night prior backstage. “What happened with you and Santiago last night?”

“It was nothing,” I look over at him as I start prepping the studio for two people recording there. He grabs my arm and pulls me closer to him.

“Val, he left mid-song. I tried to find him after your set for over an hour. I had to find him nursing a beer outside the venue. I know your guys’ breakup was hard on you, but it hit him the hardest.”

“Frankie, I love you like a brother. Can we not talk about this now? I don’t want to waste your time by talking about this instead of doing the recording.” I start vocal warmups before handing him his headphones, and we go into the booth together. We both are standing in front of a microphone for each of us. I place my laptop on a nearby table with the instrumental track and pull up the recording software. He holds the notebook with the lyrics in his hand. “I will lead you in when your part comes in. Recording in 3…2…1.”

The soft country rock instrumental leads me in as I start singing. Frankie smirks the songs as he recognizes the song beat as a signature of my musical composition style. 

“Just breathe, just relax, it'll be okay

Just an hour 'til your car's in the driveway

Just the first time ever hangin' out with you tonight

I've got my money on things going badly

Got a history of stories ending sadly

Still hoping that the fire won't burn me

Just one time, just one time

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life

And I want you now, wanna need you forever

In the heat of your electric touch, mmm”

Frankie’s soft tenor voice appears as I gesture him into the song. His voice is soft, yet rough. I could have been a while since he sang aloud, but he still sounded good.

“I've been left in the rain lost and pining

I'm tryin' hard not to look like I'm trying

'Cause every time I tried hard for love, it fell apart (whoa)

I've gotten used to no one callin' my phone

I've grown accustomed to sleeping alone

Still, I know that all it takes is to get it right

Just one time, just one time

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life

And I want you now, wanna need you forever

In the heat of your electric touch

I was thinking just one time (just one time)

Maybe the stars align (just one time)

And maybe I call you mine

And you won't need space

Or string me along while you decide

And just one time (just one time)

Maybe the moment's right (the moment's right)

It's 8:05 and I see two headlights

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

Got a feelin' your electric touch (oh)

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life

And I want you now, wanna need you forever

In the heat of your electric touch, mmm”

Out of breath, I pushed the end of the recording. “Please tell me it hasn’t been a while since you sang aloud.” I take a long sip of water from my water bottle nearby.

“Three years.”

“Karaoke with Ben was the last time you sang,” I asked as I gave him a questioning look.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Santiago kissed you?” I gave him the look of “are we really talking about this right now again?” 

“How did you know?” Frankie gave me a concerning look since he knows the truth.

“Based on the details in the song, this song was about your first date because you told me how much you cared for him. Plus Santiago told me that he kissed after your set after you two talked after I picked him up from the bar…. Val, what the hell happened?”

“He and I kissed… He told me about the money… his share of the money.”

“And?”

“And that his share was for me…”

“He finally told you then…”

“Frankie, don’t dabble in his bullshit…” I am getting fed up with the same fucking lie that his share was for me.

“I am not… Val, he wanted that money for you….” He sighs deeply as he takes a long sip of coffee. “I know it was shitty of me for not telling you, but I promised you I would have done the same thing.”

“I understand the guilt around Tom’s death but why did he have to do it like that?”

“He was going to buy you a ring so he could propose to you…”

“What?”

“He wanted to propose and do a big old fancy engagement for you. I am sorry that I didn’t tell you.” Frankie is concerned about what is next for me and Santiago.

I sigh as I step out of the makeshift studio so Frankie can record his audio. “I need to record your vocals, Frankie... I will start the music where your part comes in.” As the music plays, my phone buzzes. I pick it up. It is a text from Santiago.

Santiago: We need to talk. Alone.

[nerdieforpedro]

Her need for routine and the fact that Santi's been there for her since Jay's death... 😭 He's already reading baby books and keeping track of what's best for mom aka Vin (not that he isn't been doing that). It's just so sweet.

Half of You (Chapter 3) [Santiago Garcia x fem!Reader]

CH. 1 CH. 2

Summary: What's a romcom without a little tragic backstory, huh? Tragic backstory and muffins.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Mentions of death, mourning, talk of pregnancy.

A/N: I want to thank you guys so much for all the lovely comments and tags on the previous chapters of this story, it means the world to me 💚 This is going to be kind of a slow burn, mmmkay? I want Vin and Santi to simmer good and long before we add the spice because we want that payoff to be delicious. Enjoy!

You don’t knock when entering Santiago’s home anymore, not in the mornings, at least. You know you’d never catch him in a compromising position in his kitchen or living room, especially not at 9am. He is military clockwork. The ISS could set its time to Santiago’s morning routine. He’s up at 6 every day for a weighted vest run. Sometimes, when you’re up at that hour and just laying in bed, you see him jog past your window at 6:04 and always back at his front porch again by 7:00. 

For the past two years, with almost no exceptions, you’ve been getting up every morning, making some kind of breakfast, and bringing it over at 9, or around nine. You’re not as punctual as Santi and sometimes the muffins or breakfast bars or whatever you make aren’t ready on the dot like his routine, but he never complains.

It wasn’t really like you were doing this for Santi, this was a structure for you. This routine of taking care of someone, being expected at someone’s home at a certain time to feed them. Not that Santi needed to be fed, the man could subsist on protein powder and supplements if needed. It was the promise you made to him….

 How worried he’d been for you in the early weeks following Jay's death. When he wouldn’t see the lights of your home turn on all evening despite knowing you were inside. How he’d knock and sometimes you couldn’t find it within yourself to even tell him to go away; instead silently crying into the pillow that your head couldn’t leave.

Santi had been at a loss. He was grieving too and could only turn his pain into work. Toughing out the emotions through tasks.

It had been an odd morning about two weeks after the funeral that you saw a pair of legs sticking out from under Jay’s car in the front driveway. You were so pissed that someone was fucking with Jay’s things that you went outside for the first time in over a week, in your pajamas (a pair of Jay’s sweats and one of his giant cotton t-shirts) no shoes, and kicked the intruder in the thigh, hard enough to hurt your own toes.

“Get the fuck away from that car! I’m calling the cops!” You screamed, not caring that Mrs. Rosenthall was walking her little dog across the street, slowing her pace to watch the domestic scene play out. 

“Fuck!” The hidden man shouted grabbing his thigh and in the process of reacting to the leg kick, he audibly hit his head on the underside of the car, giving another prolonged “Fuuuck.” Before scrambling out from under Jay’s vintage Mustang. 

“Santi? What—What are you doing?” You cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to get to his knees, wiping off the oil from his hands onto what are clearly work pants. 

“I’m changing the oil and then, if you’d be so kind as to not club me in the head with a wrench, I was going to replace the spark plugs.”

“Replace the spark plugs?” 

“Yes. After the oil. Jesus, you kick like a horse.” He groans, rubbing his definitely bruised thigh over his dark blue pants.

“Sorry.” You mutter, meaning it but not really projecting culpability. How were you supposed to know it was him? Santi dives back under the car and you gasp affronted. “You can’t have his car you know. Just because he’s— you can’t, it’s not yours.”  You sound like a child, unable to even express basic sentiments and the ones that you can express are stubborn and selfish. It’s the way you’ve come used to talking in the past few weeks. 

Santi makes a frustrated sound under the vehicle and you don’t know if it’s because of your words, or if its a particularly stubborn nut he’s prying. 

He emerges from under the car again after a few silent moments of you shifting your weight from foot to foot. Santi brings out a pan of dirty oil with him and wipes his brow with the back of his dirty forearm.

“I’m not angling for the car, Vin. It’s not my style. The fucking color alone, dios. But if you just let these things sit here, unused and unserviced, they have a tendency rot, ok?”

The metaphor feels like a personal attack, an attack on your inability to honor Jay’s memory by letting his car go to shit, an attack on your own inability to take care of yourself down to the routine maintenance of tooth brushing.

The tears come again and you let them fall pathetically. “Jesus, will I ever stop crying? I didn’t know this many tears could exist in a person.” You laugh in woe at the hard understanding on Santiago’s face. 

Santiago brings you into his arms. He holds you and lets you ugly cry into the dirty fabric of his shirt. The oil and armorall smell reminds you of Jay and all his Saturday mornings spent under that fucking car. 

Jay would come in after an hour or two, depending on what needed to be done, or how distracted he’d get on the maintenance if Santiago showed up to help. Tack on an extra hour if they decided it needed a ‘test drive’.

You always had breakfast waiting for him when Jay came in; oily and sweaty. Sometimes he’d come in and grab you from behind with dirty hands to which you’d shriek and demand that he needed to take a shower before he ate. You regret that now. You miss his big strong arms and you you’d give anything for the stains of his embrace. So you shift tighter into Santiago’s hug.

“I’m filthy.” He says apologetically. Probably realizing you’re in One of Jay’s nicer cotton shirts, definitely not something he’d wear to work on the ‘Stang, and he doesn’t want to ruin it. 

“I don’t care.” You insist through tears, clutching his torso like a port in a storm. Santiago rubs your back, up and down like soothing an infant. You even hiccup like one. 

“Do you wan’t to come in for breakfast?” You sniff. “Please.”

“You don’t need to make me breakfast, Vin. You should probably rest.”

“No. No, I don’t need to sleep. Please?” 

Santiago hesitates. You can feel his head turn to look at the car. 

“Spark plugs first, then I’ll go home to shower, then I’ll come back for breakfast. You need me to bring anything?”

“You don’t need to shower.” God, it comes out so starved. Your emotional regulation has gone to absolute shit and you realize for the first time that the feeling that has been eating you up is a little thing called loneliness. 

“Vin, it’s okay, I’ll come back.” He pats your back and you pull out of the hug, wiping your tears and snot on the back of your forearm, looking down at your barefeet on the gravel.

“Eggs.” You nearly whisper.

“Eggs?”

“Eggs. Bring eggs. I don’t think ours are— mine are any good.”

Santiago showered and came back with eggs and you made food in your kitchen for the first time in weeks, fresh food, a meal that wasn’t a condolence casserole. 

 It lifted your sprits up so much that you begged Santiago to come over the next morning and then it quietly evolved to you bringing the baked goods over to his house. The responsibility did so much to haul you out of bed on days that threatened to swallow you into the folds of your comforter, on days where all you’d want to do was watch the day grow bright and fall dim without performing a solitary meaningful action. 

Two years had passed. There were hardly any mornings nowadays where you felt the pull to sink into sleep and waste the day in unconsciousness. You were excited to get up every morning to see your friend. And on days when he would be gone due to the nature of his work, you’d braved up and made other friends in the neighborhood, bringing them freshly baked scones or a pitaya bowl if it it was too hot to bake. Just something. A reason to get up, to greet someone. 

Santi’s home is immaculate, like always. He’s the type of single man who takes pride in a cleanly appearance, wether that’s a learned behavior from the military or if he’s always been tidy from childhood, you don’t know. The granite countertops are spotless and he’s perched at the barstool with the morning paper. His hair is still slightly damp from his morning shower and he scowls over the sports page, shaking his head at some news or other from the top fold. 

“I hope you like crasins… and walnuts.”

“Jesus, Vin!” Santi startles from his stool and tosses the paper down.

“That’d be a no on the crasins then?” You laugh and ruffle the back of his curls as he settles back down into his seat. You grab a couple plates and napkins, setting a crasin muffin down on each one before pouring yourself a cup of coffee from the pot into your designated yellow mug (a trinket Santiago had made at a Color Me Mine double date from 3 or so years ago).

“You ever think about knocking when you come over?” He takes a bite from the muffin and hums pleased. 

“Knocking? I’m hurt. So all that mi casa su casa talk was just for show, Garcia?”

Santi closes his eyes and slaps the counter. “Mmmm, this.” He points at the muffin and gives you a thumbs up.

“You like it more than the cinnamon rasin bread from yesterday?”

He wipes his mouth off on a napkin and gulps from his coffee mug. “That was good too.”

You take a bite of your own muffin and hum in agreement. “Oh yeah, that shit’s delicious. Adding this one to the roster for sure.”

“Uh, roster, don’t remind me.”

“Why?” You gesture to the paper “was there a tragic drafting in the world of fantasy football? Should I fly the flag at half mast?”

“Pretty dismal. Do you want to hear about it?”

“I mean, you can tell me anything, Santiago, but I’m not going to understand a word you’re saying.”

“Uh huh, I figured. I’ll spare you the tragic details and sum it up with ‘I think I’m going to lose a big chunk of change to the boys this week’ but, hey, at least I’ve got these muffins.”

“You can’t have them all, I was going to bring the rest over to Mrs. Rosenthal.”

Santi makes a quiet noise of indignation and pulls the plate of muffins closer to himself. 

“Not to Gertie! You know her little fur ball was barking till past midnight? Right outside my window. Again. She doesn’t deserve muffins.” There’s a twinkle of teasing in his eyes and you sigh and relent, squeezing between your fingers the bit of tum that sits above his belt.

“You’re starting to turn into a muffin. I spoil you too much.”

With a full mouth, Santi shoves the plate back in your direction and frictions his fingers clean of crumbs.

“Take em!” He shouts dramatically with a mouth full of muffin, pushing his stool back and taking his plate to the sink to wash it by hand. 

“I like the tum by the way, it’s very becoming… and the dad bod is fitting, you know, considering…” 

You trail off and Santi turns around wide eyed, drying his hands on a dark grey tea towel. “Do you mean…?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, not yet, not for a couple weeks… I mean I could be right now, and I— I wouldn’t know.” You’re beaming, eyes alight with excitement. “I’m nervous!” You clap your hands quietly together. “That’s why I made so many muffins this morning, I’m just ugh, bouncing with the anticipation— HEY what are you doing with my coffee, Garcia?!” Santi dumps your full cup of coffee down the sink and starts on hand washing your yellow mug. The barstool scrapes as you get up to retrieve your mug from his soapy hands.

“You can’t be having caffeine! It’s bad for the baby!” His upper arms are strong as he blocks you from getting your hands on the mug with his back turned to you.

“Bad for the baby? How do you know that?” Santi dries your mug with a clean towel and sets it by the electric tea kettle, flipping the blue switch on. When he abandons the mug to grab some tea from the cupboard, you snatch it and hide it behind your back, making your way sneakily over to the coffee pot as he rummages for something on the shelf.

“I’ve been reading up about it.”

“Reading up about it?” You’re not really listening to him, simply parroting his words as you quietly pour yourself a new cup of delicious dark roast coffee. 

“Aha! Got it!” He holds up a box of celestial seasonings tea, eyes getting wide as he sees you taking a sip from the piping hot mug.

“Vin!” He cocks his head and holds out a hand, and the way his eyes narrow on yours, glinting with resoluteness makes you sigh with defeat and hand him the steaming hot mug.

He rinses it out once again without complaint and you examine the box of “ugh, herbal tea?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ of the word. There’s no arguing with Santi. 

“I might not even be pregnant, you know.” But the proffered information is pointless. You know what he’s about to say before he even says it.

“Yeah, but you might be.” It’s exactly what you knew he was going to say. 

“I never read anything like that.” But it’s a lie. You have read things like that, but of all the things? Coffee? How are you supposed to live without coffee?

“Well maybe you should read harder. I have a book you can borrow.”

“You have a book?”

“I’m not done with it yet, I’ll let you read it when I’ve finished.” Santi pours the boiling water over the teabag and you almost cry when he places the mug into your hands. In a last ditch effort to get your way, you pout your lips out and fix him with a defeated stare.

“After all the muffins I’ve made for you. Now this.”

“Nuh uh, Vin. Just try it.” He ruffles your hair in a very ‘you’ move and chuckles when you stomp your foot in a petulant show. 

You sit back at the stool and blow on your tea before taking an exploratory sip. It’s not bad, but you scrunch your face in disgust anyway. 

Santi shakes his head at you and takes a big gulp of his own coffee. “Mmmm, that arabica roast. Delicious.”

“You shit.” You mutter taking another gulp from the chickory tea. It’s really not too bad. You’ll have to take a picture of the box so you can get some more from the store later. 

“I don’t mind playing the villain, as long as our baby won’t have a third arm from the bio hazard levels of caffeine you consume on a daily basis.”

Our baby. Our baby. Our baby. Your eyes go wide and Santiago backtracks. “I didn’t mean ‘our’ baby like that, I meant your baby… of course.”

A few beats of silence fall between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, I shouln’t—“

“I’ve been meaning to—“

You both speak at the same time and laugh awkwardly. Santiago gestures to you gently. “Please, go ahead.”

“I… I was just… well you signed all the papers Renatta gave you, and I’m sure that you, being Mr. ‘I’ve been doing my own research’, you read the whole release contract?”

“I did.”

“So… how involved did you… how involved are you intending to be with the baby?” The baby. Neutral. Not “my”, not “our”, “the”. Safe.

Santi scratches his smooth jaw and licks his lips deliberately. 

“I guess I’ll be.. I wan’t to be…”

Your heart stops for a second with the intensity of his pause, your head swims and flicks through future images at a thousand miles a minute. Santiago holding a little baby’s hands as it takes its first wobbly steps, shushing a wailing baby to sleep in a nursery that doesn’t exist, singing lullabies, scrunching his nose at a dirty diaper, hiking trips with a toddler on his shoulders, tee ball practice. You shake your head to clear the whole little lifetime that unfolds rapidly in fantasy form.

“I want to be as involved as you let me.” His eyes meet yours then. And you nod unthinking at the brilliant umber depths. “If you want me to be their uncle, their neighbor, their… whatever. I’m,” he takes in a breath that fills his whole chest, “I’m okay to be whatever you need me to be.”

“Okay.”

“Well how involved do you want me to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“At all?”

“No.” Your voice sounds small and all of a sudden you feel like you’re being interrogated. 

“Haven’t thought about it one bit?” He presses.

“No.” But the no feels like a lie. Because of course you’ve thought about it. You’re thinking about it right now, seated next to him in his immaculate kitchen.

“That tracks.” He scoffs and goes back to his paper, flicking the pages open with agitation. 

“Hey!” You push his fist down and hold his clenching fingers lightly with your own. His face looks hurt. “I don’t really know right now. It’s— this is all new to me, Santiago.”

Santi nods in understanding but still looks as though there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s trying to reign in. “I’m sorry Vin. You…” he unclenches his fist and takes your fingers into his warm palm, holding them with reassurance. You stare down at your joined hands, unable to meet his understanding eyes. You don’t deserve how kind and patient he is with you. How giving he’s always been with you. His nature makes you feel fucking guilty at times. “You take all the time you need, Vin. I’m not going anywhere.”

“No?”

“No. I live right next door.”

You smile at him. “Thanks, Santi.”

He lets go of your hand and pats it. “Plus the real estate market is a nightmare right now,” he takes another sip of his coffee which sloshes slightly when you shove his shoulder. “I’d be insane to sell in this economy.”

“You shit!”

Santi smiles and goes back to his paper with a smile and genuine interest. 

“What are your plans for today, officer.”

Santi scratches his eyebrow, “I need to hit up Home Depot to get some fresh wire for the weed whacker. How about you?’

“Oh my god, thats perfect!”

“Glad you think so, seeing as how I’ll be treating your lawn too.”

“Are you taking your truck?”

“Uhhh, yeah?”

“Becasuse… if you could, if you’d be so kind…”

Santi rolls his eyes, “What do you need?”

“There’s this little outdoor plant shelf from their weekly ad that I want to get. Plus this osmosis water filtration thingy, but what I really need your truck for is the plant shelf.” You temple your fingers at your lips in hopefulness. 

“Thought you said it was ‘little’?”

“Uhhh…. Comparatively.”

“Compared to what?”

“Compared to my car.”

“Vin…”

“And I know what you’re thinking. You think that I’m going to force you to build the plant shelf for me.”

“Bingo.”

“But its pretty simple, I think I can do it myself!”

“Uh huh.”

“I will need to borrow your zzzz zzzzzz gun, though.”

“My what??” 

“Don’t play dumb. Your bzzzz bzzzz gun! The think that can drill stuff?”

“My drill, you mean?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Santi scrunches up his face and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And the osmosis filter?”

“What about it?”

“Is it an internal or external component?”

“Uhhh? Elaborate?”

“Is the system under the sink or to the side of the sink?”

“Oh! Under.”

Santi blinks at you. “And where will the filtered water come out of?”

“A little spigot with a lever on the side of the main faucet.”

“You know you’ll need a drill for that one too? Plus you’ll need to shut off the water main? I…. Vin, did you know this?”

“No… but I did taste the reverse osmosis water and Renatta’s the other day and ugghhh I need it! She said it wasn’t hard to install.”

“Really? Did she install it herself?”

“No. She hired someone.”

“You’re insane.”

“I can figure it out, Santi! I don’t need your help! I just need your truck to fit the planter desk thingy.”

“Fine.” 

You clap your hands and Santi sighs, grabbing his keys and sunglasses. You push past him out the door with the plate of remaining muffins

“I just gotta drop these off at Gertie’s and grab my purse, I’ll meet you at your truck!” 

“Careful!” Santiago barks at you as you jump over the low hedge toward Mrs.Rosenthal’s house. You nearly stumble and spill the plate of muffins on her driveway. You turn to see Santiago standing on his porch with his sunglasses on his head, both hands on his hips and shaking his head at you with a slight smile. He really would make a great dad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[ohforficsake]

The Margay: Chapter 9

Memorize it. Destroy it.

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

Word Count: ~4.7K

WARNINGS: I'm going to go ahead and flag this chapter as Dark!Frankie / Potential triggers herein for verbal and physical abuse (extreme jealously, manhandling, pinning against a wall, facial bruising, borderline choking), brief mention of self harm/suicidal ideation / Please read with care.

Rating: Explicit 18+ / language / crass mention of sexual acts / mentions of drug use / Minors DNI

A/N: Frankie breaks something.

Finally getting one of these up in time for Frankie Friday. This chapter. Whew this chapter. It came to me months ago. Something that makes you put everything down so you can transcribe this thing from wherever it’s coming from.

chapter moodboard if you're interested

Divider by @cafekitsune!

“Why are you draggin’ me to this, couldn’t you have found someone else?

“I already told you,” Santiago fiddles with his bowtie in a car window reflection. “It’s a favor to the guy who got us this gig in the first place. Needs bodies in the room for this fundraiser. Davis is covering the donation, it’s the fucking least we could do.”

“You coulda brought some girl.”

“Yeah, but I like you on my arm,” Santi quips with a pout and Fish flips him a choice finger.

The room is filled from marble wall to marble wall with standard Washington DC fixtures. The low din of conversation punctuated with the occasional chime of laugher and clink of glass. Diamonds glitter in the low golden light under massive, equally scintillating chandeliers.

Francisco can't help but scan the room as he trails Pope to the nearest proffered tray of champagne glasses, fingers absent-mindedly wrapping around one when it's placed in his hand.

And it's Frankie who sees her first at a distance. Sheathed in a flowing column of white. Black hair is blown out into loose curls that fall down to the middle of her back, face lit up in a laugh.

When she rocks on her feet he notices that her arm is wrapped around a man’s bicep.

Frankie drains the rest of his champagne, slamming the glass down on a hightop table before Pope catches the crook of his elbow and cuts off his path to her. 

“Don’t.”

“Who the fuck is that.”

“The senator who sponsored this thing? That’s his son.”

“That doesn’t make it better, Pope.” 

Audrey hanging off the arm of some spoiled fuckin’ rich kid.

Not that he’s a kid, he’s got a few years on Frankie at least.

But a senator’s son? 

Audrey. 

His Audrey.

Audrey who he’s seen covered in engine grease, cuddling stray cats, trekking through the jungle covered in sweat and blood.

Audrey who warms his bed and angles big green eyes up at him with his spend still coating her thighs.

His Audrey.

She’s clearly playing a game. 

She’s on a job. 

Undercover. 

She’s not herself. 

And she catches him staring heat at her from across the room.

A million watts of light spark across her features and she waves them over.

“Francisco. Behave.” Pope spikes him a warning.

When they weave through bodies to make it to her she greets each with kisses on both cheeks, grip falling subtly to Frankie’s arm as her last kiss lingers. 

“Let me introduce you," she says to the man, "this is Santiago Garcia and Francisco Morales. The boys who’ve been helping me out down there. The Major is, one of my oldest friends.”

“I should thank you both for keeping her safe,” the Major grins. He’s got a California accent and the tan to match.

She gives them his name but Frankie doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy sizing the man up. Guy’s got three? Four inches in height on him at least. Dark black curls, a face that’s weathered enough to betray that he’s never really worked a desk job. Even Frankie can admit he’s handsome. Roman nose, strong brow. But his eyes startle Frankie the most. 

They’re the same color as Audrey’s. 

The exact same shade of green. The effect of it is stunning when they both meet Frankie’s gaze. 

And Catfish can’t get the flash his brain conjures of the two of them tangled in white sheets out from behind his eyelids.

“You look beautiful tonight, Aud,” Pope charms in an attempt to distract from Fish’s tangible simmering.

“I can clean up okay if I have to,” she winks, untangling her arm from this man’s.

“So what is it that you do?” Frankie cuts in, just this side of prickly.

“Marine engineer,” he says, swallowing a mouthful of champagne. “Which is a pretentious way of saying that I spend my days on boats looking for sunken treasure.”

It is an oversimplification at its finest. Because like the three of them, he’s done his fair share of greasing the cogs that keep the world running smoothly.

And like the three of them, he’s greased them with blood.

“I think we could all use refills," Audrey clears her throat, "Frankie, would you be my extra set of hands?”

“‘Course,” he doesn’t realize he grits it out.

Like spitting slivers of glass.

He flattens one broad palm across the small of her back and guides her in front of him in the direction of the bar. He follows close behind, eyes searing into the back of her skull.

The tattoo on her shoulder taunts him where it peeks out from under the seams of her sleeveless dress.

On display for anyone to see.

When they reach the bar, Frankie slots in behind her, the panes of his chest finding her back.

Audrey presses against him with a hum.

She’s nearly his height in heels and he doesn’t have to bend now to whisper in her ear. “A man more dangerous than me?”

“A friend with a Messerschmitt,” she turns to face him, running her hand over his stomach under his jacket.

And he revels in her touch before betraying the way it soothes.

“You fuck all of your friends?”

Frankie can tell there’s history between them that involves more than clunky warplanes and tinkering with old cars and it bubbles up like bile spat out in needless cruelty.

“Only the ones who know what Messerschmitts are,” she tosses back in kind, her tone level in direct defiance of what’s clawing at the back of her throat. 

She turns around again as the bartender approaches and Frankie steps back a hair, breaking contact with her form.

It makes her seethe.

She hands Frankie three glasses of tequila with lime, balanced easily in generous hands, before she sweeps a gin martini off of the bar and leads him back to where Santiago and the man are laughing about something.

Fish hands Santi and glass holds the other out for Audrey, but she sips from the martini without breaking his stare and Frankie instead has to hand it over to the other man.

Messerschmitt. Since Frankie can’t remember his name.

They toast, what a pleasure to meet, happy you boys are keeping Audrey company out there. 

Company.

“Fish, the Major is a pilot, he was Air Force.”

“In my youth,” the man quips.

“I’ve heard,” he drains his glass and doesn’t attempt to continue down the path what Santi has forged for him. 

And so the two of them carry the conversation alone, Frankie staring daggers at Audrey who shoots him the occasional searing glance every time she plucks an olive from the golden skewer in her drink.

A hush falls over the crowd as vainglorious speeches start up.

But Frankie's ears are ringing.

Audrey makes it through one speech before excusing herself to the restroom with a soft hand on Santi’s elbow, and a brush on Messerschmitt’s cuff.

She doesn’t need to alert Frankie because Frankie’s been watching her every move.

He waits five minutes before slipping away in the same direction.

They’re about to pass each other in the hallway when Frankie’s hand shoots out for her bicep, a glance over his shoulder to be sure no one is looking before dragging and shoving roughly to pin her against the wall.

“So is this what you do, when you’re not with me? Fuck senators’ sons?”

“The fact that he’s a senator's son is honestly the most unfortunate thing about him. And what we do is not my being with you. It’s my job.” She presses something soft into his hand. “That’s for you. If you want it.”

Frankie stuffs whatever it is into his jacket pocket and continues.

“And is this part of your job? Hanging off the arms of handsome men in fancy rooms?” He runs his palms down her bare arms before they settle on her hips.

“Sometimes. But I don’t frequent these in my downtime. This is a favor.”

“A favor. To him.”

“Yes.”

“So you don’t make a habit of this? Being this charming.”

“Aw you really think so?” She snarks and Frankie’s hands on her hips slam her back against the wall.

“You like it, don’t you. All of these eyes on you. Driving me insane.” His fingers brush a curl from her cheek. “Don’t play coy, I see how they look at you. Do you beg them for it, Audrey?” 

“They look at me because I’m a novelty in this room, Frankie.” 

And she’s not wrong. She’s a lithe beautiful thing with rich bronze skin in a room of wives and mistresses the same shade of blonde caked in the same shade of orange. She moves through a sea of hungry eyes with comfort precisely because she doesn’t give a fuck about the other men in this room.

Not even really about Messerschmitt. Not now that he’s here.

“You mean you don’t work your way into their beds? Let them fuck you until you’re screaming?”

She scoffs a “no” and Frankie listens but doesn’t hear.

“Is it their money? Their expensive whiskey and the thread count of their sheets that makes you come?”

His hand skates up over her chest, fingers feather-light over the skin of her collarbone that peeks out from under the high neck of her dress.

“Because there’s no way their cocks are satisfying you. That room is rife with overcompensation.” 

Everything to this point has been some twisted form of foreplay.

But Frankie tips.

His hand moves to her neck now, the broad span of it making easy work of fitting around her throat. 

Because some part of him believes this. Believes that Messerschmitt has had her and would have had her tonight if Santi hadn’t dragged him here and it makes him wonder how many others. 

He needs to know how many others. 

Frankie's eyes are blown dark, logic is abandoned in a brain fogged with jealousy. Skin thrumming with possession.

And it’s out before he can catch it.

“How many of them have had you, Audrey?” Rumbled through low registers of his voice.

He uses his index finger to roughly angle her face back to him from where she’s glanced back into the room.

“How many of them have seen you fall apart? Hmm? How many of them have left you shaking?”

His body holds her against the wall, thighs pressed to hers, his elbow jammed painfully in the sparse space between them where he holds her. 

And Audrey just watches, gaze angled down her nose.

Amused.

Frankie’s a man in a trance as he runs the pad of his thumb over the lush of her bottom lip, hot breath following its path.

“Have they seen the way your mouth falls open when you clench around them? Do they know that you can see these little fucking teeth when you do,” he snarls it, sliding his thumb over her top incisors before slipping it farther to slide over her tongue.

He tastes of lime and ozone.

“How many of them have come in this pretty little mouth, Audrey?” Frankie presses down with his thumb to open it wider. 

She could bite down. She could box his ears and take out an eardrum or both. She could throw a knee into his crotch.

She could scream.

She’s not going to.

Not yet.

But she could. 

He adjusts his grip and his middle finger and thumb dig painfully into the space at the hinge of her jaw and he gives her head a small shake, voice dripping with condescension. “Do you swallow for them, or is that just for me?” 

And it should frighten her. The way her sweet soft Frankie has gone dark. 

The way he’s a hair’s breadth away from squeezing down on her pulse.

The way he could crush her jaw with the strength of his hand alone.

But this? 

This is always there. 

Churning under the surface until it heats enough to boil.

It's what she loves about him.

“Do you let them come inside you too? Let them empty their balls into your hot little cunt and leave you dripping?” He shifts one leg to the outside of hers to press her further into the wall with his body.

And it should terrify her, this being caged in, his fingers jammed hard into her mandible as he spits and seethes with equal parts disdain and infatuation.

“Do they fill you up like I do? With as much as I do?”

The hard line of Frankie’s cock pressed against her hip telegraphs unyielding, sick pleasure.

“Do they fuck you better than I do, Audrey?”

“There is no ‘they’ Frankie.”

“Oh? Well then. Does that man. Out there. Fuck you. Better than I do.” His arm twitches with each sentence, moving her head with it.

She should be ashamed of how wet she is.

“Would you let him come down your throat the way that you let me?” 

And she doesn’t dare give him the satisfaction of the truth.

“I know he doesn’t eat you out the way that I do. Doesn’t make you come on his face.” He presses his nose to her cheek, breathing in the scent of her. “I can tell.”

“But I bet he’d still give it to you. If you wanted him to.”

He doesn’t realize that he’s growling with every breath.

“I don’t want...”

“But would he. Fuck you.” 

“Yes.”

And Frankie’s nostrils flare and a breath hisses through his teeth.

His hold on her tightens.

“Yeah, I bet he would. Because you’re a fuckin’ toy. A pretty little plaything to be used when the need strikes and then…” he trails off. “He’d fuck you but he wouldn’t keep you.”

“Yeah—" he growls.

"I wouldn’t either.”

And Frankie says it because he’s frothing with impotence at what he doesn’t have to offer.

Any one of these men could give her the world. 

They paid $14K just to stand in this room. 

But Frankie wouldn’t keep her because Frankie doesn’t deserve her. 

And Frankie makes it her fault. 

Lashing out at her for the way she consumes him.

And all of this. This is trying to prove himself with his body where the rest of him falls short.

Because it’s all he knows.

The Delta who gave his body to the Stars and Stripes in search of validity and purpose and a place in this world. 

And those colors chewed him up and spat him out tasting like a bad back and a coke problem.

But he’s taken it too far now.

Still gripping hard at her jaw.

And her scorpion’s tongue delivers a barb that sticks right in the spot in his brain where he’s regretted it every moment of his existence since that night.

“You going to strangle me again, Francisco?”

The antidote to his fever.

“No,” the grip on her loosens.

The fight drains through the soles of his feet and back to the earth to be transmuted into something that doesn’t destroy.

He breathes without snarling.

And rests his forehead against hers before taking half a step back.

And she tips her face to hover her lips over his but neither of them move any farther.

They just breathe.

Looking like lovers to anyone who is watching.

She brushes a hand over the napkin slipped into his jacket pocket. “Memorize it. Or don’t. But destroy it either way.”

And Audrey slips from between him and the wall.

Frankie doesn’t move to turn around, instead bracing his forearm against wallpaper, listening to her heels on marble as she returns to the bathroom.

“And Frankie,” she calls over her shoulder, staving off the shattering of her voice. “Please be nice.”

He snorts as he spins and leans heavy against drywall, head thudding backwards. He scrubs a palm down his face and breathes deep, trying to bring himself back to even.

Trying to stave off the panic winding around his organs.

Threatening to constrict.

He has no idea what just happened. 

Frantic fingers scramble for the thing in his pocket.

A napkin that he unfolds. 

An address in Alexandria.

Her address.

He storms off to the gents and into a stall, mentally repeating the numbers and letters until it’s ingrained before he drops it in the toilet bowl. Blue ink bleeds into something illegible before he flushes it away.

His stomach turns and for a moment he thinks tequila is going to follow it. 

Frankie breathes in hard through his nose and out with a hiss, storming out of the stall to splash cold water into his face.

He prays he hasn’t left a bruise.

_____

“You good?” Santi whispers when Audrey slips in beside him.

“Yeah, do I look fine?”

He gives her a quick once-over. “Physically, yes. Spiritually?” Pope tips his glass of tequila towards her hand and she drains it as applause breaks out at the end of another speech.

“He okay?”

“Dunno.”

Santiago casts a look over his shoulder towards the bathrooms.

“Come, let me get you another,” he gently presses an open palm to Audrey's elbow, leading her to the bar. 

“Gin and soda.” Santi knows her and joins. “Two."

Santi knows the two of them well enough to hit on what just happened. "That really spun him up, huh?”

“Never meant to. I’ve known the Major for over twenty years, I came as a favor. He’s one of the few people on earth who knows what I actually do.”

“It’s not a fucking crime to be comfortable around someone," she adds in a soft voice. "I had no idea you were going to be here.”

“Sort of a favor on our end as well.” Santiago slips a tip into the glass jar as the bartender slides over two drinks.

Audrey swallows a sip, letting the ice cold liquid chill her burning stomach.

“I was fucking happy when I saw you both.”

And she sounds like she's about to fracture.

“Hey.”

Santi’s eyes are soft, heavy-lidded as is his way when he’s sincere.

“He’s an idiot when it comes to this.”

She scoffs and takes another sip.

“I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.”

“That’s very kind Santi, but I can do it myself.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“No.”

“Yeah, your jaw is starting to bruise.”

“Fuck,” and she adjusts her hair to fall where Frankie’s fingers were with Pope calmly directing her movements.

To anyone else they’re making conversation. 

But to anyone who knows, Pope is fuming and Audrey’s a frayed nerve.

And Messerschmitt knows and Messerschmitt would kill for her, but only if she says the word.

And she doesn’t.

“Let’s get you some food, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She has no appetite but she takes the arm Santi offers because he’s the only person Frankie won’t murder tonight and he guides her towards the nearest waiter with a tray of canapés.

For the first time in the two years that he’s known her, Santi realizes that Audrey can’t take care of herself right now. 

She’s unfocused, eyes darting around the room with none of their usual calculated discernment.

Big, liquid things. Fighting the threat of overflow.

Whatever the fuck Frankie just said.

He broke her. 

And so Santiago spends the rest of the night putting his body between her and Fish, and Fish knows that Santi knows something, the shame of it heating the tips of Frankie’s ears.

Audrey doesn’t stick around long after speeches are through.

She takes her leave after wrapping Santiago in a grateful embrace, kissing Messerschmitt on the cheek, and squeezing Frankie’s arm.

He can tell that was for appearances’ sake and he knows better than to follow right after her.

In the end he plays well in the sandbox. So well, in fact that he strikes up a conversation with the Major. They talk of helicopters and Immelmann maneuvers and they bore Santiago enough that he abandons them for a pretty blonde at the bar.

And Catfish shakes Messerschmitt’s hand when he leaves.

But he still doesn’t know his name.

_____

Frankie crawls back to her at midnight like a shamed thing with his tail between his legs.

She opens the door to find his hands stuffed in his pockets, doe eyes back on full display.

And Audrey wishes she hadn’t handed him that napkin.

But she also wishes for the confirmation that he offers now.

That they’re going to be okay.

In their own, fucked up kind of way.

She invites him inside without saying a word and he doesn’t reach out for her as he steps into darkness.

City lights filter in through large windows, but a candle on the coffee table is the only thing lighting his way.

She’s just been sitting in the dark. 

And he stands in her home that he can’t see, somewhere between her living room and her kitchen, watching her move from the bar to the fridge and back again, still clad in her white evening gown.

Like a ghost in the night. 

She hands him tequila and scoops the dregs of her martini off of the coffee table, downing it before heading for the sink.

He catches her arm on the way, holding her on the tips of his fingers, waiting for her to move. 

She stops but doesn’t lean in. 

“I’m sorry.” Frankie whispers. 

And the candlelight catches in her eyes when she looks to him.

For my jealously. For what I said. The questions I asked. 

For insinuating that you’re a whore.  

But instead “I’m sorry” is all he repeats on a sigh as he lets her go and to his surprise she reaches to wrap an arm around his neck, pressing her body to his, burying her face in his collar.

It takes him a moment before he holds her back, biceps squeezing around her ribs. 

And feeling bursts from his chest with a sob. 

“I’m sorry, cariño, I’m sorry,” he kisses against her hairline, seeking forgiveness in her mouth. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” is all he gets in return. “Alone.”

And she leaves Frankie standing backlit by city light, looking for all the world like a man-shaped void in her home.

Frankie thinks he should leave.

He wants desperately to run from this pain of his own creation, slip into drink in his own hotel room and pass out on the floor.

It can’t be that hard to find coke in DC.

And the thought scares him enough to make him stay. 

He forces himself to move on legs of lead to collapse on her couch, screwing the heels of his palms into his eyes, listening to water against tile where she’s left the bathroom door open. 

Audrey returns to him in a black linen robe, wet hair smelling of white flowers. 

Darkness unfurls into night-blooming florals.

The same darkness that dry-rots him from the inside out, leaving nothing but a cloud of cheap blow behind every time something collapses.

And her manicured feet enter Frankie’s frame of view, but he doesn’t look up until she kneels down, reaching her hand to cup his scruffy jaw and tip his face to hers.

He’s crying.

She thumbs one tear from his cheek before it’s replaced with another.

Frankie engulfs her hand with his, turning to press a kiss to her palm.

“We don’t work here, Francisco.”

And she skates around her issue to get to the heart of their issue. 

She’ll deal with herself later.

What they have doesn’t belong here. 

In city lights, where people wear diamonds and Rolexes. Where mistresses and wives are the ones making deals to keep everything running smoothly. 

Here where she moves with practiced ease. 

Here where he’s lost in words that don’t mean what they say and smiles that lash instead of soothe.

Where the air draws cruel things from his throat.

“I know.”

They never intended to bring it here.

“Forgive me.” He whispers.

Forgive me the delusion.

“Forgive me, Audrey.”

Forgive me my words.

“Forgive me,” panted against her mouth, foreheads pressed flush.

Forgive me and show me you still care.

Because I don’t. 

Not about my body, not about my soul, and I might damn them both tonight if you don’t forgive me.

But he’s still asking on his behalf.

“Audrey, please. Please,” he sobs. 

I don’t know why I’m like this.

I don’t know where else to go.

Take me back. To before I bruised.

Bruises that blossom on her jaw now in low light.

But bruises were how they started.

And she takes his hands in her own and leads him to her bedroom where she strips layers from him. Rids him of wool and cotton and lays him in linen sheets.

She fits against his back, arm around a chest that can’t find steady breath. Audrey presses kisses to the back of his neck. Strokes his hair until sleep briefly takes him.

Like the warm body that she is.

And in the night he finds her, heated palms on her stomach, pulling her weight to rest on his hips but she peels his fingers from her skin and rolls back to her side of the bed.

He knows why he came here.

To fix what he’s done but he doesn’t know where to start sewing up the damage. 

He ripped too deep.

And Frankie doesn’t know what else to do but offer his body and allow her to take what she needs.

To allow himself to be a body for her to use after his words and his fingers implied she was the same.

And she knows none of it’s true but she can’t help but feel it.

The love she doesn’t know how to give. 

The family she’ll never have because she knows nothing more than how to bring death into the world.

But from where Frankie lies, tonight what she needs isn’t him.

And it brings a fresh, heaving wave of regret to crash through his chest.

_____

“I was engaged once,” she offers hours later as the blue beginnings of dawn start to light the room because she knows Frankie is still awake behind her.

“To him?”

“To a man more dangerous than you.”

“What h— what happened?”

“We were playing house in a home that was never ours.” 

“We’re brutal things. Where he tries now to atone for his sins, I lean into them. We were never set up to work.”

“What does he do.”

And she doesn’t answer that particular question when she starts again.

“He was a Delta too, once upon a time.”

“What was his name?”

“Spencer.”

And it’s like a gift. Frankie knew of a Spencer who had made rank before him. Knew of the whispers that spread like wildfire through barracks of a ghost of a man who could do the impossible and he wonders if they’re one and the same.

Not unlike the woman in his arms.

“And now?”

“Sometimes we find each other on nights that get too dark. Sometimes we save one another.”

Lives and souls.

“But most times we’re nothing more than memories and whispered wishes in each other’s general directions. Each one of us hoping the other is still alive.”

“He would take you back?”

And Frankie doesn’t understand his fixation on this question, because she’s not his and never claimed to be. 

But pieces of her live in the hearts and beds of other men and he desperately wants all of her for himself.

A wildcat in a cage.

A taxidermied husk with glass eyes.

A pelt to drape himself in.

He doesn’t ever ask if she would have them.

“Everyone would take me back, Frankie,” she pulls the duvet up to her ear.

“Because I’m always the one who leaves.”

“Will you leave me?”

It hangs in the air. Unanswered.

And he knows now.

She will leave.

And he will be another man who holds another piece of her.

And she will continue giving away whatever pieces of her that men will take.

Until there’s nothing left.

Nothing but murmured whispers of a ghost.

And pieces of her memory.

_____

When daylight comes, Frankie blinks hard at where sunrise streams through sheers.

Reaching out for warmth before dread blooms in his chest.

Audrey’s gone. 

It’s her house and she’s gone.

And he bolts from the bed, searching for signs that she’ll return. 

But he finds no note, no text, no sign.

Audrey’s left him.

next

_____

Author's Post Script: Messerschmitt and Spencer are actual characters that I've borrowed to play with for a moment, all credit to their original owners. Feel free to slide your guesses into my DMs if you're so inclined. Or just want to chat after all of that.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @toomanytookas @spookyxsam

Also again taking the risk to tag some lovely folks who have shown interest in this here little story. As always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged:

@tinytinymenace @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @theshensei @iamskyereads @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @soft-persephone @julesonrecord @criticalarchitecture @oliveksmoked @jessthebaker @tanzthompson @youandmeand5bucks @ems-chaos-corner @thethirstwivesclub @76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute

Please note that old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted here at Ohforficsake.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

[ohforficsakelibrary]

The Margay: Chapter 1

There Was Bogotá That One Time

series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santi ropes Frankie into a trial-run mission that doesn't go to plan but comes with one hell of a consolation prize.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC x Santiago Garcia in this part but only in this part because Bogotá was just the once. No age gap.

Word Count: 3.8K

Rating: Explicit 18+/ the beginnings of a threesome, Santi has a filthy mouth, oral over underwear bc Frankie’s a tease (f receiving) / Minors DNI

A/N: Hoooly cowww, thank you all so much for the love on Dominica as my first little foray into this world. And a special thank you to everyone who has liked and shared. Your comments (and tags!) have truly given me life.

OFC here is the reader from Dominica, although I may play with future side chapters where I flip to that pov again. No taglist, but I'll mark everything with #ohforficsake. I do hope you enjoy. Edited 11/3 - I've been asked so I will be doing a taglist, drop me a line if you're interested!

“Who the fuck else is out here, Pope?”

“No one,” Santiago sweeps the clearing in a quick circle, butt of his gun still dug into his shoulder, “no one else is supposed to be out here.”

Things hadn’t gone sideways and he hadn’t called anyone in.

And yet the mark stares back at him through lifeless eyes the same color as the leaflitter he threatens to stain red.

“Well,” Frankie gestures vaguely where he’s knelt down next to the still-warm body. “This ain’t local.”

The high-caliber bullet that blew out the back of the man’s skull is most assuredly not Nicaraguan-made.

“We have to move, Fish,” Santi says before letting out a sharp whistle. A signal to the men holding the perimeter to circle up.

“Nah, if whoever did this wanted us dead…” He lets the words hang in humid jungle air, propping the brim of his cap up just far enough to swipe damp hair from his forehead. “The angle of it’s weird though,” Frankie cants big dark eyes up into the trees even though that makes no goddamn sense.

The men have moved in by now and one of them lets out a low hiss.

“El Caucel.”

“Crees eso?” Santiago's gaze cuts towards him and then over at two other men nodding in agreement.

Two more from their team had departed towards the trucks the moment they saw the carnage.

Frankie stands upright with knitted brows before finding Santiago’s gaze.

He’s met with an imperceptible shake of the head.

And so he doesn’t open his mouth again until they’re back in their hotel room.

_____

“You got an explanation for that, Pope?”

“Not a good one.” Santi sits on the edge of a twin bed and unlaces his boots before toeing them off and flopping backwards.

Frankie stays standing, hands on his hips.

“Someone’s out there with high-caliber shit we didn’t even have as Deltas and that’s all you have to say.”

“That’s all I fuckin’ know, Fish. Look, at least we’re on the same side, ok? For now we’re on the same side. Fuck, I need a shower.”

He’s on his feet now. Clearly rattled.

“What’s El Caucel? A group? Where’d they get that kind of heat?”

“I don’t know, Fish. I don’t know if El Caucel is one guy or five…”

Santi doesn’t realize it but he’s pacing the room.

He’s useless like this.

“Go take a fuckin’ shower, Pope.”

“I need a fucking beer.”

_____

Frankie doesn’t speak again until they’re both perched on plastic chairs at the back of an open-air bar, cumbia blaring through tired but persistent speakers, waves lapping at the shore nearly on beat.

“I don’t like it, Pope," he mutters after a sip of beer. "I don’t like that people we don’t know, using shit that we don’t have, know the same things we do," each point punctuated by a finger stabbed into the table.

“They’re after the same people that we are, Fish. We were fifteen minutes late, more than likely that was our backup. I have a call out to my guy, but he’s out of pocket until tomorrow. Can we at least just leave it at that for the night?”

Somehow Santiago’s nerves aren’t as frayed as they were an hour ago.

“This isn’t what I signed up for, Pope.”

“You signed up to kill bad men and get paid, Fish. A bad man is dead today and I don’t know if you took a look at your bank account, but it’s $25K heavier than it was this morning.”

“We didn’t pull that trigger.”

“Take the fuckin’ win, Catfish.”

It's low out of Santiago's mouth. Like an order.

Frankie doesn’t run like this. Not with unknown eyes on them. And he doesn’t take money for jobs he didn’t finish. He agreed not to ask who was bankrolling this little excursion, he trusted Santi’s judgment enough for that, but things were starting to fall out of alignment.

The last time that happened they lost someone.

He doesn’t like how fucking cool Santi is right now either.

And Santiago pipes up as though he can hear the gears in Fish's head gnashing against one another. “Look, Fish. You’ve got a cold beer, the Caribbean fuckin’ Ocean right there, you’re in a beautiful tropical country instead of freezing your balls off in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere in February..."

"...There are hot girls in this bar.”

“Pope.”

“Do you trust me, Fish?”

Dark eyes lock over the table, Frankie searching for something Santi won’t give away. It takes at least a minute for the tight line of Fish’s mouth to soften into his usual pout.

“It’s a sea.”

“What?” Santi swallows a mouthful of beer.

“The Caribbean Sea.”

“Right, fuckin’, okay.” Santi grins. “The goddamn Caribbean Sea. Just enjoy it, Catfish.”

It’s not a good enough explanation, not by a fucking long shot, but he hates admitting that Santi is right. For the next few hours, there’s nothing they can do.

And for a moment, Corona and lime on his tongue and the thought of $25K in his bank account makes him ignore the insistent scratching in the back of his brain.

Dark eyes sail over Santi’s shoulder and happen to land on a woman reading in the corner, all brown skin and black curls that skim the tops of her shoulders. He can't help but notice the way she's left a few buttons on her linen shirt open.

Can't help but notice the way it allows the curve of one breast to peek out when she reaches for her drink.

“I saw her first.” Santi knows exactly where he’s looking.

“I wouldn’t, actually,” Frankie attempts to clarify, but his half-hard cock says otherwise.

“I would.”

“We’re sharing a room, Pope.”

“I’ll put a sock on the doorknob. Plus there was Bogotá that one time,” Santi arches a brow and grins before draining the rest of his beer.

Bogotá that one time and a blonde between the two of them.

There’s more space than you'd think on a twin bed.

“With $25K you can get your own goddamn room.” Fish quips.

Bogotá was before his girl. Before his kid.

“So could you. Honestly. I think you need it, Francisco. Come on, what happens in Nicaragua…”

“Nah, I’m…”

“Yeah, you need it. I’m doin’ it.”

Pope is out of his chair before Fish can bite back.

"Fuckin’ idiot," Frankie mutters under his breath and directs his gaze out to sea.

“Excuse me, miss?” Santiago purrs in Spanish, leaning over the woman’s table, his most disarming smile playing on his lips.

She angles huge green eyes up from her book and waits for Santi to continue.

“My friend over there,” Santi nods his head in Frankie’s direction. “Thinks you look like you could use a refill.”

“Your friend, or you?” She answers in the same tongue.

Santi’s teeth catch on his bottom lip.

“Myee, my uh, my friend.” Santi slips in English. “Mi amigo.”

Freud would have loved that one.

The woman sets her book aside and reaches for a packet of cigarettes, eyes cutting over to Frankie as she taps the top of the box on the table. He's lit up by red and yellow light and staring out across sand.

Plush lips wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle, wishing the ocean would come crashing through this fuckin’ bar.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Freddie.”

“Tell Freddie I’ll take a gin and soda with lime, but only if he does his dirty work himself and sits down here with me.” She lights up a cigarette. “I suppose you can stay too.”

Santi lets out a sharp whistle that has Frankie on higher alert than he’d care to admit.

“Gin and soda,” Santi calls over his shoulder. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Arabela,” she tosses the packet on top of her book.

“Sam,” Santi offers his hand and she takes it, surprised when Santi presses his lips to her knuckles.

Surprised in a turned-off way.

"What are you reading?"

She lifts the packet of Parliaments so he can glance at the title.

The Living Daylights.

"You like spy novels?"

"I think they're funny."

Frankie appears at last, two fresh beers, one gin, and three shots of tequila balanced easily between two massive hands.

The tequila was an impulse but he needs something stronger than Corona if this is Bogotá Round Two.

Which apparently it became the moment Frankie stood up from his seat.

“Freddie, this is Arabela.”

“Mucho gusto.” Frankie’s hand is shy.

All of Frankie is shy.

“I do speak English, if that’s more comfortable.”

“An American.” Santi perks up. “Where are you from, sweetheart?”

“Florida.”

“Ahh, Texas,” he jabs a thumb towards Frankie and then his own chest “and Miami. What part of Florida?”

“Orlando.”

Jesus this is boring.

_____

She actually just showed up here for dinner and a buzz because it was five minutes down the beach from her hotel. A function of convenience, nothing more.

And now with dinner over, she finds herself in need of another gin.

She’s up at the bar when two more men wander in. Not locals but not uncomfortable here either. Military, past or present, from the sound of their boots on the wood planks. 

She quickly steals a glance over her shoulder. Military boys aren’t uncommon down here, and frankly not particularly interesting, but these two aren’t standard issue.

One of them looks like a good time and the other looks like trouble. 

Trouble slips into a plastic chair at a table in the corner, choosing the seat that allows him to face the door. Good Time on the other hand is skating dark eyes over her bare legs.

She runs the top of one foot over her calf just for kicks as the bartender hands over fresh gin, and turns to leave the very moment that Good Time sidles up.

God it’s too easy. 

She’s not here for this tonight. 

But it’s been three, or was it four, months and she’s not opposed to it either.

Trouble is heated about something when his friend returns with beers.

He’s cute. 

Not in a classically handsome way, his friend has that in spades.

Cocksure, chiseled jaw, perfectly coiffed hair. 

No, Trouble is cute in a wound spring kind of way.

The kind of way that looks absolutely beautiful coming wildly undone.

What the fuck is in this gin tonight. 

Ten minutes later when Good Time struts over, she decides she definitely isn't opposed. 

_____

“What are you doing down here, baby girl?”

“Vacation. Just needed a break from work, I guess.”

Her phone buzzes face-down on the table and Santi Sam laughs.

“I like your phone case,” he grins as he pulls an identical one from his pocket.

Jesus Christ its a regular fucking Amazon phone case, how do we move this along.

“So what are you boys up to?”

He’s probably going to say something stupid like…

“Just appreciating the scenery.”

Yeah.

She checks her watch. It’s barely gone 19:30, she could still have a perfectly enjoyable night on her own. 

Nope.

“Look,” she leans over the table as Good Time leans in and Trouble leans back, “I’m sure that works on someone else, but today’s not your day.”

Santi braces for the crash. 

“You didn’t come over here just to chat and I’m more than happy to save all of us the grief. What’s on the table?”

“Both of us.” 

No one at the table was expecting Frankie to be the one to speak up.

Pope shoots Frankie a look that swims with ‘hadn’t expected but not opposed...’

“If that’s what you want.” Frankie rumbles, arm draped over the back of his chair. 

Trouble.

Something searing and unspoken in a language that Pope doesn’t understand passes between them.

“What’s your word, sweetheart?” He continues with the barest nod of his head in her direction, eyes dark. And starved. 

 “Bogotá.”

She hadn’t overheard them. There’s no way she could have with the music in this place.

And Frankie throws back his tequila because Frankie's not a man to question the Universe when it hands him something.

“Close the tabs,” a firm hand squeezes Santi’s shoulder as Fish stands. “Hers and ours. You. With me.”

Her with him finds them both outside, her back against the wall of the bar, cigarette nestled between her fingers, Frankie close enough that the heat coming off of him sets her nerves tingling.

He hasn’t laid a hand on her yet. One’s braced on the wall near her head, the other on his hip.

He’s angled such that she has room to slip away.

“Are you sure you want this? You can leave right now and I’ll get him out of here and we’ll pretend we never met.”

Dark eyes track the fingers that bring the cigarette to her lips.

“Is that what you want?”

“I didn’t ask about me,” he rumbles, shifting slightly closer and answering her question with his form.

“Right now,” she tilts her head to blow smoke away from him, “there’s nothing I want more.”

Frankie reaches for her cigarette, freely offered, taking a puff before he dashes it out. His fingers move to trail feather-light across her collarbone and over the buttons of her shirt nudging it open a hair.

He glances back up at her eyes and then her lips, plush and parted and waiting, and Frankie decides he can't wait any longer.

He slides the brim of his cap around backwards as his hand slides up her neck, thumb brushing her bottom lip before he replaces it with his mouth.

When Pope breezes through the door, Frankie nabs him by the back of the shirt, tongue never leaving her mouth. He pulls, slamming Santi against the wall before tearing himself away and taking a step back. His thumb comes up to brush the corner of his mouth, surveying them both.

Her dark hair is wild from his greedy fists, lips and chin reddened from his attention.

Santiago’s eyelids are heavy as he stares back.

“You started without me.” It’s restrained, darkly matter-of-fact. She reaches her hand over to wrap around the back of Pope’s neck and guides him to her, tasting his bottom lip and then his tongue. She slants half-closed eyes over to hold Frankie’s stare as she moans into Pope’s mouth.

Frankie nearly reaches out to rip her away.

“We gotta go,” is what he opts for instead.

_____

Not five minutes later, Santi’s back is pressed against the door to their hotel room. Her back is pressed to his chest. And Frankie is on his knees in front of her, nose pressed into the crotch of her cargo shorts.

Santi’s lips skate up the side of her neck as his hands splay across her stomach under her shirt, hips already searching for friction. She reaches back intending to slip her phone and card holder out of the back pockets of her shorts out of the need to feel Pope there unimpeded, pressed flush against her. He catches on, taking them both from her hands and placing them on the side table, fingertips bypassing two layers of cotton to slip just under the waistband of her underwear. He pulls her back against him by her hipbones, grinding the hardness in his jeans against the curve of her ass and she whimpers at the way it puts her just out of reach of Frankie's mouth.

Frankie pulls his shirt off up over his head, taking his backwards cap with it, and tossing them both over his shoulder into the room. He stands to occupy her mouth with his own while Pope unbuttons his shirt and lands it over the luggage rack. Santi meets Frankie’s eyes over her shoulder and nods. Fish breaks the kiss as Pope’s hands pull her against his chest once more. 

She leaves one hand on Frankie’s cheek and reaches the other up to tangle in Santiago’s hair. 

“We’re gonna take such good care of you, baby,” Santiago purrs into her ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he continues, mouth hot on her neck.

Frankie watches for a moment, taking in the way her plush lips are parted before he’s on his knees again. 

He needs to be here. Needs to feel the heat of her on his face. Needs to get rid of this fucking fabric.

“I’m gonna hold you right here,” Santiago purrs, skating his nose over the shell of her ear, “and he’s gonna eat that pretty pussy of yours,” one hand rides further up her stomach under her shirt, “because that’s his favorite thing in the world.”

Frankie can feel goosebumps appear where he’s stroking his palms over her calves, lips tracing the chill up her thighs.

“Would you like that, pretty girl?” Santi voice is a heady whisper now, and her head falls back into the crook of his shoulder as she hums in approval.

“Need to hear you say it, baby,” Frankie murmurs against her skin.

“God, yes,” she moans and immediately Santi’s mouth finds hers, fingers making quick work of the button on her shorts. Frankie helps her out of her sandals and Pope unzips her, thumbs sliding the fabric down over her hips, passing the task off to Frankie’s fingers to take the rest of the way before moving to do the same with her underwear.

“Leave it,” Frankie bats Pope’s hands away, settling one of his own against the curve of her hip, running the other up over the back of one thigh before breathing heat against her mound. She reflexively cants her hips back against Pope’s and he hears the phone in his back pocket knock against the door before it’s tossed carelessly along with his wallet to join hers on the side table. She runs one hand over Frankie’s forearm, fingers of the other still wound in Santi’s hair.

Plush lips trace the seams of her underwear, falling everywhere but where she wants them.

And so she reaches both hands down, tangling fingers in his soft curls, short nails impatiently scraping at his scalp and she feels him smirk against her inner thigh.

Frankie hooks a hand around the back of her knee, guiding her leg over his shoulder.

“Hold her, Pope.”

Santi’s arm hooks firmly around her ribcage.

She spares a thought for the use of a call sign before suddenly there’s pressure and damp, open-mouthed heat breathed against the sodden cotton covering her core. The leg that’s still on the ground buckles, but Santiago holds her firm, grinning against her mouth.

They work well together, these two.

Frankie’s tongue traces the contours of her folds through the fabric, humming with pleasure at what little taste of her he’s able to get at. He can already tell from the feel of this alone that she’s bare below the cotton and his cock jumps at the thought.

And his cock jumps again at the thought of sharing the thought.

“Pretty girl?” Frankie rumbles, teeth catching gently against her mound as he angles his eyes up at her. “If I were to take these off…” he hooks a finger through the waistband of her panties and lets it snap against her flushed skin.

“I wouldn’t find anything under there, would I?”

He pauses and Santiago feels her grin against his mouth.

“I don’t think you would, Fish.”

“No, I think,” the bridge of his nose bumps against her clit just so and she groans against Santi’s lips. “I think you’re completely bare under here.” He inhales deep and her fingers tighten in his curls. “All of that smooth…soft…skin.” Each word punctuated by a kiss before he sucks, open mouthed against the core of her.

Pope has to hold her again.

Santi’s free hand skates up to palm her right shoulder where cream linen has fallen open before slipping his fingers under the strap of her bra, guiding it down her arm.

And Santiago’s not so much in control so much as he’s just the one they let speak.

“Is he good, princesa?” Santi asks against her lips in the lowest register of his voice. “Does his mouth feel good on you?” Santiago reaches down over her collarbone, under her shirt and bra to palm her breast, one arm still firmly locked around her ribcage.

“Fuck,” she gasps, “so good.”

Frankie hums his thanks and moves a little higher to flick his tongue over her clit. He dwells here a while, alternating light and fast with the tip of his tongue with slower, firmer strokes with the flat of it. The cotton of her thong is soaked from her slick and his mouth, and it’s not long before she turns her lips away from Santiago, panting and moaning in time with Frankie’s flicks.

“She’s close, Fish,” Pope breathes against her pulse.

“Mmm hmm,” he hums, the rumble of it causing her to buck her hips against him. Frankie lets go from where strong fingers have been digging into the thigh over his shoulder and brings his hand to her hip, both palms now holding her firm against Santi.

She can feel how hard he is through the denim that scratches against the curve of her ass. How it's taking all of Santiago's control not to grind against her there. Not to send her knocking against Fish's teeth.

Neither of these men have actually put skin against anything that matters, and yet she’s falling apart between them. 

No sooner does the thought cross her mind than Frankie hooks a thumb into the crotch of her thong, pulling the gusset to the side.

He hums deep and low because he was right.

He’s just about to lick a stripe through her glistening folds when a clattering buzz rings out into the room.

All three of them startle.

Santi spares a glance down at the side table where the offending phone is casting blue light into the room.

His contact’s number.

“Fuuck,” he growls, “I gotta get this. Take her to bed, Fish.” Frankie lets her leg down from his shoulder, “and don’t you fucking dare make her come without me.”

“No promises,” he mumbles between kisses, allowing her to move him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sits and she straddles his hips and he bucks up against her, telegraphing what's on offer.

She presses her forehead against his as he fights to nip at her jaw, cursing softy at the feel of him before her fingers scramble to unzip his jeans.

Frankie grins, arm wrapping tight around her waist, and grinds his crotch against her heat as Santi picks up the phone.

“Hey honey, I uh...I can’t really talk right now,” Santi’s voice rings out from the hallway as if he wasn’t half naked and panting.

She props herself up briefly without breaking Frankie’s kisses in an effort to quiet the moans that he can’t seem to keep in his throat. He runs his palms down her sides to fit on her hips and pull but she’s strong. 

“Santiago? Well, now that’s interesting.”

“How...how's that, babe, you called me?”

“Santiago, this isn’t your phone.”

And Santiago's blood runs cold.

next

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted to Ohforficsake - follow me over there for future updates.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

[backtothefanfiction]

All The Good Girls Go To Hell Moodboard

And Chapter 2 Teaser….

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

So I made small talk, bumped a couple of lines and downed the complimentary bottles of bubbly that kept being brought to her booth and over all, tried to block out the mind numbing monotony of the whole situation. I only started dancing on the table to give myself something to do- but then my new buddy and his friends walked in. Gods he was more handsome and mysterious under the cover of night- and his friends weren’t bad looking either.

They all wore some version of an all black uniform; casual suits with half open button downs, black T-shirts and leather jackets. I didn’t know which one I wanted to sink my newly single teeth into first, because let’s face it, I’d happily fuck each and every one of them… maybe even twice… or maybe even more than one of them at the same time.

It’s clear the biggest guy wants me too, the way he stands staring, his tongue practically lolling out of his mouth as he salivates, his eyes taking me in like I’m already his favorite meal and he can’t wait to chow down. No doubt he’d take me for the ride of my life, if I let him, but it’d be too easy. I love a challenge and the way Pope has his eyes on me, I really can’t resist.

As he ushers them to move on, taking the lead as they make their way towards a VIP booth up a couple steps over to the far left of the DJ booth, giving them the perfect view to survey their goods, my mind begins to whir as quickly as my limbs swing around the pole in my hands. I watch tentatively from a distance, taking mental notes of every little thing he does. The way he runs his hands back through his tight curls when he becomes stressed. The way he struggles to relax, always sitting further forward, reaching for his phone or something on the table, or if that fails, fiddling with the buttons of his open blazer as his fist rests against his hip.

He’s uptight that’s for sure. Typical business type who likes to be in control and run the show. If I’m gonna wear him down, it’s gonna take time and not just on the side lines working in this club, but I have to penetrate his inner circle. As I slump back down next to Lucy in the booth, I slowly realize what I have to do. It’s just like in the olden days, if you wanted to bed the King, you had to get yourself in with someone lower down in his court and work your way up- and I knew just who to start with.

———————————————————————

@casa-boiardi @southernbe @littlenosoul @movievillainess721 @pastawench @littlemisspascal

[beefrobeefcal]

Come join me in sin!

We recommend the following here at Beefro's Bistro:

The Fox and The Viper by @theywhowriteandknowthings Oberyn Martell x OFC

Hazy Days by @theywhowriteandknowthings Din Djarin x F!Reader

Douchbag!Frankie by @gracieispunk Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

The Run by @magpiepills Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x F!Reader

SNAFU by @theywhowriteandknowthings Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

sing fever to the form by @thelightsandtheroses Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Breaking the Rules by @theywhowriteandknowthings DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Entergalactic by @harryleatherfit Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Cookout by @harryleatherfit Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Upper East Side by @harryleatherfit Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

I’ll Know It When I See It by @bageldaddy Pornstar!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Desperation by @theywhowriteandknowthings Dave York x F!Reader

Whole by @theywhowriteandknowthings Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x F!Reader

Popular by @harryleatherfit Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x F!Reader

Where Were You on Outbreak Day? by @theywhowriteandknowthings Joel Miller x F!Reader

The Pilot & His Girl by @avastrasposts Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Seven Minutes in Heaven by @tieronecrush Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

relief by @pedropascalsx Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Precious Possessions by @exquisiteserotonin Dave York x F!Reader

Creep by @theywhowriteandknowthings Joel Miller x F!Reader

Pause by @talaok Javier Pena x F!Reader

Night Walks Series by @toxicanonymity Joel Miller x F!Reader

Haunted by @theywhowriteandknowthings Joel Miller x F!Reader x Tommy Miller

Shore Leave by @theywhowriteandknowthings Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x F!Reader

Another Chubby Subby Joel Imagine by @neverwheremoonchild Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rendezvous in Reno by @theywhowriteandknowthings Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Got a recommend? Make you contribution in the THOT TANK

[artemiseamoon]

Preview: Is this how it ends? Pt 1

Dark! Pope, TF guys, Rhea (oc) | Rhea x Frankie

Masterpost / fic info

Arte’s year of Whump | @yearofcreation2023

Words: 2,833

✨Summary: Almost two years after Santiago disappeared, he starts making good on his treats. He told them to leave him alone, the told them to forget him, they didn't listen and now he's going to make them pay. ✨

Warnings: drinking to forget, depression, an almost a sex scene, a missing person, breakups, kidnapping, held hostage, language, physical aggression.

Below is a preview * read in full on A03

Everything started with that cursed job.

Yeah, they made it back, yeah, they had some of the money, but everything went downhill after that. While Frankie, Will, Rhea and Benny tried to get their lives back on track, Santiago went dark, saying he needed some time to get his head on straight.

He’s disappeared before, so the silence wasn’t a shock at first. Not until it came up on a year since anyone heard from him, then two.

They searched and tried to reach him with no luck, constant dead ends. Then after doing some digging, Will found out the horrible truth. The Santiago they knew was gone and a new man was born; a man who could have lived deep in the shadows of him all along, or maybe all the ptsd and shit he had to do created this man.

Whatever happened, their beloved friend was no more. He became something he spent so many decades fighting and killing, a criminal, a monster. Once Will made contact, he was quickly warned by Santi to stay away, Santi told Will to forget about him, and no one would get hurt.

The spine-chilling warning shook them all. They love Santi, he's family, and they’re going to get him back no matter what it takes. At first, they adhered to the warning, though Frankie was always a second away from picking up and tracking Pope himself.

Two things held him back, the first being his little girl who had been through enough with the last trip and the separation of her parents, second, he didn’t want Santi to react violently and go through with one of his threats.

Read in full on A03 only

Reblogs appreciated!

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@artemiseamoon-updates

A03: Artemiseamoon

More triple frontier

[beefros-sin-bin]

Welcome to •my fic recs• blog! Got a fic to rec? Send it to me!

Currently only Pedro Pascal Character fics.

[In order of their initial recommendation]

The Fox and The Viper by @theywhowriteandknowthings Oberyn Martell x OFC

Hazy Days by @theywhowriteandknowthings Din Djarin x F!Reader

Douchbag!Frankie by @gracieispunk Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

The Run by @magpiepills Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x F!Reader

SNAFU by @theywhowriteandknowthings Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

sing fever to the form by @thelightsandtheroses Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Breaking the Rules by @theywhowriteandknowthings DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Entergalactic by @harryleatherfit Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Cookout by @harryleatherfit Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Upper East Side by @harryleatherfit Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

I’ll Know It When I See It by @bageldaddy Pornstar!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Desperation by @theywhowriteandknowthings Dave York x F!Reader

Whole by @theywhowriteandknowthings Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x F!Reader

Popular by @harryleatherfit Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x F!Reader

Where Were You on Outbreak Day? by @theywhowriteandknowthings Joel Miller x F!Reader

The Pilot & His Girl by @avastrasposts Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Seven Minutes in Heaven by @tieronecrush Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

relief by @pedropascalsx Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Precious Possessions by @exquisiteserotonin Dave York x F!Reader

Creep by @theywhowriteandknowthings Joel Miller x F!Reader

Pause by @talaok Javier Pena x F!Reader

Night Walks Series by @toxicanonymity Joel Miller x F!Reader

Haunted by @theywhowriteandknowthings Joel Miller x F!Reader x Tommy Miller

Shore Leave by @theywhowriteandknowthings Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x F!Reader

Another Chubby Subby Joel Imagine by @neverwheremoonchild Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rendezvous in Reno by @theywhowriteandknowthings Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

But Baby It's Art by @magpiepills Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Your Summer Dream by @swiftispunk Joel Miller x F!Reader

All Over You by @theywhowriteandknowthings Javier Pena x F!Reader

Blood Money by @theywhowriteandknowthings Dave York x Max Phillips x F!Reader

Odd Couple by @idolatrybarbie Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Hurts So Good by @theywhowriteandknowthings Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Taungsdays, Am I Right? by @theywhowriteandknowthings Din Djarin x F!Reader

It's Too Early For This... by @trulybetty Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Pleasure Principle by @nerdieforpedro Dave York x F!Reader

VS by @strang3lov3 Joel Miller x F!Reader

Mystery Strain by @rebel-held Dieter Bravo & GN!Reader

One Day at a Time by @rebel-held Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

The Princess & the Duke by @theywhowriteandknowthings Dave York x F!Reader

Worth the Weight by @gwendibleywrites Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Slasher Joel by @toxicanonymity Joel Miller x F!Reader

Send in the Clown by @covetyou Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Catch Me If You Can by @theywhowriteandknowthings Din Djarin x F!Reader

Table for Two by @hellishjoel Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

[nerdieforpedro]

"absolutely amazing as always" I have not written any songs before girl. 🤣 I kid, I know what you mean and I thank you. You're always so sweet. ���💜 Told you I have range though. 😎

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.

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