#brat tamer santi
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Congratulations on 700 followers, yay!! And what a way to celebrate with the things you're offering!
I simply can't just *not* ask you... brat tamer Santiago Garcia, if you happen to be inspired?
Pairing- Santiago Garcia x F! Reader
Summary- You push your boyfriend just a little too far with your teasing
CW-18+, NSFW, MDNI, Brat tamer Santi, Sub reader, slight voyeurism, Overstimulation, Breath play, Rough sex, Safe word established, Use of restraints, gagging, Dacryphilia, Pet names, Unprotected PIV, Cream Pie, Aftercare
WK- 3.6K ( Drabble..who said this was a Drabble?)
A/N- This was the first ask in my follower celebration and I’ve wanted to put my all into it. Santi is so intimidating and I love writing for him.
Not beta read
Some inspiration before you read if you’re feeling so inclined. ( Santiago)
[Main Masterlist][Triple Frontier]
Cupid’s arrow
It started off innocently enough
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Santi:Baby you’re killing me
Just wanted to give you a Valentines preview
It was boredom that often got you in trouble with Santiago. He said you had a knack for testing his Will power. A constant push and pull between being good and watching the moment he decides he’s had enough of your behavior.
The problem here lies that you can’t see his face via text. There was no way of knowing when the flip switched from innocent to a lesson in never pushing Santiago’s buttons.
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Santi:I’m serious I’m trying to work here cariño
Fine…tell Frankie I said hi
It really was his fault…he left you to your own devices for an entire day. Of course you went shopping and saw the lacy red set that you know would drive him wild. The woman who helped you out convinced you to get a few more things and also another set in pink. But then you saw the black silk teddy with the red trim and you knew you just had to have that one.
A full photo shoot in the floor length mirror in your shared bedroom had you occupied for a little longer. And now you find yourself growing impatient as the time ticks on.
“Pope, my dog can hold a flashlight better than you.” Frankie’s muffled voice comes from under the sink as Santi discards his phone on the counter.
“Relajate hermano.” Santi’s annoyance oozed from his tone, mostly irritated at his lack of preparedness for what was supposed to be a simple ‘in fish’s words’ fix to his leaky sink.
One hour turned into four and it seemed like they had made way too many trips to the hardware store. This was clearly not going to be a quick fix and Frankie should’ve hired a plumber like he said. He knew Frankie was too stubborn for that, the pilot could fix mostly anything on his own and that sometimes led to an air of too much confidence.
Frankie leans back on his heels wiping the sweat from his brow with his shirt, the backwards standard oil cap on his head a shade darker around the rim because the man is too cheap to turn on the ac.
“Your dick hard from holding that flashlight or were you staring at my ass.” Frankie chides and Santi’s flipping him off before the words even leave his mouth.
Santi can’t help the way his body reacts to you. Which is why he desperately needed you to stop sending him those photos. He could be home with you right now, undressing you piece by piece. His face buried between your thighs as he pulled countless orgasms from you until you were begging him to stop. In reality he was going to do that anyway but he’s not going to be so nice about it now that you’ve decided to be a grade A pain in his ass.
You couldn’t possibly know that he’s at his wits end between Frankie’s constant ribbing and his one too many mentions of you. He appreciated that his friend cared about his love life but Santi knew how he really felt. The too long looks at you swimming at Wills in your bikini, the hugs that lasted longer than he’d felt comfortable with but wouldn’t dare say anything to Frankie. The way you genuinely laughed at his awful jokes when you were all hanging out at the bar.
“Let me take a look, I think your eyes need a break.” Santi bumps him out of the way with his foot.
“Oh you’re an expert plumber now, but you can’t even hold a damn flashlight.” Santi shoots him a look as he breathes heavy out of his nose and Frankie concedes taking the flashlight from him.
Santi’s grumbling in a mix of English and Spanish as he takes in the mangled mess of tubes and the puddle of questionable water his arm is sitting in. Santi is suddenly aware of every sore muscle in his body as his back goes rigid. His knees ache and his head is pounding from a lack of food and water. Right now he’s seeing red as he notices the problem they’ve been dealing with all day was quite literally because Frankie had his wires crossed. He's fumbling with the tubing as his phone buzzes in succinction on the counter above him. He thinks you might be calling him but it stops after three.
“Everything alright up there Fish?” His tone slightly exasperated as he’s plunged into darkness. Evidently neither of them know how to hold a flashlight properly.
“You are one lucky son of a bitch.”
“What!?” He groans after a loud thud that was his head hitting the underside of the sink reverberates through his body.
Frankie’s scrolling on Santi’s phone with a perverted look plastered on his face. He’s leaning against the counter completely unaware or unconcerned that Santi is staring daggers at him.
Santi snatches his phone hastily. “Get a good look?” Frankie clearly can’t read the room as he chuckles at him and this is the closest he’s been to getting punched since basic training.
“I didn’t see much.” The lie is clear as day on his face as Santi crosses his arms. “I just don’t know how you could be here with me while you’ve got that at home.” Frankie crosses his arms almost mimicking Santi and an unfamiliar noise leaves his mouth. Santi probably resembles a fire breathing dragon more than a human at this moment.
“You’re right Frank.” He clenches and unclenches his fist. “I don’t know why I’m here.” He wonders now if Frankie was in on it with you and some elaborate plan to push him to the brink of his resolve. He wouldn’t put it past either of you, always vying for who can win the award for the first place pain in the ass. Unlucky for you and lucky for Frankie that his displaced aggression now has a direction.
Santi leaves the kitchen without another word, slamming the front door a little harder than he meant but not feeling too bad about it. He’s bounding toward his Jeep with his phone clutched in his hand and a painful bulge in his jeans. He decides not to leave Frankie entirely in the dark and also not wanting to have the day be a total waste.
I fixed the problem
🐈🐠: Gracias hermano te aprecio
Santi puts the car in reverse and starts the slow roll down the driveway. His phone buzzes next to him on the seat and he aggressively puts it back in park to check.
🐈🐠: Tell her to wear the red one 🥵
Since when did his old ass figure out how to use emojis? Santi pulls up the messages he forgot you sent him. The ones Fish saw. The sweat trickles down his back as he takes in the compromising positions you’re in. One hand clutching your breast, another hand dipping beneath the deep red fabric. You’re only saving grace is that he can’t actually see that spot between your legs. The spot he knows is soaked and if Frankie had seen he’d never live it down. They’d have to share you at that point and Frankie would be none too pleased with himself.
Santi: Be in the bed with the red one on
You were starting to get worried when you sent those last three images. You hadn’t heard from him and your anxiety was getting the best of you. You knew you were constantly pushing the limits of how far you could take him, with all the trust in your relationship you assumed at this point Santiago was limitless. Sending a few racy texts was nothing compared to making him come in his pants while you palmed him under the table at your last hang out with the guys. Your punishment was relatively mild when he yanked you into the bathroom and made you clean up the evidence.
Can’t wait to see you baby 🥰
You're waiting…patiently now after you’ve changed into the one that you knew would drive him crazy.
He’s driving, barely obeying the traffic laws as he white knuckles the steering wheel. He’d already picked out your tombstone when you sent the first photo.
Here lies my Beloved baby girl- impatient, petulant, brat until the very end
****
He knows he needs to shower first, so you’ll just have to wait a little longer. He hopes for your sake you’re in the bed like he asked. You had the expert ability to do the opposite of what he wanted at every turn.
The sun is just starting to set when he enters your shared home. He can smell his favorite scent wafting through the air of one of those ridiculous wax melts you had all throughout the house. He would never tell you that he liked it so much but it seems you’ve caught on anyway. He can’t even describe what it is since it’s labeled autumn air, but it reminds him of you.
Had you been a little faster you might have gotten away with it…but he sees a flit of red and your foot just barely making it into the doorway of the bedroom.You’re lying on your stomach when he enters the room doing your best to not look out of breath with that innocent smile on your face.
“You think you’re slick?” You shake your head as he pulls his shirt off, revealing his tan skin. He throws it towards to hamper, missing it completely as he stalks towards you. He takes your jaw between his forefinger and thumb and you tilt your head up for a kiss that never comes. “I asked you a question.” His breath is hot on your face as you search his eyes for a sign of reassurance but you find none.
“I don’t…know what you’re talking about.” Your voice comes out shaky as his grip tightens on your chin. He laughs as an unmerciful look spreads across his face. You’re a mixture of terrified and aroused as you hang there in the balance, unsure of what his next move is.
He lets go of your chin and presses you back with his palm to lay against the headboard. His jaw is clenched and his lips in a tight line as he straddles your hips pinning you down with his jean clad thighs. You reach out to palm the obvious bulge in the front of his pants and he not so gently grabs your wrist. He places a soft kiss to the palm of your hand before bringing it up over your head to rest on the pillow. “That’s the last time you’re gonna act out of line.” His voice a low growl in your ear and you think you may have royally fucked up.
He sits back on his heels, trailing his hands over the soft fabric of your dress. His thumbs graze your nipple and his eyes go wide at the way your body reacts to him. He grips your hips and bunches the fabric to reveal the matching thing soaked with your arousal. If he had fangs he’d draw blood with the way he’s biting down on his lip as his fingers toy with the thin string, pulling it tight between your lips. He’s playing with you now and your antics earlier may have been seriously detrimental to your health and well being.
The material bites into your skin and you wince as he snaps the thin fabric like it’s made of floss. It’s vulgar the way he brings them to his nose inhaling your scent, his eyes roll back and your breath picks up at the carnal display before you.
He sets the torn panties down next to your head before his hands are back on you. “I take it, I bought this?” You nod once and he tsks under his breath.
“Yes.” It’s rushed out and he slaps the side of your thigh as he crowds your space. “I mean yes sir.”
“Good girl…I think it’s been too long since you’ve been taught a lesson.” You gasp as he rips the fabric. “You can’t even remember your manners.” Your gut churns at the voracious tone he’s using. The bold red dress flutters in front of you as he reduces it to shreds. His muscles flex as he pulls it taught, inspecting it to his liking. He leans over you, his soft kiss a stark contrast to his words. All you’ve wanted all day was to touch him, but you keep your hands where they are as his lips devour you. His kiss growing hungrier by the second. He pulls away breathless as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. He rolls his hips instinctively, his lust for you is almost too much. “You just need a little reminder sweetheart.”
He regained some composure as he pulled his weight back. The warmth of his body leaves you and goosebumps raise on your skin. His thumb grazes your bottom lip as he pulls down gently, coaxing your mouth open. He shoves your panties in your mouth and you can taste yourself on your tongue. You breathe deep through your nose as he waits for any sign you need this to stop. His hand grabs your wrist and the shredded fabric bringing it up to the bedpost. He was nothing if not tactical with his movements as he quickly secured both wrists with his perfectly procured gift. He gives a light tug and smirks, seemingly pleased with his work.
You squirm and whine as he swings his legs over your body and exits the bed. The drool starts down your cheek as you soak the fabric in your mouth. “Don’t worry cariño, I’m gonna take real good care of you.”
He opens the bedside drawer and fishes out your small pink vibrator, it’s been so long since you’ve used it you're not even sure it’s charged. He clicks it once and it roars to life…the opposing looks on your faces are almost cartoonish as you groan in anticipation.
He pulls his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans as he leans over dragging the tip through your slit. Not even bothering to look at the mess he’s making. “Let’s see… how many photos did you send baby?” The sarcasm drips off his tongue as he counts each one out loud. He whistles low under his breath. “Five…I’m not sure you can handle a five.” The settings go up to six and you’re praying to whatever god is listening that he has some mercy.
You keen as it breaches your entrance almost out of breath on the first setting. He clicks it twice more and snickers at your muffled cries. “I’m gonna shower okay sweetheart. You stay right there and don’t move.” He clinks his belt and pulls down his pants before heading towards the en-suite bathroom. He sends you one last salacious look as he palms himself over his boxers. You writhe as he turns his back to you, no doubt grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
****
You want to call him every name in the book besides his god given one as you breathe through your second climax. Your legs are shaking and you wish your pussy would go numb to the constant vibrating sensation wracking your body. You tried to crawl away from it to no avail, you clenched your thighs together hoping that would give you some relief and accidentally bumped it up a notch.
Your back arches off the bed as your wrists tug at the restraints, the new angle has it hitting that spot deep inside you as you bite down hard on the soaked fabric in your mouth. You’re almost grateful for it and you think he must know what he’s doing because you’d surely have cracked a molar at this point.
He’s humming some incessant tune as the water shuts off and you try and focus on your breathing knowing it’s almost over.
He exits the bathroom, steam emanating off his sturdy body. He used a towel to run through his thick hair not covering the hefty cock dangling between his thighs. He saunters over taking his sweet ass time, slowly pulling the vibrator from your soaked folds. A lewd sound comes out of you as he pulls the fabric from your mouth. He straddles your chest this time, careful to keep his weight off you as his cock sits heavy between your breasts. You know he’s doing it on purpose, as he unties your sore wrists. He knows how much you love sucking his cock that hangs inches from your face, but you wouldn’t dare do anything now without permission. You breath out heavily, mouth watering at the sight of him as he looks down upon you. His cock jumps at the temperature change and you know that he knows what you’re doing. Quite possibly the only thing you can do in your current predicament.
“You did so good for me cariño.” He slides down your body, trailing precum along your sweat soaked skin. He wipes the drool from your mouth with his hand and purses your lips in his grasp. “But we’re not done yet.”
“Santi please…I'm sorry.” You’re reduced to begging, something he rarely denied.
“I gave you a chance to be sorry.” He wipes a stray tear that rolls down your cheek and for a brief moment he feels bad. You were just trying to show off for him after all. The shredded reminder of your little outfit is all the motivation he needs to finish what he started.
You rub your sore wrists and stretch your limbs as he grabs his phone from the bedside table. You get a nice look of his pert ass as he walks to the opposing lounge chair in your bedroom and props the phone up to his liking.
“Hands and knees baby.” He’ll always love the way you quickly obey as he works his hand over his cock and climbs in the bed behind you. He’s sure you’ve learned your lesson but now he wanted to have some fun and you were being so good.
He soothes you with his other hand as he watches your shaky breaths from behind. Your ass wiggles a little as you try to get comfortable. He can see the arousal dripping down your thighs as he drags the tip through your soaked folds. “I can’t see your face baby, so keep your eyes open.”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s my girl.” He pushes in as he grips your hips, starting a brutal pace. You’re so worked up from before as he drags in and out of your walls. Grunting behind you as the lewd sounds of the slap of skin echo in the room. He’s been so keyed up all day he knows he’s not going to last long and the way your pussy squeezes him so tight with every thrust he needs to feel you come before he loses all control. The chants of his name are like music to his ears as you grip the sheets below you, but it’s not good enough.
He wraps his arm around your chest bringing his hand to your throat as he breathes heavily into your ear. A sharp intake of breath as he squeezes slightly. “Your eyes open baby?” All you can do is nod and you hope that’s good enough. He releases it gripping your jaw to look at the camera while fucks relentlessly into you. “Whose fucking you like this…hmm.”
“You Santi.” Your voice cracks as you grasp at his arms to stay upright. He moans into your ear as you grip him tight. His breath on your neck tickles and you both chuckle slightly. A sighting of your Santi sprinkled into your intense moments.
“You tell him who you belong to.” Who? You whine as your body shakes, you’re just at the edge of the cliff all you need is that little push. He grips your hair with one hand bringing the other to rub your clit. “You know who.” He says through gritted teeth.
“I don’t I swear.” You sob, tears of ecstasy roll down your face as your fingers dig into his forearm.
“Frankie.” He growls in your ear as you fall apart in his arms. He follows you over the edge quickly after, much to your relief at the prospect of reaching your climax at the mention of his best friend.
It takes you both a moment to catch your breath, just basking in the afterglow. He kisses your shoulder asking if you’re okay. Turning your face to his when you don’t answer immediately, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. “I’m okay baby, I promise.” You sigh as he releases you, your tired body falling into the soft sheets below you.
He rubs your back for a moment before rolling out of bed to the bathroom. You have no idea what time it is, with the sun setting so early it could be six or nine and in the excitement of the day you didn’t eat or drink as much as you should have. Santi returns with a washcloth, wiping your face first and down your chest. He gently wipes both thighs and you shiver as he brushes the towel over that overworked spot between your legs. “I know it’s cold, I’m sorry.” His voice is low and calming like he’s approaching a frightened animal. The vulnerable and sweet Santi that you know and love talking you through the aftershocks.
He heads to the chair in the corner retrieving the phone you’d all but forgotten, sliding it in front of your face on the mattress.
“Why don’t you hit send for me cariño.”
🐈🐠: Message loading
Here lies my Beloved baby girl- impatient, petulant, brat until the very end
Comments and reblogs are much appreciated
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#triple frontier#santiago garcia x reader#triple frontier fanfiction#brat tamer santi#santiago garcia x you#santiago garcia smut#triple frontier fic#pimosfollowercelebration#valentines celebration#valentinesparty#frankie 'catfish' morales#frankie morales x santiago garcia
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Something to prove: Frankie Morales x fem!reader blurb
Read the warnings.
Summary: you’re wrong. And Frankie wants to prove it.
Genre: steam / implied smut. Teasing / sexual tension. Brat /brat tamer or Dom / sub vibes.
A/n: okay, look. Frankie is cool, calm and collected. Expect when he’s not. And I just love finding the things that flip that switch on his composure and create, specifically, a Frankie of the u n h i n g e d and f e r a l variety. (That was my initial concept and then… this defo grew somewhat darker than I’d intended, so please do read the warnings! I dunno what happened but I guess I went a bit feral too don’t look at me 🙈)
Spoilery Warnings: there are definite dub-con elements here. Frankie is not checking-in thoroughly for consent and there’s one point where his thought-process /actions outright disregards consent (it’s Frankie’s POV). In my head, reader is enthusiastically on-board for everything which happens during the fic and for what is implied off-screen, but that’s definitely not made explicit in the text or even the internal monologue as it usually would be, and Frankie doesn’t know that for sure all the time. Consider yourself warned. As well, some dumbification here, reader called “stupid girl” etc. So… it’s a slightly darker!Frankie than I would usually write or characterise rather than aiming for canon so much! Also, implied threesome (or similar) off-screen, so a smidge of Santiago x reader which I opted not to tag as it isn’t the main focus. Some dub-con from Santi too. Daddy kink warning (once). (Light) Choking. Spitting (once). Dom / Sun, Brat / brat tamer vibes. Fingering. Definite theme in the language of “it’s for your own good / I know what’s best for you” which could be triggering, and could count as coercion. Explicit.
MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY
Gif by @santigarcia
No, the voice in Frankie’s head blares, the word defeaning - although no sound passes his lips. No. No. No!
You’re wrong.
Even as Santiago smiles smugly. Says “you got that right, sweetie.”
No.
Frankie’s jaw writhes, his hand clawing into his own thigh even as a gentle titter spreads throughout the room, passed amiably from mirth-crinkled eye to slanted mouth.
He’s not angry at you. Not exactly.
When Benny had asked, as the juvenile truth or dare game progressed, who you thought would be best in the sack, you’d had to pick someone.
It’s just that you’re wrong.
It’s him.
In his head it’s him. In his head, no-one else can give it to you the way he’s imagined making you come undone. No-one else could have you unfurling the way he’s plotted so meticulously; late at night, as he’s bucked his straining length into his own fist, wishing it was the warm, enclosing wetness of you.
You’re wrong.
He feels his pulse drum in his throat. Feels his face pinch into something angular and hard.
He rips an abrupt swig of beer from the mouth of his bottle. Abrupt like the way he wants to tear a kiss from your mouth. Sudden and harsh, showing you your mistake.
He’s not angry at you. He’s not.
He’s angry at himself; for not showing you; that you’re wrong.
He stands. “Excuse me,” he mutters gruffly, pacing to the kitchen. Opening the fridge to give some passing pretence to his exit. His broad shoulders curl in towards the cold, seeking to calm his suddenly heat-pricked skin. His shirt pulls taut over the writhing muscles in his back.
You find him like this a moment later when you enter, your sweet voice preceding the sight of you. And fuck. The contrast of your softness to the way he’s growing rigid in his jeans has his eyes fluttering closed, lashes fanning to his cheek. Has the circle of his plush lips dropping open as a pulse of need zips along his aching shaft.
No. No. No.
You’re so wrong.
And, for some reason, the thought of correcting your mistake, by setting the record straight himself? It has him coming undone.
“The boys are so easy to please, huh?” you breeze, apparently completely unaware of his predicament. Of the blood rushing in his ears so hard he can barely even hear your voice. Unless… did he imagine that teasing, provocative edge in your tone?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Frankie is fixed in place now. Rigid and imposing. Breaths mildly ragged; frayed at the edges. He hears you hop your ass up onto the counter with a breathy little - and seemingly deliberate - mmhmph. Knows that’s where you’re at, because that’s where you usually sit. That’s your spot when Santiago is cooking, all of the squad gathered around the kitchen island. That’s when Frankie usually leans his long frame against the wall right by you. Drinks in the way your thighs swell - full and soft- as they press into the counter. Imagines slipping his broad hands on to your knees. Sliding the flat of his palms up to part your warm, supple thighs. Slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your tantalising dress until they can spear your heat.
“Santiago’s” -Frankie juts his chin and curls his lip as you say his name- “so fucking needy.”
The word needy falling from your lips does something to him. Sends a throb of heat and dull ache to his length.
You have no idea how needy he is.
How needy he has been for you.
So… No.
Not Santiago’s name in your mouth instead of his. Not fantasies of Santiago fucking you bleeding into your dreams, keeping you up at night, making you slick between your legs.
You’re wrong.
In his head you’re wrong. In his head he’s had you coming apart on his cock a thousand different times. A thousand different ways. He never leaves you anything less than sated, breathless, boneless. He’s good for you. He’s the best. He’s what you need.
You’re wrong.
A low grunt rises in his throat.
Then, finally, with effort, Frankie delicately snaps the fridge closed. Turns towards you, his usually soft gaze intense and hard. Tongue curling around his plush upper lip. It makes the tentative smile you offer drop from your face.
Frankie watches your eyes skim down his taut, long body. Imagines that he sees your pupils blowing-out. A swallow sinking in your neck as he approach you like this. Harsh. Dominant. Maybe how he should have been with you all along. Maybe you would’ve liked that better.
At least, if he had, that way you’d already know.
His pulse beats a drum in his chest. Fuck. Those thighs of yours make his arousal swell painfully in his jeans.
“You believe it?” he grits, abrupt and forceful. Something dark in him activating. Something he isn’t proud of. Something that feels primal. Hungry, after so long caged away.
Your eyes widen like prey. “Believe what?”
Frankie looks at your mouth. You don’t even know. Don’t even know what’s good for you, do you? That he’s good for you. He’s going to show you. “Don’t play dumb. You know ‘what’.”
He crosses to you. Slots his hips between your thighs. Stands over you, muscles taut and rigid. Primed; yet contained. Reaches his thumb and forefinger out to grip and lift the point of your chin; deceptively soft.
Your mouth falls open. There is a sharp intake of breath, as though his touch is electricity on your skin. You writhe yourself into the counter. Arch your chest towards him, even as your eyes widen with slight apprehension. He’s never spoken to you like that before. Has only ever been soft with you. And look where that’s gotten him. Not buried balls-deep into your cunt, that’s for sure. “F-Frankie… I…”
No. No excuses.
“He was the obvious answer.”
No.
“I had to say someone.”
No.
“I couldn’t say… I c-couldn’t say you, could I?”
“Why not?” He shoves the pad of his thumb past your lips and into your mouth before you can even answer, sliding it over your tongue. Doesn’t even care in that moment if you want it. He wants it. Needs it. But he loves how instantly you pucker your lips to suck. Loves that the hot, wet glide of your tongue obediently greets him.
An awed smile drags over his mouth as you hum around him, already becoming putty. He imagines the wet spot he could make you leave on the counter, your slit all shined for him.
“Stupid girl,” he purrs, tone dripping with condescension, his voice honey over gravel. You moan as he withdraws from your mouth. Shifts his hands to clamp down on your thighs, snaking up. “I could give it to you so much better.”
You bat your eyes at him. Toying with him, like you always do - he sees it now. “H-How am I supposed to know that? I’ve…” you bite down on your pillowy lower lip. Looks like a nice place to rest his cock while he shoves into your warm throat, he thinks. “I’ve never fucked either of you.”
Still. You should already know. You should know it’s him.
You should know you’re wrong.
Frankie’s nostrils flare. He drags the pad of his thumb along the seam of his lips. Contains the anger pulsing in him. Has half a mind to unzip his pants right here. To shove you down on the floor and to fill up that pretty mouth of yours right here. Wants to.
“But you want it, don’t you, kitten?” He’s almost certain now. Certain that he hasn’t been imagining it, all these months. The teasing. The glances. The comments. These silly little outfits you wear around him. You’ve been trying to drive him to distraction, haven’t you? Playing him and Santiago off of one another. Riling them both up. Waiting for one of them - or maybe even both of them - to snap.
He drags you to him then, abrupt, your hands flying out to steady yourself against the counter. Your heat coming to rest over the clothed, straining mass of him as he bucks his hips up, grinding up against you. You yelp and it’s a pretty, pathetic little sound. “Don’t you?” he bites off, impatient for an answer now.
You want that. You want him to take it, don’t you?
All you can respond with is a loose, breathy affirmative as Frankie clamps his hand around your jaw and throat. He feels your heartbeat fluttering in your neck. It feels - to him - like want thrumming beneath your skin. Raw and red.
He dips his mouth towards the shell of your ear next, the scent of your perfume sending him into even more of a frenzy. “Did anyone ever tell you you should be careful what you wish for?”
He grips you harder, and your eyes flash with momentary apprehension as his grip closes over your throat. In the next moment however, your gaze is muddied by a glassy, blooming contentedness. A rising hunger. He jostles your head and you move with it, already pliant for him. It’s almost as though this is what you’ve been waiting for. Baiting him to snap. Baiting him to show you what he’s capable of.
Stupid girl.
How have you managed without him all this time? You need him. Need him just like he needs you. Need him to show you.
“Open your mouth.”
“What?”
“Open it.”
You oblige, showing him your pretty pink tongue, and a groan unspools from his chest at how pretty you look like this. Then, without warning, Frankie spits into your mouth.
You jump slightly from the suddenness of it, though once you realise what’s happened, you appear to relish it. Swallow it down and look at him with an altogether wolfish grin.
“Mmm. Thank you, Daddy.”
Such a fucking tease. His cock is so hard in his pants now, his arousal throbbing against the thick, constricting seam. In need of release. In need of that little wet cunt of yours, like he’s imagined a thousand times.
Well, thanks to your little games, he’s done imagining.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
Frankie grabs your hand. Tugs you down from the counter and back through the house.
“We’re leaving,” he announces to the remaining squad, paying their confused and concerned enquiries little mind. Then, he directs his next words only to Santiago. “You are too.”
The other man blinks in confusion. “Whu-“
When he responds, Frankie’s tone and his demeanour leave zero room for argument - he makes sure of it, the sounds carved sharp on the knife edge of his clenched teeth. “-Now.”
Santiago obliges rightaway. “Uh huh.”
“Hey. Big fella. What are we doing?” he asks as Frankie leads you hurriedly towards his truck, stalking down the gravel drive.
“Her.”
Frankie glances at Santiago in time to catch his thick eyebrows raise in surprise; but to his credit he only skips one pace before falling right back in step with him. “Oh. We are, huh?” Santiago looks to you. He looks hungry too. “Did you know about this, Princess?”
Frankie answers for you. “She knows exactly what she’s doing. And now, thanks to her, I’ve got something to prove.”
“Oh oh, Princesa,” Santiago purrs, a smug smirk claiming his mouth.
“Oh oh?” you ask with trepidation, as Frankie bundles you into the passenger seat of the car, clipping your seatbelt for you like you can’t do it for yourself. His eyes are consumed with fire as they meet yours, his tongue darting out along his lips. God, he could have you right here. Certainly doesn’t relish the waiting.
“Yeah,” Santiago breezes, slotting into the back. Frankie exchanges a dark, conspiratorial glance with Santiago in the wing mirror, before watching his buddy lean around the shoulder of your seat. “Honey. You’ve got no idea what you’re in for, do you?”
You’re wrong.
You’re so wrong. And Frankie’s gonna show you. Over and over.
“Get her ready, would you?” Frankie pipes up, not even dragging his eyes away from the road for a second. Even so, he hears you gasp and then moan in pleasure as Santiago’s nimble fingers peel the hem of your dress away from your thighs.
“It’s for your own good, Princess. You’re gonna need it,” Santiago explains as his fingers travel, finding the wet spot between your legs. “Frankie’s big.”
“Hmm. Sure. I’ve heard that before,” you punch out, in between abortive moans of pleasure as Santiago’s fingers work their way inside you.
“Oh, it’s not a brag, honey,” Santiago snickers. Frankie joins him in laughter, like the two of them share a joke that you’re just not in on. He slides his mouth up your throat. “Trust me. It’s a kindness.”
Frankie smiles. Clamps his hands down tighter on the wheel. Can’t wait to get you home.
You’re wrong.
You’re so wrong. And he’s going to show you.
You shouldn’t push someone with a dark side if you can’t handle the consequences, he thinks.
He risks a glance as you throw your head back, mouth dropping open in a silent moan of pleasure.
You’re wrong; but he’s going to have a lot of fun proving it.
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Barbados
Summary: You've been carrying on with whatever this is for months, pushing and pulling, until one night Frankie wants control.
masterlist
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader
Word Count: ~2.2K
Rating: Explicit 18+ for smut/ Unprotected piv, edging, multiple orgasms (f), creampie, a hint of dom!Frankie, a dash of brat-tamer!Frankie, still a Consent King, a pinch of blasphemy, y'all are gonna get a noise complaint / Minors DNI
A/N: As with Dominica, this is written about these two idiots, but flipped to the reader's perspective. Can be read as a standalone, only a few tiny, non-critical nods to the series.
Happy Frankie Friday to all those who celebrate.
Eight months into whatever this is, Frankie pulls noises from your throat that you’ve never made in your life.
And to think, you had fought him on it.
You’d been working each other up all evening, spiking heated glances over the dinner table as you listened to Pope go on about something.
Can’t remember what.
You’d both unceremoniously deposited Santi in his room next door, each smacking your key cards against the reader so quickly that it took three tries to unlock as Frankie groaned into your mouth and you pawed at his belt. This room was one of yours.
Can’t remember whose.
It doesn’t matter, one key eventually worked.
In your haste to have each other after a month apart you’d skipped his mouth, and his fingers, and everything you would have demanded if you’d had more sense.
Sense. The thing he simultaneously robs you of and delivers in spades to every starving nerve ending.
The two of you hadn’t even made it to the bed.
Frankie’s behind you on the couch, your upper body draped over the armrest as he works his way inside you.
“Mmfh, hold on, wait, wait, wait,” your hand finds his where it’s wrapped around your hip and immediately he stills as you hiss through clenched teeth.
“Shit. Baby, talk to me.”
“Just. A little sharp.”
“No, I should have…” he makes a move to pull out completely.
Your hand flies back to his hip, “Francisco Morales, don’t you dare.”
“Baby, just let me taste you,” he barely has the tip of his cock inside you now as he cranes to drop kisses along your spine, “get you all warm and ready for me. ”
“I’m fucking ready for you now.”
Stubborn as a moose is not the saying, but Frankie reckons it should be.
“Baby, please, I’m not doing this if it hurts.”
He’s mad at himself, more than anything. Frankie doesn’t fuck around with this. He knows what he is.
He’s normally so methodical. He has his procedures. His checklist. You blew right through it and in his haze of want—he let you.
You’re doing it even now as your nails bite into his hip when he makes a move to pull away.
“Baby…” he urges again.
“No.”
Talons of irritation tug at the back of his scalp.
And he gives in to them.
“You know what, fine,” he growls, hands leaving you completely as something shifts, “you do it then.”
You move to bring one of his warm palms back to your skin but he snatches it away.
“No. That’s all you. You wanna take me? Take me. Go ahead.”
Oh.
A Frankie Mood.
He hasn’t had you in a month and already they’ve returned with a vengeance.
You throw him a look over your shoulder, half expecting to see his arms crossed over his chest. One hand’s braced on the back of the sofa, and you can feel the heat from the other where it hovers over your hip.
His bottom lip is trapped between teeth.
Okay, Frankie.
You prop yourself up off the arm of the sofa with one hand, reaching down with the other to guide the tip of his cock against your entrance, gently shifting your hips and rocking back onto his hard length at your own pace, moaning as you do.
A pace you’ve slowed way down for his torture benefit.
It smarts a little less and you take a little more.
But this stopped being about that a few inches ago.
You can hear Frankie sucking sharp breaths in through his nose. The back of the sofa creaks with the white-knuckled pressure he’s subjecting it to.
While his words are bold, his body’s barely held together.
But he’s composed enough not to give you the satisfaction of the moan that’s bursting at the back of his throat.
“God, Frankie,” you breathe when the curve of your ass meets his stomach.
He barks a dark laugh.
“Oh, I thought you could take this whole thing,” he leans to cover you with his body, nose skimming the shell of your ear.
“I’ve still got two more inches here for you, babe,” he continues to taunt just before he bites down on your earlobe, soothing it with his tongue.
“What are you gonna do about that?”
You have half a mind to flip him off of this couch and onto the floor.
Instead you drop your chest back down to the arm of the sofa, tip your hips forward, and squeeze around him.
It makes him give you the last two himself.
It hadn’t taken long for you to discover how to short his brain and send his hips slamming into yours in search of more.
“Ohh, you little…” he’s growling but you can feel the smile against your ear.
He loves this.
The push and pull.
You guide his hand to your clit, where he immediately starts rubbing slow circles with his middle and ring fingers.
He’s gonna drag this out.
You tip your face to meet his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip before he gives you his tongue.
“You okay?” He whispers softly when you break for air.
“Yeah, baby.”
Frankie drops a kiss in your hair before he bucks his hips against you without pulling out.
“Fuck,” you gasp.
“Mmmm,” he rumbles, sitting up and holding your hips with both hands. He gives you a few tentative strokes, slowly, palms mapping the contours of your back until you take it upon yourself to push against him.
“You’re so fuckin’ impatient, aren’t you,” his hips don’t falter from their lazy pace as one hand grabs the back of your neck. “So fucking greedy for me. For this cock.”
You clench down around him to make your point, smiling when he groans, his hips stuttering.
“You know what?” He brings his face to your ear, “let me have it, baby.”
Control.
Let him have control.
He can’t see the way you arch an eyebrow in challenge, but he knows it’s there on your face.
“Fine,” you whisper and cant your hips back against him.
“Need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ gatita.”
“Yes. Frankie.” It’s sour in your mouth as you say it. But you trust him. Trust that he’ll take care of you. That he’ll work you up and over and through until “yes Frankie” is all that you can scream.
You trust that he’ll take you past the point of words.
And so “yes Frankie” it is.
He rewards you by picking his pace up to something you luxuriate in, humming with approval as warmth builds low in your belly. You instinctively reach down between your legs and Frankie immediately pulls your hand away.
“That’s mine,” he growls, “and I’m not ready for it yet.”
You bury your face into the armrest and moan in petulant protest.
The hand on the back of your neck soothes, rubbing down over your shoulder blades. He follows the motion with his mouth and you arch up into him.
You can feel his eyes on you, reading your body in the absence of your face. He slows his pace when your breath goes shallow and waits for it to deepen again before building you back up.
When your fingers dig into the armrest, he nearly stops, holding you in place by the hips, grinding his pelvis against you. He leans forward to drop kisses at the base of your neck and scrapes the scruff on his chin down your spine, the prickle of it giving you another sensation to latch on to. After a few moments, he skates a massive palm over your skin to wipe the feeling away, hooking it over your shoulder and yanking you backwards faster against him.
The next time he pulls you back from the brink it’s with a hand in your hair and teeth in the curve of your shoulder.
He unwinds you like rope, pulling at each cord, twisting until it frays, until all that’s left is you pleading and panting in front of him.
By the fourth time you’re telling him to go fuck himself, and he’s purring in your ear that no you feel much better between thrusts that drag the crown of his cock over every spot inside you with the capacity to light you up, he’s just doing it too slowly to cause a spark.
“Frankie, I swear to God…”
“You can swear all you want, gatita, God isn’t here. Just me.”
And oh but He is, in the searing palms that hold you firm, the thick, clever fingers that finally slip down to where he fills you to rub tight circles against where he knows you need him most.
In the way your ears ring when he speeds his hips and his hands up—and finally allows you to break.
A gasp, a captured breath, and a cry when you exhale again.
Except now, he doesn’t stop.
“Frankie, fuck, Frankie, Frankie, Fr…Fran…FranKIE,” discretion abandoned in favor of open-mouthed pleasure. His pace is brutal and you don’t care who knows that he handles you with a pilot’s precision, one hand encouraging the arch in your back, pulling where it’s wound in your hair, fingers of the other working faster over your clit.
You’re keening as you claw at fabric and bury your face in the armrest, Frankie never letting up as your walls clamp down around him again.
He grits his teeth through your torture, grunting as he continues.
He continues until you’re laughing deliriously.
Until you’re growling.
Whining.
Sobbing.
Jesus, Catfish. Don’t kill her. Frankie’s phone buzzes with a text from Santiago.
Neither of you notice.
You’ve angled your hips to take all of him, hair in your face, death-grip on the armrest because it’s the only thing keeping you here.
He cracks you one last time, has you crying and moaning and screaming for him in the seconds before he holds you fast, deafening you with the guttural scream that rips from his chest as he pumps you full of him, stuttering hips fucking hot spend into you as desperate cries escape his throat.
His teeth sink into your shoulder and his weight becomes yours to bear when he finally quiets and collapses, sucking open-mouthed kisses into your sweat-damp neck between gasps for air.
You stay a moment like this.
Feeling his lungs fill at your back.
Feeling his heart hammer against your spine.
He finds himself enough to take his weight, but your hand grips his hair before he can move much further.
“The couch,” you pant a warning and he catches your logic in his hormone-addled brain, wrapping an arm around your waist and rolling you with him down to the hardwood floor.
His body breaks your fall.
Broad palms roam your stomach, up over your breasts and down again, hot, ragged breath rasping over the shell of your ear and catching in your curls.
He guides your hips up enough to allow him to pull out with a groan before he encourages you over, one hand immediately flying to the base of your skull to bring your mouth to his.
You can feel the warm rush of him between your thighs.
“Was that okay?” He sighs against your lips.
“More than, baby.”
“I missed you.”
And you hum with a smile, raking damp hair out of his face.
You missed him too.
Both of your phones clatter repeatedly against coffee table glass and it finally spurs Frankie to his feet.
You both still alive?
You need electrolytes?
Fish, rub some sugar on her gums.
You read the group texts aloud from your back on the floor and Frankie laughs, returning with a warm washcloth and your underwear.
All good, Santi. So good.
Frankie sits on the couch and kisses your stomach as you stand and shimmy your panties up your legs. He pulls you to curl against him where he can still trail his nose over your sweat-slick neck.
How do I know Fish didn’t take your phone? Proof of life.
It’s tossed offhandedly with a smile. He doesn’t expect his screen to light up with a photo from Fish.
The look on your face in the photo is apologetic, one hand raking the hair out of your eyes, the other holding your phone with the screen lit to display the date and time. Frankie is behind you with his nose pressed into your hair and a Cheshire cat grin playing on his lips.
God, on the COUCH?
Sorry, not sorry, Pope. Is his answer.
Santi offers only the eye-roll emoji in response.
_____
Fifteen minutes later, when you’re both showered and in bed, Frankie’s head resting on your stomach and your hand gently raking through his freshly washed hair, your phone fills the room with blue light.
From Santiago to you alone.
You’re better for him than you know.
The truth is, he hasn’t seen the man smile like that since his daughter was born.
I can’t save him, Pope.
No. But you can make him feel.
And you understand exactly what he means because someone once did the same for you.
You stretch and Fish moves, rolling you onto your side where he can fit against your back, solid arm locked around your waist, breath brushing peacefully against your neck.
Yeah.
You can make him feel.
And sometimes that’s enough.
#frankie morales#frankie morales smut#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#triple frontier fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal#ohforficsake
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Watercolor Eyes ║ Santiago "Pope" Garcia
a/n: this fic is directly inspired by @prolix-yuy 's absolutely gorgeous series something new I can't recommend this series enough it was such a joy to read, and after reading her headcanons about the other sw! triple frontier boys I couldn't stop thinking of santi <33 thank you so much for allowing me to be a part of this world and write for it! I hope you enjoy 💕
and special thank to my bby @inklore who supports me always and beta'd this fic for me, ilysm 💖
pairing: santiago "pope" garcia x fem!reader
genre: smut with little plot, minors dni
word count: 7k
summary: after another day of lack of customers and loneliness, you come across a flyer that might grant you a night of relief and pleasure.
warnings: sex worker!santi, oral (receiving & first time), dirty talking, bdsm dynamics, soft dom!santi, sub!reader, reader showing brat tendencies, brat tamer!santi, piv, use of a condom, squirting, the use of sir, swearing, orgasm denial/cumming on command, soft bondage, dry humping, teasing, begging, aftercare
Watercolor Eyes Masterlist
The neon letters shine loud and bright within the night: Cafe Watercolor. Seeing the pink sign used to make you smile, it was a sign that represented your dreams, your hopes, your future. Now it only symbolizes the harsh truth of reality. You’re a failure. Unable to get your small bakery cafe off the ground. You sit behind the counter, head propped up with your elbow as you look outside with a bored gaze. The air conditioning hisses, mixing with the coffee shop playlist you prepared the day before you opened up your little cafe. The tunes of a melancholic piano overlaps the sound of the air conditioner, the vocals of “The head and the heart” filling the small space.
Summers in Florida consist of humidity, rain and the burning sun. To you, it’s hell on heart. But as someone who always felt more focused with the pitter patters of raindrops, it wasn’t that bad. With a broken sigh, you watch a couple, hand in hand, soaked to the marrow, running to the bus stop. The pouring rain should’ve been any coffee shop owners bread and butter, people searched for shelter, the scent of coffee and sweets was always enticing enough to beckon them inside. Sadly, they either ran past the shop, much similarly to the couple from before, or took shelter at the coffee shop right across from you. It was brighter, bigger, and had all of those fancy new drinks. Right now your menu is limited, you focus on the baking aspect more, there lays your true passion, but you enjoyed a good cup of coffee as well so you threw that into the mix too.
And you know it’s good coffee. Those who bothered to enter would be astounded by the rich flavors and the free baked goods you threw in. You just need them to take one bite. After that they came again and again.
But a couple of regulars isn’t enough to keep your business afloat, not in this economy.
You could only hire two baristas, and since they were underpaid grad students, you didn’t blame them for not wanting to stick their neck out for the small shop. They were already juggling two other jobs.
Your family warned you; Don’t do it, they had said, You didn’t waste years of study just to open a coffee shop. Since you were a kid they wanted you to delve into the cruel world of academia. You studied archaeology, it was fun. Obviously. Who wouldn’t like to dig and unravel the remnants of a ruined civilization? But your heart always ached for something else. You didn’t want to waste your life competing with friends and others, you didn’t enjoy your classmates viewing you as a threat just because you got a good grade. You hated always having to look over your shoulder, worrying if the person that smiled at you genuinely meant it or not. It was chaotic, stress inducing. The job itself was fun, but the backstage wasn’t.
So you quit right after finishing grad school. Sure, maybe you should’ve stuck it to your parents and quit sooner, but you assumed if you actually finished studying they would finally let you go.
Of course they didn’t.
Shaking your head, you force yourself to stand up. You might as well close up shop. You don’t need your electricity bill to get even higher. Heart broken, you walk to the large window, the day's special baked goods written on the window. You almost cry when you wipe it off the board, you worked really hard on those croissants, you will have to take them home, again. At least your neighbors were happy about the free desserts.
The rain had stopped. Lonely water drops sliding down the glass, you see that the couple is still waiting for their bus. When the guy leaned in for a kiss, laughing and wet, your heart breaks a little. How long has it been since your last date? When has anyone ever looked at you like that? No one, that’s who. You had one lousy boyfriend and a couple of bad dates, after graduating your whole love and effort had gone into the shop. Needless to say you didn’t have much time to scroll the endless fuckboys of Tinder.
Tearing your gaze away from the couple’s private moment, you turn off the neon light, and push back the misplaced chairs. The silver lining is that you don’t have to do much in terms of cleaning. You’ll wipe the counter, pull out the plugs just in case, and that’ll be it. You already left the kitchen spotless after baking, which you’re glad for since now you can just go home.
Your chest heaves as you pick off the tray of croissants and package them to take to your neighbors. It's like this every night, your need to cry doubling tenfold whenever you take something you make home. You know they’re good. You just need people to give you a chance. You grab the last croissant for yourself and bite into it, dinner is settled. As you chew you moan at the taste of vanilla custard and the berry glaze, the flaky pastry crumbles, it gets on your clothes, sticks to the roof of your mouth. With the back of your hand you wipe your mouth and pat yourself down. Now you can leave.
Before leaving you take one last look, the passing cars casted their light inside, moving along and leaving the shop in darkness once more. Just like you. But it won’t last like this for long. It can’t. You won’t allow it.
Locking, and checking by rattling the door, you stuff the keys into your pockets and head home. The rain has faded but it’s still quite windy. The leaves of palm trees echoe and you see the remnants of flyers ghosting across the pavement. You see the silhouette of your bus, your steps pick up and when you realize you’re about to miss it, you run–
You’ve barely taken a couple of long strides before something sticks to your face, you collapse on the wet ground, mud and water seeping into your clothes as pain spreads across your chest.
Immediately upon getting up you see that the bus is gone, disappeared into the wind.
“Shit!” ignoring the state of your clothes you stomp your feet like a child throwing a tantrum. You viciously tear the piece of paper that led to your demise and glare at it. “Fucking– I’m going to curse the company who made this damn…flyer,”
Your eyebrows rise with curiosity. Looking down, you see a glossy flyer between your fingertips, or rather the remnants of it. The half bottom rips and falls to the concrete with a loud splat. However, the thing that piques your interest is that this particular flyer doesn’t belong to a company. It’s for a very specific service provided for lonely people like you. You drag your gaze across the men that decorate the poster, all of them looking very very handsome. It’s been a while since the color had faded from the flyer but you assume it’s from the sudden rain pour.
You should really just throw the poster away, walk your sweet ass to the bus stop and head home.
Instead, your eyes gaze at the number written in a bold font. Lucky you that the number was written on the top part of the flyer and not the bottom. Before the other bus arrives, you hurriedly pull out your phone, also soaked from the fall, and type the number, cursing every time your phone gets the number confused due to your wet fingers.
When you finally succeed in putting the numbers in, you shove the flyer into your bag to throw out for later and very carefully make your way to the bus stop.
You’ve been staring at your phone for about an hour.
You’d taken a brisk shower, gave the rest of the croissants to your neighbors, in which they thanked you, inviting you in and after dodging that bullet, you finally managed to relax on the couch.
However, what you’re doing isn’t really relaxing.
The black written numbers start to shake, your eyes stinging from staring at the screen for too long. Are you really going to do this? Are you really so lonely that you need to pay someone to spend time with you? Well yes actually, you are. It’s not like you’re shameful about asking for a service, a couple of your friends had done it, it’s just that you didn’t really know what to say when you called. Did you just say what you want? Do you need to ask for a specific man? Will it be safe? What if you get an STD among everything else?
With a loud groan, you throw your head back and let your hand fall to your lap. This is iditoic. You’re idiotic. It’s just a simple call. If whoever is on the other line sounds shady you can just hang up and pretend this never happened. Yeah. That’s it. It’s just a phone call. They can’t see you. Or force you to continue to talk. You have the power of the red button, you’ll be alright.
With a sudden surge of bravery, you raise your head and make the call. You quickly put it on speaker and anxiously listen to it ring. It feels like an eternity until someone finally picks up the phone.
“Hello?”
Oh shit. Shit shit shit– The voice that comes from the other line actually sounds good, honestly you were expecting it to be a pervert heavily breathing down the line but this is a very pleasant surprise.
When the honey-like voice speaks again, he sounds amused, as if you’re the funniest thing that happened to him all day.
“I can hear you breathing, you know? I won’t bite, promise,” he chuckles, breathy and airy. “I mean, unless that’s what you’re asking for,”
“Y-Yeah sorry,” you stumble with your words. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to remember the name of the place. “Is…this Pope’s?”
“It is and I’m Santiago, but since you sound so sweet you can just call me Santi,”
Your body heats up at his words, this is probably the most flirtatious thing anyone has said to you in months, even if technically he’s just saying that because you’re a potential customer. Your thumb rubs the corner of the smooth surface of the phone, you don’t know what to say next.
“Sorry, I don’t really know what to say,”
“That’s alright, I have all the time in the world,”
You relax at the playful tint of his voice, a soft smile ghosts across your lips.
“Do you really?”
“Well no, but you can still take your time. I can also ask you some questions to ease you in?”
“Sure?”
You hate how unsure you sound of yourself, but also you don’t think you can hide it. You genuinely feel lost, mind wandering about how others acted during these calls, you bet they knew what they wanted. They most certainly aren’t like you, causing problems by being shy and calling without looking up what to say beforehand. Damn, you really should’ve googled it first. You’re positive you can find a wikihow article about this.
“Okay let’s start out easy then, why did you call Pope’s?”
“For…company,”
“Just for that?”
You can see his smile through his voice, you bet he has an amazing one. You suck in a breath, chest puffing up as you ponder over what your next sentence should be.
“No, I would like…you know,” closing your eyes, you swallow. “Sex,”
You half expect him to laugh but he doesn’t, a soft hum echoes and he follows up with another question.
“Alright, the follow up questions might be a bit awkward but I need to ask–”
“Awkward?”
Your panicked tone seeps through the line and reaches Santi’s ear drums.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be holding your hand through it all, cariño. They’re mostly questions about your medical history,”
You nod then remembering he can’t see you quickly add, “Of course, thank you, Santi,”
When the questions are done, you check your phone only to see that an hour has already passed, much to your surprise, it felt shorter than that. Santi had asked you everything. Even things you never would’ve thought about asking a partner. And honestly it relieved you that he was so detailed with the background checks, just by his voice you can tell that he cares about what he does and for both parties concerned. It was nice. It reminds you a bit about yourself and your own work ethics.
“Okay I think that’s everything,” he states. “Do you want to continue with this?”
The uncertainty you feel comes rushing back, an encore, if you will.
“Yeah, I do. I-If everything's good,”
“Everything’s perfect,” you hear the gentle tapping of a pen. “And I think I already have the perfect match for you. Where are you? An otel?”
“Uh…” you look around your apartment. “I’m actually at my apartment…will that be a problem?”
“If it’s not a problem for you it’s not a problem for us,” he answers, voice a bit more timid than before. “But I will need an address, but if that’s going to be an issue I can look up nearby motels if you tell me which part of the city you’re in?”
“N-No, it’s fine,”
As you give out your address the red alarms in your brain screeches at you. It’s loud and mind numbing. Rightfully so. Santi tells you that it’ll take about half an hour for them to arrive and he hangs up, when he does, what you’ve just done dawns on you. You gave your address… to a stranger on the phone. And not just any address, your home address. You really are fucking stupid.
You could’ve at least taken up Santi’s offer to find you a motel nearby, this is your fucking home.
“Okay, you’ll get through this. Just deep breaths, take deep breaths…”
Placing a hand on your chest, you inhale and exhale about five to ten times. Your chest rises under your palm, you can feel your heartbeat. Everything will be alright. You have a pan that’s perfect for smacking people, better yet you have rolling pins of all sizes. You’ll be fine. You’ll be okay.
You get up and head to the bedroom, it’s a mess, sadly your home didn’t get the same squeaky treatment as your shop.
Everything will be okay.
The doorbell rings and your heart nearly jumps out of your throat. After tidying up your room, and yourself; you shaved with hurry, then put on a bra and underwear that matched in color. It’s the little things. You had a couple of toys you enjoyed, if he failed the two of you could always use those. A single woman has needs after all, and after checking the batteries you placed them into the drawer of your bedside table.
Another ring follows and you hurry to the door. You might be wearing matching underwear but other than that you hadn’t put on anything fancy; your favorite oversize shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants.
Clearing your throat, you call out to the person waiting on the other side.
“Who is it?”
“Pope’s,”
This is actually happening. He’s actually here, and not a minute late, or early.
You open the door with trembling hands, the man on the other side doesn’t move an inch as you observe him, he only smiles, shooting you a quick nod and a playful wink. He stays there until you fully open the door, even then he doesn’t budge, he waits patiently while your curious gaze rakes his body. His eyes are as rich as the coffee you brew, lashes long, soft looking. You see a bit of gray mixed in his dark hair, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiles at you, lips lush, made for kissing and pleasuring another. For a moment you want to reach out and drag your fingers across his jawline, you wonder if it can actually cut into your skin. His five o’clock shadow will definitely chafe between your thighs and the phantom of the feeling is enough to have your insides clench. The veins peeking above his skin meanders down into his black fitted shirt, you want to see more.
He clears his throat, smile widening into a grin.
“Can I come in?”
You know that voice, how could you not when you gave very detailed information about your sex life to that same smooth baritone.
“Santi?”
You might be imagining it, but you think his eyes sparkle when you recognize him. His excitement makes your lips break out into a smile.
“The one and only,”
Heart thrumming madly in your chest, you move out of the way. He continues to wait, an eyebrow raised as he chews on his bottom lip, he looks you up and down. What was he waiting for? Tilting your head, you answer his gleaming gaze with your confused one. As an answer, he raises both eyebrows, smiles and tilts his head to the other side.
Oh. OH.
He’s waiting for you to verbally invite him in.
“C-Come in,”
His smile never fading, he takes one long stride into your apartment. It’s elegant, graceful, and you can’t stop staring.
Santi quickly does a once over of your home as he toes off his shoes. Oddly enough, it feels like him being there completes a picture. Maybe it’s because you’ve been lonely for so long but it just seems like he belongs. You push the door as he turns to look at you, if he smiles at you any longer you might melt into a puddle.
“Should we…” your gaze falls to the floor, and with that see his socked feet; black with colorful polka dots. “Nice socks,”
“Thanks,” he grins. “It was a gift from a close friend,”
“You must really like socks then,”
“Among other things,”
His lashes flutter, eyes soft like clouds. It takes every ounce of your self control not to swoon, he feels like he ripped a whole out of your dreams and escaped.
“So, bedroom?”
Your voice gives away how nervous you are, you almost breathe out a sigh of relief when Santi shakes his head. You still have no idea what to do. And you already feel vulnerable as it is, you’d probably bust a vein if you also stripped in front of him.
“Loving the enthusiasm but maybe we should talk a bit first,” his eyes linger on the couch. “I still don’t know what you want yet,”
He sits and you follow his trail, sitting on the armchair across from the couch.
“I thought I already said it on the phone,” you whine, thoughts swirling. “Please don’t make me say it again, I’m already plenty embarrassed,”
“Don’t be,” his stern tone takes you by surprise, he leans, arms resting above his knees as he stares you directly in the eyes. “There’s no reason for you to be embarrassed, it’s completely normal,”
“Really?”
Santi grins, eyes sparkling.
“If it wasn’t Pope’s would be closed already,”
“I guess you’re right,” a faint chuckle falls from your lips and upon hearing the sound he leans back, getting more comfortable. “So what do you want to know?”
“Things you enjoy during intercourse,” he thoughtfully rubs his chin. “Kinks, fetishes, anything you can think of. If you want to roleplay or not, anything,”
“Anything?”
“Well, there are a couple of things I say no to but I don’t think you’re going to say any of them, but if you do I’ll let you know,”
He winks and your lungs nearly explode. You rapidly blink at him, lowering your gaze, you think about his question. In terms of kinks you actually hadn’t tried out many, you’re curious about a lot of things but never knew how to ask for them. Exhaling, you fiddle with your fingers and look up, your cheeks aflame.
“I always wanted to try…BDSM stuff but I don’t know if I’ll actually like it,”
This seems to spike his interest, the curve of his eyebrow reaches all the way to his hairline, lips curling mischievously.
“Have you tried anything before? Bondage, blindfold, or whatever?”
“Uh…not really,” you nervously chew your bottom lip, legs squeezing together. “I never really brought it up before and my ex, well, he didn’t seem to be that interested. He tried to finger me, well not really, just attempted to rub my clit from over…my underwear, it kinda hurt actually, hated it. It's fine when I do it but maybe I just don't like it when others do it. So I’m not sure if I’ll even like the things I think about,”
“Sounds like an asshole,”
Santi’s sudden change in demeanor takes you by surprise. He seems actually angry, but also, slightly surprised by your sudden burst of honesty. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. You didn’t want to overshare, or upset him. Before you can apologize he cuts you off.
“We can try the things you’re curious about, we’ll start slow, obviously, and establish a safeword,” he looks you up and down. “Do you know what a safeword is?”
“I do,”
“Good girl,”
Your heart skips a beat or two, a gasp parting your lips, you stare at him wide-eyed. He glows at your reaction, sucking in his bottom lip, he brings his perfect teeth on top of it.
“You like that?”
You nod.
“Alright, I’ll let you pick the safeword,”
“How about….” your eyes drag back to his feet. “Socks?”
He snorts, and you grin, “Socks? You’re unbelievable, how about the word for slowing down?”
“Curtain,”
Turning his head, he looks at the dark red curtains you own, then shrugs.
“Fine by me. Do you have any idea what you want to try?”
“Not really…sorry,”
“You don’t need to apologize,” his smile grows soft and it seems like he wants to reach out to you but decides against it at the last minute. “What is it that sparked your interest?”
You shrug, “I don’t know– I guess the idea of someone taking care of me, having control and knowing what’s best for me. I just, don’t really want to think, if that makes sense–”
“Loud and clear. I have a general idea of what you need, unless you have anything specific in mind?”
When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you shake your head and he nods.
“Okay then, we can get started, if you’re ready,”
When he gets up and extends a hand, you’re sweating buckets, beads of perspiration coating your skin. You look up to see his calm expression, a soft smile and adoring eyes, you take the offered limb and lead him to the bedroom.
Your stomach still churns with anxiety but as his fingers squeezes around yours, you know that he’s got you.
“Strip and lay on the bed,”
You didn’t expect the mood to change so suddenly. His harsh tone sends a shiver down your spine, wetness spreading between your legs. While he isn’t looking at you, Santi starts to unbutton his shirt, and when he notices you’re frozen with a slight tremor to your hands, he walks up to you and cups your cheeks. You lean into his touch, heart stammering as you close your eyes.
His lips find yours. It’s tender, soft and when he licks your mouth for permission, you greedily open wide for him. A moan seeps into the kiss, taking the opportunity your open mouth provides, he licks your tongue, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. Your heart swells. It’s been so long since you’ve been kissed, and it never felt like this. Santi pulls away, lips glistening and eyes full of understanding.
“Do you still want to do this?”
You breathe out, “Yes,”
“What’s your safe word?”
“Socks,”
He can’t help the way a giggle rattles his chest, the melody reaching your ears. Leaning in, Santi playfully rubs his nose against yours.
“Strip for me then,” he hums. “I need to rectify a wrong,”
You want to ask what he means by that, but deciding that you’ll find out soon enough, you head to the bed, leaving a trail of clothes in your wake. Still feeling a bit self conscious, you leave your underwear and bra on. You also have an ulterior motive, you secretly want him to be the one to remove the last articles of clothing. You seem to get your message across. He licks his lips, left only in his boxer shorts, he crawls between your legs.
You don’t know what to expect when he slides your underwear down your legs and throws it to the floor. You certainly don’t know what to expect when his mouth inches closer to your begging heat, wet and wanting.
You’ll never forget the moment his tongue languidly slides between your folds.
“Oh fuck–”
Your back arches, mind and body confused, your fingers clutch the sheets. His lips close around your folds, tongue deep inside as his hands steady your thrashing. You barely hear him letting out a satisfied hum, the vibrations shooting a jolt of pleasure throughout your body. It’s mind numbing. Amazing. His tongue is pure sin, soft and velvety. You’re lowkey pissed this is the first time you’re feeling so good. Santi relentlessly mouths at your core, lapping up every ounce of slick that makes its way out of you. Your finger finds the back of his head, pulling at the soft curls. He parts for you and you whine, hips wiggling up as you beg for him to go on.
Disapproving, Santi clicks his tongue. He peels your hand away from his head, and sends you a warnful gaze.
“Behave,”
“Y-Yes–” between your lustful haze you gasp out a word you don’t expect. “–Sir,”
You have no idea where that came from but he doesn’t question it, instead, when you pull your hand back up to your hip, he breathes out a kiss into your inner thigh. He sucks in your clit and flicks his tongue, you let out a sharp exhale, eyes squeezing shut. It’s only been what, ten minutes? You’re about to cum all over him.
He looks up at you with half lidded eyes, you feel him smiling as he flattens the wet muscle, dragging it around the sensitive bundle of nerves. However, nothing prepares you for his fingers. Your whole body jolts when he traces your entrance with two thick digits, playfully pushing only the tip in. Before you know it, your hand is buried deep in his hair once again.
This time Santi yanks it away, and before you know it his face is hovering an inch above from yours, both your hands pinned above your head, his lips damp and swollen. You swallow upon seeing the annoyance lingering in his eyes, legs trembling with heat building between them.
“Didn’t I just say to behave?” he snarls, pupils dilated.
Something mischievous rolls in your gut, with a sudden surge of bravery, you challenge his angry gaze with your own.
“So? What are you going to do about it?”
It’s so minimal, the flare you see in his eyes, slightly widening. If you’d blinked, you would’ve missed it.
“Don’t tempt me, cariño,” he leans closer, breath ghosting across your burning skin. “Are you sure you want to play this game?”
A moment of pause. He’s giving you a moment to object, to use the safeword. You don’t. Instead, you wiggle your arms, trying to peel away from his iron grasp. His lips twist into a devious smirk, the tip of his tongue darting out to touch the edge of his teeth.
“Alright, let’s play then,”
The air is forcibly pushed out of your lungs when you find yourself flipped over to your stomach. His hands moving across your body, you find your knees tucked under your thighs, hands held behind your back. He shifts behind you, holding your wrists with one hand, he leans off of the bed and scoops something off the floor. You feel the soft fabric of his shirt wrapping around your wrists, keeping them completely in place.
Santi’s chest is flushed against your back when he whispers in your ear.
“Look at you, all nicely wrapped, the perfect present,”
You struggle against the binds, a groan rattling in your chest as you figure you won’t be getting out of them anytime soon. With a huff, you bury your face into the pillows.
“Not fair,” your voice comes muffled. “It’s not my fault if it feels good, it’s my first time,”
He coos, and rubs the small of your back, “I know, baby. I know. And that’s precisely why I need you to stay put,”
His sinful mouth finds you again. Slurps and groans fill the bedroom. You feel incredibly self conscious as he parts your cheeks but it all fades away with his tongue plunging deep into your core. With two fingers, he draws quick, small circles around your clit, making your body sing with pleasure. Turning your head, you attempt to breathe in a bit of oxygen, but all of it leaves you at the same time when you moan out his name, again and again and again.
“Fuck– Fuck, Santi…” you whine, pushing into him. A warning growl rips from his throat. “S-Sorry it just feels,” you gasp. “It feels so good, I-I think I’m gonna actually cum,”
Spit dribbles from the corners of your lips and wets the pillow underneath. You want to look at him, watch him eat you out like a starved man but you can’t. The fog lifts only for a moment when he stops, only to press his lips into you again, the bed begins to sway, only a bit, a rocking sensation if you will. You attempt to mouth out a question, but cry out instead.
“Not yet,” he rasps into you, the rocking of the bed picks up. “Wait for me a bit more baby, just a bit more,”
Wait for him? What– Wait–
“Are you–” you’re cut off by your own moan caused by an especially harsh pinch on your abused clit. The pain makes you tingle with pleasure, eyes rolling back, you forget your question. You start to beg. “Please, sir, please let me cum– I need to cum, please please please,”
“Hold it in,”
The melodic tone of his voice only electrifies you. Tears build up in your eyes as your cunt flutters around him, slick dripping down your thighs. The pleasure buzzes in your ears, body screaming for you to cum, you’re trying to hold it back, you’re trying to be good, his good girl. Fuck–
“Cum. Now.”
Before you can even process the words, your body obeys.
It’s blinding. Breath stopping. Your body tenses, cunt gushing around his tongue and fingers. Your arms forces against the binds made of his shirt, cloth digging into your skin as your body starts to spasm. Both of your moans mix together, composing the most beautiful melody you’ve ever heard. Santi’s eccentric pace becomes slow, sensual. Tongue lazily lapping up everything you have to offer, he eases you down from the high of your ecstasy. You take heavy breaths, head spinning, You breathe out a languid moan, muscles still throbbing with the buzz of pleasure.
Santi pulls away and you drop to the side, luckily you’re too gone to actually feel embarrassed from falling. You hear his low hum of a chuckle as he crawls closer to you, he unties his shirt from your wrists and gently kneads your biceps.
“Are you alright?”
“Y-Yeah,”
You know that this is just service he provides, but you can’t help but reach out to him, he obliges with a smile and nestles between your arms, kissing your neck gently. A broken sigh falls from your damp lips, he huddles closer, body snug against your own. Mimicking him, you come closer too, your bare thigh grazing against his clothed cock. You still and he looks up to you, brows knitted together. His confusion grows when a grin spreads across your face.
“Did you cum?” you ask, eyes bright and shiny.
He clears his throat, lips curling up into an amused smile. Leaning in, he teases your earlobe with his tongue.
“I might’ve,”
“Never would have pegged you as someone to be this quick,” you tease, hand sliding between your bodies, you cup his cock, a subtle moan leaving you as you feel how wet he is. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s hot as hell,”
“Don’t get cocky,”
He crashes your lips together, large hands cupping your chest and pulling you even closer against the firm frame of his body. His fingers tease your nipples, rolling and pulling them. Your skin tingles, and you whine into the kiss, hips grinding against him. Santi’s lips never leave your own as he lifts himself and pulls you underneath. Your palm still snug against his length, you feel him hardening again.
Surprised, you break the kiss, a heavy laughter trembling in your chest. With a wide smile, he grins.
“Told you,”
“You’re full of surprises,”
“I am,” he stops for a moment, looking to the side, he looks back at you, seemingly unsure. “Do you want to continue? We can stop if you want to, or if you feel worn out, ”
“Oh, I’m definitely good for round two,” you purr, brushing your lips against his. “Make me feel whole again,”
“Fuck, alright– Let me go get a condom really quick,”
Santi gets up and you realize that you haven’t had the time to properly observe his temple of a body. His back muscles flex as he dips down and grabs his pants, hurriedly searching the pockets for that colorful piece of packaging. The boxers he wears hugs his ass, leaving little imagination to the eye, you’re certain Santi would look good in everything, but right now you think he looks the best naked. He turns on his heel, his chest firm, a bit of fat around his belly but still defined. Eyes going lower, you see his fully erect cock, the darkened tip peeking out of his waistband. You bite the inside of your cheek as you inside clench around nothing, you can’t wait for him to fill you up.
Before you know it, Santi’s between your legs again, rolling the condom down his impressive length. He’s so thick, thicker than you imagined he would be. Santi notices your gaze, lips playfully pulling up.
“You think you can take me baby girl? Where’s that confidence from before?”
“O-Oh…it’s still there just a bit,” you clear your throat. “Shocked,”
“Word?”
“Socks,”
“Good girl,”
Purring like a cat, you part your arms, allowing him to bury his face into the crook of your neck as he slants himself between your thighs. You adore feeling him this close, his warmth making your heart stutter. He nudges your entrance, slowly pushing in. Your whimpers spiral into moans and he drowns out the noises by claiming your lips. The stretch is addictive, the tingle of being spread wide by someone who knows what he’s doing makes your eyes roll back. Santi inhales you as he pulls back, eyes searching your face. You flutter around him, with the mere sensation of his cock, you grind your hips.
“You good?”
“Yeah,”
“Can I move?”
“Please, sir,”
He growls into your skin, the vibration seeping into your body, it makes you tremble as well. When Santi starts to move, all you can do is hold on to him, nails biting into his skin as he slides in and out of you with precision. He breathes raggedly into your flesh, cock hitting your deepest parts with every thrust. You feel as if you can’t control your body, it arches, bends, curls but your brain is completely mush, only pleasure ringing inside. With your moans and whines growing in volume, Santi starts to slam his hips, the sound of skin slapping against skin spurs you on further. You scream his name, breathing and panting curse words without knowing. Your heart swells, he makes you feel so good. His thrusts, deep, lasting. You can’t breathe, eyes squeezed shut as the bed rocks into the wall. Your cunt clenched around him, the coil inside you tightens, ready to burst but he’s still going. It feels like he can go on like this for hours. Fuck–
You hug him tighter, if possible, teeth finding his shoulder, you bite into him. You don’t even know where you are anymore. All you can feel is him. His scent, his body, his sounds. Nothing else.
“Fuck fuck– Santi– ‘Love you–”
Your eyes shoot wide open, you see him staring at you, he doesn’t look mad, or weirded out. But still, the panic overwhelms the pleasure, you flail, tears quickly building in your eyes.
“You love me?” he mutters, one eyebrow elegantly raised.
“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to– I didn’t–”
Santi doesn’t slow down, in fact his hips speed up. He sees your glossy eyes and leans to kiss them both, you feel the throb of his cock, and another moan quickly replaces your frantic apologies.
“It’s okay,” he reassures you, mouthing the words into your cheek. “It’s normal. Say whatever you want, it only means that I’m making you feel good. You’re not the only one,”
Your heart feels like it might stop at any moment, “I’m not?”
“No,” he leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses as he dips between your breasts. He mouths against them, tongue playfully licking the salt of your skin. “So just let go,”
And you do just that.
Letting your head fall back, you revel at the way he draws a stiff nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around. Your chest heaves with his every shattering thrust, his hand slides between your wet bodies and finds your clit. He rolls the sensitive nub between his fingers. Hallowing his cheeks, he grazes his teeth around your nipple, you chant his name, a string of curses following right after. You have no idea what else you might be saying, you might’ve asked his hand in marriage at this point but you don’t care. You let go. You forget the shop, the insecurities, the loneliness and you just feel.
It doesn’t take Santi long to wind you up, dangling you off the edge, the heat builds and builds, so much so that it feels like it’s burning. Something besides pleasure swells inside you, something’s coming, you bite back your moans, and slap his back.
“What is it?” he pants, voice dripping with lust but still full of concern. “Do you want to use the safeword?”
You furiously shake your head, your lips part with a gasp.
“It’s– I’m going to cum but– It’s too much, I’m–”
He presses his lips into your ear, you listen to his breathing, steady and slow, the slide of his cock and move of his fingers rips another groan from you.
“Let go,”
Your cunt gushes around him like it never has before, it’s more intense than the first time, it makes you cry, beg. The squelching becomes louder, you’re still coming. He sings a moan into your skin, your cunt throbs at the sound of his voice, it reminds you of the caramel you make. Santi’s movements slow, fast thrust shifting into soft rolls of his hips. Your breath hitches every time his pelvis grazes against your sensitive clit. He pulls you from your dazed state with a soft kiss, both hands coming to lay on each side of your face, thumbs stroking lovingly.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you inhale a deep breath. “Did…did you?”
A soft chuckle vibrates across your lips, he nuzzles your nose. “I did,”
You fight the urge to call him back when he pulls away, you haven’t realized how secure you felt under his weight. However, you really need to initiate a war against your inner demons when he lifts himself off of the bed. Carefully removing the condom, he ties the end into a knot and turns to you.
“Bathroom?”
“First door on the left,”
You lay back down as he leaves, hands and arms sprawled above the sheets. Your mind begins to clear, kind of, closing your eyes you can still feel how he felt plowing into you. The fact this is a service is both a pro and a con. A con, because he can’t stay. A pro, because you can call him and ask him over anytime you want to. Well, not really. Maybe once a month, all your money goes to the shop and rent, you wouldn’t be able to hire him.
You’re surprised at his return, his right hand holding a wet washcloth and the other holding a glass of water. The bed dips under his weight and he grins at your confusion, the towel gently cleaning the mess between your legs.
“What? Did you think I just left?”
“I didn’t,” he gives you a look of disbelief and you giggle. “I didn’t really!”
“Good,” his eyes scan your body, observing every patch of skin. “Does anywhere particularly hurt? Aches?”
“No,”
“How do you feel? Mentally?”
“That’s good too, feel very light,”
You don’t miss the way he hisses out a breath of relief, “Great,” he checks the watch you hadn’t realized he’s been wearing. “We still have ten minutes,”
Suddenly you can hear the imaginary clock ticking, maybe you weren’t alright after all.
“Cuddle?”
His smile is wide, kind, soft. You swear you melt into the sheets. Letting the used towel fall to the floor, he lays next to you and pulls you into his chest. You listen to his heartbeat, steady, safe.
“And you thought that you wouldn’t like it when others did it,” he chimes gleefully, quoting you when you opened up about your bad experience with your ex. “It looked like you enjoyed my fingers just fine,”
The soft baritone of his voice soothes you, your eyes flutter close, a pleased hum parting from your lips.
“I did,” you smile into his chest. “Thank you, this was just what I needed,”
“It was my pleasure, cariño. Literally.”
The last thing you feel is his hand slowly dragging across your body, fingers rubbing your worn out wrists.
Best money you’ve ever spent.
a/n: to be notified of future work follow @psychedeliclibrary and turn on notifs 💕
#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia x you#santiago pope gracia x you#santi x reader frankie#santiago garcia#sw!pope#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fanfiction#santiago garcia fanfiction#santiago garcis x fem!reader#triple frontier x reader#triple frontier fanfic#oscar isaac characters
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If you write for Oscar Isaac’s character Santiago Garcia I’d love to request somethin spicy/nsfw for him!
Santiago Garcia x f!reader
fun fact! santiago is my all-time fav oscar character
warnings: NSFW under the cut
above all, santi wants you to have a good time
no matter what the act is, he wants to ensure it's the best sex you've ever had
every time.
it gets to the point where once you've been together for a while, he's just competing with himself
he likes to put out a tough guy exterior, but he's a sap with you
he'll literally go down on you for hours. HOURS.
his forearm will press against your hips to keep you from squirming as he gives you orgasm after orgasm with his mouth. two, three, four...until you're whimpering and whining his name
of course, he knows all your cues. so when he knows you can't take it anymore, he stops, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh and soothing you down from your various highs
when you go down on him, he has one hand gently tangled in your hair and is alternating between curses and praise in Spanish and English
he's a dom at heart, but he'll vary his approach
some days he's a soft dom, other days he's rougher and harder
he likes to ask you what you want that day, pressing kisses over your skin and asking, "how do you want me, baby?"
THIS MAN IS A BRAT TAMER!!!!!!
if you tease him at all in public, he cannot WAIT to get you home and show you what happens when you behave that way
if you had a dollar for every time he's whispered in your ear at the bar to "behave."
you don't behave
you know as well as he does that you're both itching to get home, have him press you against the wall as soon as you walk in the door, and fuck the brat out of you
no matter how rough he is, he'll always cover you in kisses afterward, clean you up, and wrap you in his arms
remember, he's a softie at heart
he'll spank you, maybe rest his hand on your throat without squeezing, but the amount of hand-to-hand combat he's seen prevents him from ever hurting you any more than that.
if at any point during sex he thinks you're hurt, he stops immediately, identifying the problem and making sure you're okay
if you want to go on, he will, but if you're done, he's done.
once you're married and he's stopped working in the field, he has a breeding kink
he will fuck you on every surface in your house, in the bar bathroom, in one of the guy's bathrooms, in his truck, etc.
of course, he can't wait to see you as the mother of his child, but he's going to enjoy the process of getting that child as much as he can
tagging: @aellynera @budcooper @foxilayde @writefightandflightclub @mattmurdocksscars @moonknightly
#santiago garcia#santiago garcia x reader#santiago pope garcia#santiago garcia imagine#santiago garcia headcanons#triple frontier#headcanons#my fic
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Just wanted to say I saw your request from the prompt list-- it's in the works! But, in the mean time, if you have any thots about Santi yourself, I'd love to hear them 👀
Omg take your time, love! I am literally trying to work on Santiago for Delta Squared rn, and I have so many thots but no where to put them so *deep breath* here we go
Jeans
Santi’s jeans
Santi knows what his ass looks like in his jeans, and yes, maybe he bought them on the tighter side but the sales lady was checking him out and yes, she may have slipped her number in his bag when she cashed him out
Santiago has this whole salt and pepper thing going for him that at first he was kind of insecure about but once he saw how many heads he was turning he started using those heads for something else
Santiago knows the effect he has on women. He knows that when he looks at you, heavy eyelids, mouth tilted upwards, and asks when the last time you’ve gotten on your knees for confession was that as douchy of a line it may be, you’re putty in his hands
Santiago, or Mr. Garcia if you’re nasty, would absolutely perform a strip tease for you (special occasion with the promise of no camera) and bc he’s a basic bitch he chooses Pony by Genuwine
Santi loves receiving racey pictures of you during the day, getting him through it until he can come home and make you pay for teasing him
Making you pay usually means he eats you out without letting you cum for ages, pushing your knees apart roughly, the delicious burn of his scruff against your inner thighs as he spells out his fucking name on your clit (obnoxious wanker)
Call him Daddy and watch him go feral on you (pounding you into the mattress for starters)
No, really, he won’t ever ask you to but once you figure it out, you know how to get what you want
“Daddy, can we please go to that new and entirely overpriced restaurant downtown?”
You’re late for your reservation but you don’t mind :)))))
Brat tamer bf energy
He knows you two love each other but he still likes to hear you say it when he’s buried between your legs, holding your hands while ramming into you, “say it,” he growls out
“Yours, Santi, I’m only yours” you gasp as he hits something wonderful inside you
Likes taking baths with you after wrecking your shit, soothing touches and soft kisses, reminding you how much he appreciates you and how good you are to him, to which you reciprocate the words, knowing he needs to hear them himself sometimes
Favourite sleeping position: legs tangled, face between your neck and bosom
Okay I think I’m done LOL hope you enjoy 🙈❤️
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don’t know if we’re allowed to request but if we are ❛ if you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up. ❜ for euphie/santi 👁
ugh kat the way you are feeding me. the way you spoil me. ily.
❛ if you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up. ❜ + santphie, warnings include nsfw/nsft/explicit content, including but not limited to euphemia being both a brat AND a brat tamer. wretched wretched things. set pre nt/ng so everything is fine : ' ) combining this with a prompt from @luxurybeskar for the spotify wrapped prompts, which ended up being closer by nine inch nails. lmao. thank you both sm!!
"do you miss me, euphie?"
it's the same song and dance every time that santino is out of town for longer than a few days. even, sometimes, when it's only a few days. euphemia tries not to think very hard about how much it sends her heart fluttering when she sees his name call up on her phone screen, when she knows that he's been thinking of her and is calling her, now, unprompted. every person she's been with before him has been the exact opposite, and perhaps that is part of santino's charm: he's not afraid to be seen wanting. prefers it, even.
"don't be stupid," euphie murmurs, balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder as she settles herself into the bed. santino's bed. it smells like him, the gentle click of the air conditioner whirring on, and it feels more like home than her own flat does. "it's only been two days.
he'd said she was welcome to stay whenever she liked, but she tried not to, very often. it was just different when he wasn't around. without santino to take up all of her attention, suddenly, she is forced to recognize how integral to her day-to-day he's become, like she's some pathetic, love-sick schoolgirl with nothing better to do than entertain the whims of her infatuation.
she hears santino exhale into the phone, the thud of what she assumes is him hitting his own pillows in the hotel room echoing dully in the background. "you are cruel to me, little fox."
"barely," she replies. carefully, she sifts under the blankets stretching out and enjoying the cold sheets, sighing. "and besides..."
"you are going to say i like it, hm?"
"well, don't you?"
"a little," he admits. she can hear the smile curling in his voice. "and you do miss me."
"a little," she returns, absently sinking further against the pillows. she's fashioned one of his lounge shirts as her pajamas for the evening--yet another thing that smells like him--and there's some comfort in knowing that he's no grounds to tease her for it. "how is rome?"
"oh." santino sighs, clicking his tongue. "i don't want to talk about business."
"then what do you want to talk about? it is so late." euphemia thinks she knows--there is a hungry little lick nestling in the timbre of his voice, one she is familiar with--but she insists on playing dumb anyway, because the sound of him laughing lowly into the phone makes her skin prickle with anticipation.
he says, "what are you wearing?"
"santino."
"i miss you, euphie," he rumbles into the phone, his voice pitching lower now, different than the way he'd said it before. "everything about you. touching you, the way you sound, the way you taste--"
"if you called just to get off on my voice," she cuts in over him, keeping herself cool and even despite the way his tone makes her want to melt, "i'm hanging up."
"i did not call just to get off," he defends indignantly, and she can hear him shifting on the bed. "i also called to get you off, bella."
"per carità!" euphemia shifts, sitting up in bed. "you will be back tomorrow."
"and it is suffering," santino agrees, "every second, without you in my bed."
she presses her mouth into a thin line. she wants to make him wait. she wants him to hungry for her, always. but there is a part of her itching for it, for him, and even now she finds it almost impossible to tell him no--to tell him to mind himself, that it'll be all the sweeter when he's back in town.
"actually, i am in your bed," she says after a minute, nonchalantly. she tugs at the hem of his lounge shirt she's wearing, kicking the blankets down to the foot of the bed absently.
santino makes an intrigued sound. "in the loft?"
"yes," euphemia murmurs.
"i thought you didn't like it there."
"yes, but--" she pauses again, working the words around in her mouth. "it smells like you."
santino's breath slows a little, like he's pacing himself. "is that so?"
euphie skims her fingers up the inside of her thigh and then back down. "and i put on one of your shirts--"
he makes a low noise. "and?"
"what do you mean, 'and'?" she replies sweetly. "i put on one of your shirts and nothing else."
there is a different kind of noise, now, something that she thinks he might be trying to strangle before it comes out too loud, and she wishes he'd stop withholding it from her. she loves the way he sounds when he's losing those delicate threads of control, when he stops being perfectly composed.
"do you touch yourself and think of me?" santino purrs, his voice close but not close enough through the phone. euphie squirms, refusing to answer even as her fingers glide higher up beneath the lounge shirt, and he says: "touch yourself and think of me."
a command, this time. not a question.
euphemia feels the quick, hot drag of want blooming in the pit of her stomach, molten as she does as he bids--but only because she does miss him, only because he is still a nine hour flight away, and even though he will be back tomorrow, maybe if she closes her eyes and listens to his voice it will be just like he is--
her breath hitches, and she whimpers, gliding her fingers against the neediest part of herself. santino makes a broken sound.
"bet you look so good right now," santino growls. "you always look so fucking good when you--f-fuck, when you're--"
yes; if she closes her eyes, listening to the way his voice hitches and breaks into a moan on the phone just there in her ear, euphie can think he's there--that he would be dipping his fingers into her softness, beckoning them against her until she's moaning his name (and he loves that, the sound immediately followed by his broken, "oh, euphie, euphie, so fucking pretty when you say my name like that,") it's almost like he's there. his hands, his mouth; she can feel his lips on hers and the way his breath hitches the second he finally sinks home, if she tries enough, can think of the way he says her name very specifically in that moment, like she is so fucking holy he just can't stand it.
he's close, too. he's close, and he says, "i want my mouth on you, tesora," and he says, "come on, come on, i want to hear my girl," and he says, "fuck, when i get home i'm going to ruin you," and she drags her thumb against herself and almost, almost sees stars.
almost.
but she stops herself just before the plunging edge, and she manages out, her voice breathless, "don't, santi."
"what?" he's breathless, too. a laborious noise grinds out on the other end of the line. "euphie--"
"don't. come," she elaborates, sharper this time. santino groans, a heady mixture of despairing and agonized; he says something, but she's a little too intoxicated knowing that he's abiding by her, that he's despairing because he wants to finish so fucking bad and he can't.
"tesora." he is trying his best to sound composed, saccharine. "my beautiful euphie, you would deprive me of--"
"yes," euphemia tells him, "yes, i would deprive you. you want to fuck me, don't you?"
the line is silent for a moment. santino exhales sharply. "si, you know that i do."
"you want to come home," she continues, "and you want to fuck me on the kitchen island, or maybe our bed--"
"yes, euphie, you know--"
"and hear me say, oh, santi, santi, please, you feel so good inside of me--"
"yes," santino grinds out, bridging on a moan. "yes, f-fucking--brat."
"then," she murmurs silkily, all but come off her own high and onto another one, "don't. come."
something infuriated comes out of his mouth, bitten out between his teeth. a swear, probably; but he's shifting on the bed, trying to get comfortable, and she can almost hear the grimace, taking the place of that insidious little smirk he gets on his face when he feels particularly in charge.
good, she thinks. it's what he deserves.
"okay, okay," santino acquiesces, hoarse. "whatever you say, my euphie. if that's what you want--to deny me this."
she finds herself smiling, despite the twingeing little wrench in her own stomach from the denial. she has been with plenty of men; dangerous men, rich men, handsome men. santino is, of course, different than all of them, but one thing that doesn't change is how good it feels when they tell her, whatever you say.
"goodnight, santi," euphemia purrs. "i'll see you tomorrow. and so you know, i will be able to tell if you've broken the rules."
#spilled ink#santino d'antonio/oc#c: euphemia volpe#c: santino d'antonio#john wick oc#x: senza tentazione senza onore#y'all really do be out here blessing me with these prompts#trying to take advantage of this manic period of productivity while i can by refusing to work on my longfic projects#and instead slam out a bunch of prompts before my inbox gets nuked in the new year : ' )#THANK YOU ILY BOTH#this should go without saying but i did not proof this#lemon
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Brat Tamer
a little something because I’m very, very h*rny 🥺
self-explanatory. smut under the cut.
Maybe it was the wine you had earlier, or it was just those days of the month, but, regardless, you were feeling a lazy neediness that could only cease with the touch of your lover. But Francisco Morales wasn’t home yet and you were too tired to actually try anything all by yourself. Plus, it was Wednesday Night, which meant that the boys would gather together in someone's house to watch a football game �� tonight was Frankie’s time to be the host.
When the boys finally arrived, they already smelled like beers and smoke. Santiago was the first one to give your cheeks a kiss and the Miller brothers followed him hugging you. You smiled at them and played the nice hostess, waiting for alone time with your boyfriend.
Frankie led them to the living room and turned the TV on, soon excusing himself and following you to the kitchen to get more beer. You shoved him in the wall besides the fridge and didn’t lose time to wrap your arms around his neck and kissed him. It got Frankie by surprise and he tried to push you and ask what was going on, but he realised it was in vain when you whined when he turned his face and broke the kiss.
“Frankie, please!” you cried on his neck. Only when he heard the despeperation in your voice he returned the kiss.
Your hand grip on his hair was tight, your lips urgent, but he kept kissing you and holding you close until you heard approaching steps. It was Santi looking for the beer.
He, thankfully, didn’t ask why you were so entertained with your hair or why Frankie’s lips were swollen and redish, although he did tease you about distracting his friend. You couldn't help but look away — your whole face burning with embarrassment.
“What was that about?” he questioned after Santiago was gone, raising an eyebrow.
You hugged his chest and kissed his cheek, but decided to stay quiet.
You helped him take the rest of the beers to the living room and decided that you weren’t interested in watching a boring game for the rest of the night. When you were about to turn around and go, your boyfriend surprised you by discretely grabbing you by the waist and sitting you on his lap.
It was clear that the boys eyed you, but you refused to return the glance and so did Frankie, faking an interest in the TV. You settled on his thigh, trying your best to look casual but the strangeness of what was happening was undeniable and once again you felt yourself burn — not just your face, the rest of your body too, especially your belly.
.
The rest of the night passed in a blury, too slowly for your own good. Frankie’s touch was hot against you and the fact that you were wearing a skirt and could feel the jeans of his pants brush against your covered core made you even more hectic.
At some point the boys got too drunk and too focused on the game to actually pay any attention to you and your boyfriend, or they intentionally didn't look at your direction. Frankie took that as an incentive to tease you; he’d whisper in your ear, squeeze your thigh, kiss your neck or just laugh at Santiago’s jokes against your skin.
It was making you hot and bothered and when you felt like you couldn’t take any more of it you tried to get up, just to have him grabbing your hip and pressing you down. You were sure Santi saw this because of his blushing face, so you decided to take whatever Frankie was giving to avoid more embarrassment.
You tried to play attention to the game, on what team was winning, you really did; but it was torturing to be so close to your lover and not be able to really touch him, to hold and moan and close your eyes with delight. In the Half Time, Frankie allowed you to withdraw from him and you used the time to drink a big glass of water and make sure that you were presentable in the bathroom's mirror. However, the Second Half of the match soon started and so did your torture session.
By the time the game was ending, you felt so hot and wet that you thought a single look at you would be enough to understand what was going on. Your sadistic boyfriend was slowly rocking his leg and it was taking all of you to not moan and rub your cunt on him.
You squeezed his hand when the whistle blew. The team they were cheering for lost, but you never felt happier.
.
When the last Miller brother went out the door and Frankie closed it, you looked up to see your boyfriend with a not so friendly expression. So you did what no respectable person would do: you ran away.
You weren't sure of why but it seemed like a good idea to put a good distance between you and Frankie. You tried to get to the bathroom and lock the door, you ran your fastest and yet it wasn’t enough. He got you right after you passed the threshold.
His grip on your waist was iron tight and you gasped when he pushed you to the wall. “Not your brightest idea to run from me.”
He had to drag you to the bedroom you shared. You halfheartedly fighted him, pushing him and trying to get away again, but none of it worked, in the end he shoved you in the bed.
“What was that earlier?’ he asked, standing in the middle of the room, both hands resting on his hips. You didn't acknowledge his question for the second time that night and he got even more riled up. “You’re being such a brat today.”
Frankie kneeled in the bed and as he got closer, you moved away. That until he grabbed your ankles and pulled you.
“You know how brats are treated” he hummed, kneeling over your hips, groping you up. “Take off your clothes.”
You didn’t listen to him and faced the ceiling, pouting. He chuckled, then he made sure you looked at him by holding your face and coming very close to you, his forehead almost touching yours.
“What's up with you today? Take. Of. Your. Clothes.” you still didn't move a muscle. He took a long breath and shook his head. “Fine. Suit yourself, baby.”
With an aggressiveness that was unusual, he started to unbutton your shirt. Halfway though it, he gave up and just ripped it off by force. You gasped when he didn’t stop there, instead, he pulled your bra down - not even bothering to take it completely off. You whimpered and rolled your head back when he touched your breasts, kneading them, pinching your nipples.
“You don’t get to enjoy yourself until I say so, my love. Not today, not when you’re acting like a spoiled child” suddenly, you were being manhandled to the bedside, Frankie yanked you to lay across his lap, your butt up. You were so glad he was finally touching you that you almost didn’t notice that he was unclaping his belt, you tried to fight him again then but he soothed you, assuring he wasn’t going to use it tonight. You felt a little disappointed, despite all the false resistance, you didn’t mind the best at all.
Frankie raised the hem of your skirt and squeezed, feeling all of you not so nicely. Humming to himself, he focused on your dripping wet panties, all the play made him just as eager and he could feel his cock rock hard. Your moans and little cries made him impatient for more, but he couldn’t pretend nothing had happened.
With a playful slap right over your clit, he questioned you for the third time what has gotten with you tonight.
“Just missed you, Francis…” you sobed when you got hit with the second slap, this time very hard on your thigh. The third one soon followed. And the fourth.
“Tell me the truth, baby..” He kept hitting your ass while talking, changing the place whenever your skin started to turn red. You tried to get a hold of something to ground yourself, with no intention to stop him, and ended up holding his shirt.
Fuck. You haven't been spanked in a long time, but you knew the worst was yet to come. Tomorrow you'd be sore if he kept the pace, which wasn't such a bad thing.
“Frankie. Please… Please!” He surprised you by actually stopping on your command, then he pushed your pantie to the side and kneaded the hot flesh, moaning when you arched under his touch — aching for more. Feeling very benevolent, Francisco thrust two fingers inside you, slowly scissoring you.
Your moans loudly echoed on the bedroom walls, making his skin crawl and his dick pulse with need. He keeps taking those noises out of you out of selfish pleasure until he thought you couldn’t take more. Your hand grabbed the fabric of his jeans to get his attention.
“Ready to tell the truth, love?” he whispered in your ear.
“Yeah” he withdrew his fingers from you and positioned them in front of your mouth, waiting for you to clean them. You did not hesitate.
“So?”
"It 's just..” you hummed, sucking and licking his finger a few more times, gladly hearing his hums of contentment. “I needed your dick so bad then, daddy.I really missed you, Frankie”
It was all it took to melt him into a puddle. Francisco could be a little harsh on the outside, but he truly loved you with his whole heart. To hear you saying those words out loud made him feel much more inclined to be gentle now.
“Oh, my love” he kindly laid you face down in the middle of the bed, kissing all the way down to your butt. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He whispered sweet nothings against your skin, carefully kneading and nibbling the tender flesh. Your hand found its way to his soft curls and you tugged them, urging him to carry on.
Francisco didn’t want to tease you any longer, so he spread your asscheeks. Smiling against your core when you cried out his name.
#Triple Frontier Fic#francisco morales#Francisco Morales x Reader#Francisco Morales x You#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#catfish x you
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Coming soon
The countdown begins for…
Cupids arrow
Here’s some inspiration for the upcoming fic brought to you by @for-a-longlongtime
Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged
#I’m about to ruin your lives#brat tamer santi#dom santi#triple frontier#santiago garcia x francisco morales#santiago garcia x you#pedro pascal characters#oscar isaac characters#triple frontier fic#santiago garcia smut#santiago pope garcia x reader#frankie morales#triple frontier fanfiction
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Hi it's special to me anon i am back and I am delighted to inform you that brat tamer Frankie is now so special to me and seeing that you are doing a part 2 for something to prove has honestly made my day. My week. My month. My year. HOLY SHIT BESTIE YOUR MIND.
Let me join the chorus of people informing you that when Frankie told Santi he was also coming I was in SHAMBLES. And the past implied by how knowledgeable Santi is in the car?? 👀 hahahhaha i am fine totally fine yeah mhm yup totally and completely fine just aaaaaaAAAAH-...
I’M SO DELIGHTED BRAT TAMER!FRANKIE IS ALSO SPECIAL TO YOU!!! 😀🧡😀
I hope to finish part 2 to Something to Prove soon. It’s almost there and definitely coming!
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You don’t have to answer this but i was wondering what sort of things are on your current WIP?
Oh man... so much.
Obviously Jump then Fall. There's gonna be about 4?ish more chapters.
Take on the World is going to take priority once I'm done with Jump then Fall. I completely changed the plot of that fic a few days ago and got some good motivation to work on it so that was nice to feel.
As for one-shots/series things: the Javi Gutierrez fic that I've already started, the Steve/nanny thing that will eventually come that I'm sure literally no one is interested in but like 3 people from discord, a Steve/Javi brat tamers threesome thing, there's a Marcus Moreno/nanny thing possibly happening with @michaelperry, and also a couple Santi things and also a possible Joel thing at some point.
Pls talk to me about literally any of these thank you 🥺
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Your Pope hc’ destroyed me ... I wonder how Santi would react as if his partner had a worse day, but one of those nasty days, you know. when you are a bitch, you are looking for a poke. teasing him ... are we fighting or not? 💥😈
I don’t actually know how he’d deal with that tbh? Like it’s one thing if you’re teasing him to rile him up and sassing him a bit more than usual, because let’s face it you’re going to sass this man and he has his moments where he gives off a touch brat tamer vibe to me, but if you’re taking out your bad day on him? Idk man, you’re his safe place and yeah you guys get rough with each other and he slips into Commanding Military Mode every now and then, but I don’t think he’d put up with legitimate bitchiness and rudeness because you want to fight. He doesn’t want to fight with you; he will however let you take out your frustrations on him in the bedroom in a more productive way, i.e top him 👀
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Santi, 1,7,12,40
1. Have you taken the bdsm test? Post your results! (bdsmtest.org)
== Results from bdsmtest.org ==
100% Brat
100% Brat tamer
100% Switch
100% Masochist
100% Degradee
100% Rigger
100% Rope bunny
99% Voyeur
98% Slave
98% Exhibitionist
7. Favorite way to give pain?
Santi is something of a service top at heart, so his favorite way is, to a certain extent, whatever makes Wolfe happy.
That said, after Rome, whips make him a bit nervous even though Wolfe still likes them. He would rather use a belt or a paddle for impact play.
12. Does your partner’s gender have any sway on what kinks and dynamics you prefer with them?
I don’t think so? Santi swings in all directions for everything.
40. Praise or degradation?
As a sub, he likes both.
As a dom, at least with Wolfe, he prefers to give praise. Neither he nor Wolfe is comfortable with Wolfe receiving too much degradation.
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Now, i want very rough Santi, dammit !
i think i've written a bit of it? definitely brat tamer, daddy Santi.
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I also would love to know your favorite version of Santiago. I feel like we have Regency, bfd, dbf, brat tamer, softie, there are so many, and also your thots to go with it would be sweet but no obligation.
Ahhhhh Mel
I love all of them HOW COULD YOU MAKE ME CHOOSE
regency Santi holds a special spot in my heart as you know (heh my profile pic should tell you that, I’m pretty sure 60% of the time it’s a pic of Santi but this time it’s my special boy)
Regency Santiago, once he gets his hands on you is ravenous, never satiated and always has his eyes on you across the room.
He jumps on opportunities to get you alone and will try to kiss you when he thinks nobody is watching lmao not that you put up much of a fight, you’ve been watching him the whole time, too
Maybe just maybe he slips his fingers under your skirts and gets you off in between dances at the parties you attend together
He also looks at you like you gave him purpose and his eyes hold so much emotion that you have to look away, especially around other people
DBF Santi is something I wish I didn’t think of because… because now I’m just rabid. And I feel weirdly protective over him. And like I’d make several, and I mean several, bad decisions for this man. I would 100% lose sense of self.
No thoughts only incoherent moaning sorry can’t help you here
Soft Santi is like the soothing soft blanket that you wanna come home to at the end of the day that never fails to envelope you into it’s warmth and 🥺 he’s so husband
I just want this man to take care of me with his grey curls and tight jeans pls
I love them all but those are my top 3 I think… but also I can’t choose sooooo
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