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intheorangebedroom · 1 month

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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 3

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. What happens if you can't make it to the motel on Friday evening?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey thank you for your help and beta reading, I fucking adore you so much it's downright obscene 🧡

Word count: 12.2k

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Chapter 3: The Man At The Frontier

Make us come, baby. Make us come together.

These words are yours.

Even if you never see him again. Even if you lose him before having had the time to map the freckles on his skin. To sleep in his arms. To hear him repeat them. They’re yours to keep.

He mouthed them against your skin, sunk them into your bloodstream in bright mahogany before coming undone, wrapped around your body.

They’re yours, right?

Even if you don’t get to see him ever again.

—

It starts with the cramps. That’s how it usually goes. A myriad of microscopic pliers nipping at your intercostal muscles.

Your eyes shoot open at the familiar ache. The early morning hues redefine the room in blue shadows. You blink your sleep-heavy eyelids a few times, confused, before your vision adjusts and you recognize the room around you. It’s your bedroom. Your nightstand, your lamp, your books. Your pills. Your tube of scented hand cream. The chair in the corner, that ugly, Louis XV style, transparent polycarbonate monstrosity by that French designer. The large windows. Those damn floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light, too much heat, too much open view. Nowhere to hide, in here.

It has to be sometime between 4 and 5 am, you assume, before another cramp seizes you. You curl up into a tight ball on the edge of the bed, pulling the comforter to your chin.

Not today. Please. Not today.

Friday.

Inside your abdomen, nausea streams densely, like liquid lead, from your ribs to your stomach, as cold shivers run up your spine. Sweat breaks on your forehead. You know only too well what’s happening, but it can’t be, there’s been no warning signs. No headache, no stabbing sensation in your lower belly, no spinning head.

Today is Friday.

You reject the obvious.

Were you so engrossed in the memory of him to pay attention? His hand wrapped around your nape, his forearm molded along your spine, pressing you into his chest, making you two as one. Closer.

Nausea is already lapping at your esophagus. The pliers bite harder at your ribcage and you know you have to move now if you want to make it to the bathroom before it happens. Shuddering, you push away the comforter, then get up and run.

Kneeled on all fours on the cool bathroom tiles, you dive headfirst into the toilet’s porcelain bowl as everything inside you collapses on itself, emptying the content of your stomach, mostly liquid. You should have eaten something last night.

You know you’re not pregnant. For an infinity of reasons.

Because you haven’t let Adrian fuck you in weeks. Because, when he does, he always wears protection. That’s your mutual, very tacit agreement. A silent understanding that you’re never the only woman, at any given moment. An unspoken confession on his behalf, implicit permission on yours.

Because your contraceptive pill is the only one you’ll never stop popping.

Because you’ve suffered through more stomach bugs than you care to count.

And of course, because Frankie won’t come inside you.

You stand up on fawn-like legs and flush the toilet.

You splash water on your face and grab your toothbrush with a trembling hand, shaking from head to toe. You know this is only the beginning, but it’s coming in strong. This one is most likely going to be a bad one. At least for now the pain is gone.

Above the sink, the woman in the mirror stares at you with unsettling, disproportionate glassy eyes. Her skin looks waxy, she scares you, and you have to lower your eyes. You brush your teeth as quickly as you can.

You haven’t made it back to the bedroom when the second wave of cramps squeezes your abdomen. The pain folds you in half, and you let out a low whine.

It echoes like distant thunder along the glass walls of the empty corridor.

—

On Fridays, you count. You break down hours and minutes and steps and heartbeats into small, bearable quantities, so that you can live through them without going crazy. Today, however, you’re counting trips to the bathroom, and the time between two attacks from the cramps, like you’re readying yourself to give birth to a terrible monster, feeding off you from the inside of your quivering body.

You’ve managed to spend most of the day hiding in your office, with the window cracked open, and the AC cranked up to the max. The clothes you wear are the same as yesterday. Your expensive formal blouse sticks to your sweaty skin in clammy patches. You’re cold, cold and hot all at once. In fact, you’re burning up, and a chill sweat has you shivering in the non-existent breeze.

You haven’t gotten any work done, to state the obvious. You’re just dozing in and out of consciousness between two crises, head like a rock sinking onto your arms on top of your shiny glass desk. Its surface fogs with every one of your short breaths. You’re running out of toothpaste.

Being the boss’ daughter has never granted you any particular privilege over your coworkers, except on days like this. At the first signs of sickness, you go home, or call in sick. Stay in bed for a couple of days, sleep it off, sip water tentatively every time you throw up until you can finally keep it down. No one has ever thought to comment on the frequency or duration of your sick leaves. Not even your father.

Kaytee has probably noticed something’s wrong with you. Her office is right by the bathroom, and you've run there seven times since you’ve arrived this morning, an hour late, which is uncommon, to boot. You look like a walking corpse, your eyes eating up half of your face and your lips pinched in a tight line. And surely, she will find a way to use this against you in the near or distant future. She’s been dying to take your place ever since she was recruited nearly two years ago, champing at the bit, waiting for you to slip so she can bury you.

If she only knew. How you are dying to let her have it all. That you are convinced she’d be so much better at the job than you’ll ever try to be.

With your last shred of energy, you push down the thought, like you push down the nausea and the shivers. On Fridays, everything that’s not him is irrelevant. At 6pm sharp, you’ll count your steps down to the parking garage and hop in your car. You’ll sit in traffic until you reach the 589 and you can finally cruise towards the motel in the protective semi-darkness of the Tampa suburbia.

You haven’t yet considered what will happen beyond this point. When he steps into the room and finds you sitting there, looking like an undead version of yourself, reeking of stale bile, rancid sweat and toothpaste.

All you have to do is make it there. You won’t give up, simple as that. You’ll suck it down.

Demonstrating resolve you never knew you possessed, you make it to sundown. You hold out through the pain, through the cramps, through the soreness on your knees and the abrasion in your throat and the stabbing sensation behind your eyes and the pulling of your gums.

At 6pm, you turn off the alarm of your phone and put it away in your purse. The room swirls around you the first time you try to get up. You wince, falling heavy on the simile leather chair you sweated on all day. You wipe your damp forehead and neck with a tissue, and you stand up again.

All the blood in your body rushes to your feet. There’s not a drop of it left in your brain. You swallow hard against the bitter taste clinging to your tongue and palate and start counting your steps toward the elevator, only to lose track somewhere after 18.

Dark, green circles flash in rapid succession across your pupils, narrowing your vision. You grip the strap of your purse harder, and register you can’t feel your fingers. Something is wrong with your balance, your whole body slants to the left. You try to correct its trajectory but you can’t feel anything below your calves either. What you can feel is your forehead and your nape, defined by pain, burning hot and somehow also freezing where beads of sweat run down your skin.

You’ve made it to the lobby when everything fades to black.

—

In your early 20s, you had genuinely tried to shake off the melancholia. An honest, hopeful attempt. You were away at college, and even though you didn’t get to choose your major, different and various paths seemed possible, within reach. A couple of years after graduation, when you had met Adrian, you had tried again, with renewed vigor and motivation.

You did want to get better.

You cut back considerably on hard liquor. You smiled broadly, at everyone. You said “please,” and “sorry.” Applied lipstick daily, polished your nails weekly. You went out to dinners and parties, wore high heels and interacted with strangers, drank wine in stem glasses and in reasonable quantities.

On your mother’s advice, you went to “see someone.” As your father prescribed, you read the news and followed sports results.

But the sadness kept settling down inside you, like the white particles inside a snowball. The vomiting spells became more frequent. Despite your willingness and earnest efforts, you kept falling short, and each fall hit you with increased brutality.

For your mother, you were too much. For your father, never enough. For Adrian, you would soon come to realize, you were a commodity.

Trying to please them in turn, learning your cues, anticipating their needs and wills and whims, torn up between their contradicting desires and expectations, smiling pretty and meek, you completely lost track of what you liked and who you were.

Anxious, confused, perpetually dissatisfied and unsatisfying, you withdrew within yourself. Hid away between the folds, detached and ready to flee, wishing for nothing more than to disappear.

As Ava grew up, her loud and unapologetic personality compelling everyone’s attention, she provided you with a reprieve and, most importantly, a purpose. But a diffuse sense of guilt soon arose, as your little sister’s struggles could hardly be instrumental to your self-fulfillment.

Inside of you, isolation and loneliness grew solid, like a second skeleton, keeping you upright.

Apathy soon took over. You resorted to medication to control it all.

And when it was no longer enough, you found your way to the Hole in the Wall.

—

The smell of rubbing alcohol floats around you in the chilled darkness, its rough acetone accents abrading your nostrils. There’s an undertone to it. Rotting perfume and decaying bodies. A faint beeping sound tugs at your consciousness, and as you begin to come to, pain strikes you in multiple places.

Something sharp stings the thin skin on the back of your right hand. Each one of your intercostal muscles is sore. Your throat is parched, rougher than sandpaper; your tongue too big for your mouth, stuck to your palate. Every single joint in your body is sensitive, but the worst, by far, is the piercing ache in your forehead. It glues your eyes closed.

Panic floods your brain with static when you stir, wincing against the shooting pain, and you don’t recognize the motel’s mattress. The one you’re lying on is too hard, the linen covering you too starchy, the darkness is closing in on you, you need to open your eyes, fence off the pain, find Frankie…

Frankie.

You never made it to the motel. Where the hell are you? When the hell are you?

“Ah. At long last, she wakes. How are you feeling, babe?”

Adrian’s honeyed voice hauls you through the darkness. Your eyelids flutter against the light until you open your eyes to a square room with a single, large window, blazing sun darting through.

Adrian is sitting in the corner by the foot of the bed. A hospital bed, apparently. A narrow, dark blue mattress, unusually high, encased with rails on each side and at your feet. You’ve never been hospitalized before.

He’s looking at you with a Cheshire cat grin stretching his thin lips, like he was just let in on a juicy secret. He’s dressed in his golf apparel.

The violent luminosity intensifies the splitting sensation in your forehead, it vibrates to the back of your skull, from within, from the sides.

Squinting, you turn your head to the side to take in your surroundings. On top of a beige, melamine nightstand are a black phone with a long twisted cord, an oval device with a red and a white buttons and another cord, and a metal kidney dish.

There’s a tray table over your legs, with a jug standing next to a hard glass already filled with water, and some paper napkins. There’s a needle in your hand. A drip. With a cord. You flinch a little at the sight. A white rectangle eats up the tip of your index, a red light flashing from inside it. Another cord. It’s linked to the source of the beeping sound, a square monitor to your right, displaying wobbly lines of green. Another two cords are plugged in, you follow their sinuous lines to your bed, where they disappear under the sheet, and you take in the two round patches taped to your chest.

So many cords. Too many sensors.

“Where’s my phone?” you mumble.

Your tongue feels like a piece of carpet. You’re not sure whether it’s even your voice anymore.

“You scared us this time,” Adrian says. His tone is cold, practiced, policed.

You reach for the plastic glass and bring it to your chapped lips. The liquid flows down your throat like a waterfall; you wince again.

“Can you pull down the blinds, please? The light hurts.”

He lets a moment pass before he gets up, then circles the bed, unhurried, pacing toward the window, but instead of shutting the Venetian blinds, he sits by your side. The mattress dips under his weight. You hold your breath, anticipating a new jolt of pain. Behind him, the daylight forms a halo, blurring the outline of his silhouette. Your eyes water against the brightness.

“What day is it?” you try again.

“One thing we don’t understand is why you didn’t go home. You got us all worried, you know?”

The beeping picks up pace, imperceptibly. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. The one with no cords linked to it. You know this dance, he won’t cooperate until you ask the right questions, the ones he wants you to listen to him answer. Better to give him what he wants, for now.

“What happened?”

“We don’t know exactly, that’s the thing. Well, you were sick, this you know,” he punctuates his words with a knowing grin and a wink, “but instead of coming home, you stayed at work, for some reason. We think you lost consciousness on your way out, and you hit your head on the elevator’s frame in your fall. We couldn’t help you right away because most employees had already left the floor. Jerry found you. He called your dad.”

You close your eyes, blocking the image of Jerry, of all people, finding you sprawled out and unconscious on the floor. And why would he call your father? Why not 911? You resent that collective we. Who the hell is we? Right about now, you could swear it’s the entire world versus you.

Besides, you’re fairly certain Kaytee was still in her office at the time. She never leaves before 8pm at the earliest and makes sure everyone knows about it.

“You split your forehead open. Apparently, you were running a pretty high fever, too. Oh, and you were critically dehydrated, according to the doctor I saw this morning,” he frames the words critically dehydrated in air quotes. “He also said something about a light concussion, I think.”

You lift a heavy hand to your forehead, the tip of your fingers gingerly testing what they find there, a gauze dressing, held in place by medical tape.

Having the clinical explanation behind the multiple aches throbbing inside your body somehow eases some of the pain.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, unable to look him in the eyes with the harsh light behind him. “I need my phone. Can you give me my phone, please?”

“What do you need your phone for?” he asks casually, seemingly absorbed by something on his pants.

It’s a dare. You know that tone all too well. Today, however, you find that you don’t feel like playing. You want your goddamn phone.

Frankie cannot possibly have tried to reach you as you never exchanged numbers, but you want to call the motel. Find out if he came. What happened then. You want to know what time it is, what day, how much of him you’ve missed. You’re craving his touch, his skin between your parted lips, your heart pumping on empty, racing madly from the need for him, and of all the sensations making your body known to you, this one by far hurts the most.

The beeping sound accelerates, drawing Adrian’s attention to the monitor, then to you. His cold blue gaze narrows on your face. You try to slow down your breathing, hoping it translates to your heart rate.

“I need to call Ava. She must be worried.”

“Ah yes, your sister, of course,” he exclaims, feigning a bright mood, as if you’d just reminded him you’re traveling to Hawaii together next week.

Getting up, he walks nonchalantly to the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall underneath the TV set, hands in his pockets. The black screen dwarfs his lean proportions. His red polo enhances his pallid complexion. You avert your gaze, lest the monitor picks up your disgust like it does your nervousness.

“Yes, it’s true, she probably got very distressed, when you didn’t show up at all last night,” he agrees with affected concern.

There’s a foul taste in your mouth. Acid, rubbing alcohol, and something else. The glass is empty, but you don’t think you can lift that jug. Each one of your muscles is vibrating, waiting for the axe to fall. If only that fucking monitor could stop beeping.

“Remember back in October, when Kenneth went to New York over the weekend for the symposium at NYU? Well you’ll never guess. He saw your sister there, in some uptown restaurant, making out with her…” his upper lip curls, “with this older woman, her girlfriend.”

So this is it. He knows. All this time, he’s known. Since October, practically since the beginning. And he let you believe you had him fooled, that you had the upper hand on the situation, that this part of your life was yours. He lured you into a false sense of safety, a deluded feeling of freedom. And all the while, he’s known.

It’s really your fault, for forgetting that’s how things are with him. That nothing truly is what it seems. That he likes you scared, anxious. Perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There’s no point in trying to control the beeping, now. In fact, given its cadence, you expect a nurse to barge in any minute.

“Polly’s not old,” is your answer.

“Yeah, whatever, they’re degenerates, both of them.”

“Where’s my goddamn phone, Adrian?”

“What do you want your phone for?” he barks.

The words are spat in your direction, and the sheer volume of his nasal voice startles you. Red blotches erupt on his cheeks and neck, his eyes are blazing with contempt.

“You need to call your fucking dealer? Is that it? You think I haven’t noticed that you’re high half of the time?”

You remain perfectly still, holding your breath.You can feel your skin pulling at the medical tape in your hairline.

He doesn’t know shit. In fact, he’s scared. He’s so, so small.

“Listen, I don’t care what the fuck you do every Friday night, ok? But can you at least be fucking discreet about it?”

The poison in his tone and his words corrodes your confidence.

“They will announce the senior partners in January, I cannot fucking lose your father’s business until it’s done, do you understand me? So whatever you do,” he points his index finger at you and stabs it through the air to accentuate each of his following words, “you be fucking discreet. More fucking discreet than that shitshow you pulled, do you get it? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Should you nod? Is he waiting for you to manifest your understanding of the situation?

You hate yourself for thinking, ever so briefly, that he might have been jealous, that he might have cared. Held down on this bed with all these cords, you feel like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, on display in a cabinet of curiosities, a mere object amidst a multitude of other trophies covered in dust and mold. You’ve always hated butterflies. They gross you out.

You allow yourself to breathe again when his posture relaxes. Looking down at his feet, with his hands on his waist, he shakes his head and huffs. The stance reminds you of Frankie, the difference in their proportions almost comical, like a circus monkey aping the brawny horseman, the one who gets top billing in the show.

Frankie had you pinned on a bed repeatedly, without ever making you feel like a study in entomology.

“Your dad is waiting for me, I’m already late,” Adrian says, coming toward you, “I’d love to stay a little longer, but you know how he is about golfing. Don’t want to keep him waiting!”

He pecks a kiss on the crown of your head. The pain darts through your skull in all directions, all the way down to your spine.

“Where’s my phone, Adrian?” you call one last time as he strides toward the door.

“You don’t need your phone, babe. What you need is to rest. Get those magical hospital electrolytes. Doctor’s orders,” he adds with a wink.

And he’s gone.

Furious tears hang from your lashes. You focus on the plastic box on the tip of your index, and you begin to inhale and exhale, as deeply and slowly as you can. It’s shaky at first, but you’re encouraged by the decreasing cadence of the beeping.

Adrian and your father go golfing at 2pm on Saturday afternoons. Meaning you’ve been out for over fifteen hours. Without your phone, you have no means to assert the time. Your watch is nowhere in sight, neither are your clothes, shoes, jewelry, purse.

The room has a phone, but you have no idea if it’s connected. You don’t know the number to the motel. Hell, you don’t even know its name, only its location.

Frankie’s silhouette invades your thoughts, the size of him, the shape of him. His broad back, his strong shoulders, the line of his neck. The sensation of his hands grasping your waist. Their precision, their roughness. Their intent.

Is this how it ends?

Fresh tears swell under your eyelids. You quickly clench them close.

You did everything wrong. What an appalling idiot. You should have acknowledged you’d never make it there, not in the state you were in. You should have called the motel to leave a message, explain your absence, and promise you’d be there again the following Friday.

Now you have no means to reach him. You probably have lost him forever. The warm touch of his skin. His unique scent. His taste.

The beeping grows frantic. Heavy wet sobs heap up inside your chest. Your hand flies to cover your eyes. You anchor yourself to the throbbing pain in your skull and the prickling needle in your hand. To the faint clasp of the pulse oximeter on your index finger. Pursing your lips, you exhale.

Whether the phone is connected or not is just a detail. You can always signal someone with that little remote on the nightstand and have the option charged to the room. Ava’s phone number is the one you have memorized, she can come and get you, and when you manage to get out of here and get your phone back, you’ll replace Adrian’s contact info with hers as your ICE.

The point is: you’re not trapped. You’re not a dead butterfly in a glass case.

Your heart rate slows down.

Between the cords and the hospital sheets, you look up at the white ceiling, and do what you do best: you check out, slip back between the cracks, disconnect.

—

The pain from your head injury is overwhelming. You’d ask for painkillers, but that collective we still haunts you.

You expect Adrian to come back on Sunday. He doesn’t. Throughout the day, you fall in and out of sleep, a restless, feverish slumber crowded with violent dreams of flesh-eating monsters licking your bones clean.

On Monday morning, the doctor comes in to see you. A man in his early 60s with a thick mane of gray hair and a carefully trimmed beard, he calls you “sweetheart,” and when he raises his eyes from his tablet, he flashes you a perfunctory smile with blinding white veneers. He introduces himself as the head of the gastroenterology department. And a friend of Richard. He makes sure that you understand that his name on your chart is a favor to your father. His demeanor commands your respect, preferably by way of intimidation.

Whatever he tells you, you’ve already learned from the nurses who waltzed in and out of your room in a brisk and constant ballet throughout the weekend, to check with skilled, professional movements the multiple cords and tubes pinning you to your bed.

You suffered bacterial gastroenteritis, with severe dehydration, necessitating an antibiotic treatment, and, from your fainting spell, a minor concussion and a head injury. A thin split, on the right side of your forehead, perpendicular to your hairline.

You got sick. You fainted. You hurt your head.

After the doctor’s gone, you’re finally allowed to get up. Under the fluorescent ceiling light of the adjacent bathroom, you spend several minutes observing the seven stitches adorning your forehead. The thick black thread tied in neat little knots that look like dollhouse barbed wire. The visible indentation in your flesh underneath them. The kaleidoscopic and psychedelic coloration of your skin, spreading from your brow to your scalp.

One of the nurses assures you the scar will quickly fade and disappear. Just like you.

You find your belongings inside the narrow closet by the bathroom door. The slit of your pencil skirt is torn nearly up to the waist, and the blouse is bloodied. Your jewels are tucked inside your purse. You stand in front of the shelves, staring blankly at the black leather rectangle with the two gold C’s entwined on the front. One of the very first gifts you received from Adrian. You can’t remember if it was for Christmas, or your 30th birthday. Every Friday evening for the past three months, you’ve shoved it unceremoniously under your car seat. You hate that thing. It’s soulless, tacky, it begs for attention, it screams money.

Later in the afternoon, your mother comes to visit. She brings you magazines, In Style, Elle, Southern Homes, Vogue … At first, she doesn’t look at your face, and when she does, she crumbles into tears. You comfort her. You watch her pad the corner of her fake lashes with a tissue she pulls out of her Birkin purse, and reapply lipstick.

Adrian comes back on Tuesday, with a large bouquet of roses, a box of imported Belgian chocolates you’re not allowed to eat, and your phone. He doesn’t stay long. Before he leaves, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your lips. You wait until he’s passed the door to spit into the kidney dish.

Your father calls within minutes of his departure, with an apology for not visiting. Work, he says, the magic word that justifies everything, from the clothes on your back to his shitty behavior. You tell him the doctor has advised to rest for the remainder of the week.

In the evening, you finally text Ava. She calls you back immediately, which, beyond her audible concern, puts a lump in your throat. When she asks you how you’re feeling, it’s a minute before you can even speak.

You’re discharged on Wednesday, with a tube of antibiotics, a short list of food to favor and a much longer one to avoid.

Ava comes to pick you up. She brings you a change of clothes, a pair of baggy, distressed jeans and a white t-shirt that spells PRIDE in rainbow letters. You smile at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and when you come out, she laughs like a child at her own joke. You laugh with her. It hurts a little, but the pain is worth it.

You’re still smiling when you ask her if you can keep the t-shirt, and her face drops. She hugs you, a bone-crushing hug with closed fists compressing your back, her face slotted into the crook of your neck. Her voice quivers when she answers that everything that is hers, is also yours.

You stuff the pockets of your jeans full of your things and leave your purse in the closet. With a little bit of luck, the person who will find it can get a good price for it.

On Friday morning, you drive back to the hospital to honor a 10:30 am appointment to remove your stitches. You’re led through a sprawling maze of corridors into a windowless room with baby blue walls, and instructed to undress to your underwear, which you don’t. Sitting on the examination couch, legs dangling in the air, palms rubbing on your jeans, you wait for the nurse to come in.

She doesn’t remark on your defiance. In fact, she makes a point of soothing your nervousness, introducing herself as Diane, complimenting the color of your sneakers. She promises that you won’t feel a thing, and you believe her. When she smiles, her irises nearly entirely disappear, and a wide-spanning arch of wrinkles appears at the corner of her eyes, like sunbeams drawn by a happy child.

While she prepares her utensils, she engages you in small talk, skillfully stirring the conversation toward the matter of your mental health and physical well-being. You’re well-trained too. You divert without shame or remorse.

True to her word, she makes quick work of it, and when she’s done, she hands you a mirror framed in a blue, rubbery material.

At first, you refuse to look, but she kindly insists. Her voice is gentle, angelical, her hands are warm when she lays them on your shoulders. She never once pronounces the word “scar.” She calls you “a beautiful and brave young woman.”

So you let her guide your hand upward until you’re faced with your image.

“See? Barely visible. Once the ecchymosis has faded, you won’t even be able to notice it. Just something that happened.”

As she stands behind you, her warmth radiates through your cold bones, and she smiles broadly at your reflection. You blink back your tears. You want to commit her words to memory, uncorrupted by emotions. Just something that happened.

Out in the street, a strong wind blows in gusts from the east, in an overcast sky. The damp smell scrunches up your nose. Even without the sun, the air is too warm for the season. When you get into your car, the first thing you do is crank up the AC.

That rotten hospital smell is still clinging to your skin and hair, you keep having these drops in blood sugar that leave you trembling like a willow tree and drenched in cold sweat. The whiplash from this morning’s anxiety does nothing to level your mood.

You glance at your watch. 11:30. You let your head roll back on the headrest. You can’t remember a time in your life when you were not exhausted.

You consider heading straight to the motel. Originally, you intended to go home first, change your clothes and apply some makeup. Cover up the giant bruise on your forehead, and do your best to look alive. It would be smart to put some food in you, too, and of course, to hydrate.

“Fuck it.”

You start the ignition, and merge into the midday traffic.

The drive is excruciatingly long. A week from Christmas, the traffic is terrible. Getting out of Tampa takes over an hour.

It’s the afternoon when you pull into the motel’s parking lot. Your eyesight’s unfocused, your nerves are raw, your shoulders pulled taut.

Of the three other cars parked in the lot, none look like the one you’ve always assumed to be Raul’s, an ancient white Jeep Wagoneer with a rusty back bumper.

As you try to ponder what to do next, the prickling of your healing tissues riles you up, convoking intrusive thoughts of your scarred reflection. The antibiotics drill a hole into your stomach, the discomfort creases your brow into a constant frown. Your right leg bounces continuously on the car floor.

You’re running on empty. Pure, solid stress is what’s holding you up.

Once again trapped, this time inside the carbon fiber box of your car, while the outside world is defined in movements. The course of the overcast sun across the pearly gray sky, and the ever-changing shades of the clouds chased by the eastern winds. The occasional vehicle driving past the motel on the secondary road. The trembling of tree leaves, birds flying over, lonesome or in flocks.

That decaying smell is everywhere in you, around you, but it might be your festering thoughts.

You’re too much, not enough, a disposable commodity.

Is this how it ends?

Sometimes before 7pm, the white Wagoneer pulls into the parking lot, followed a few minutes later by a red sedan. Raul’s short, bespectacled figure is recognizable through the windshield of his Jeep. Then, it’s the familiar sight of his blue overall as he climbs the flight of stairs to the reception. You slide down on your seat, you don’t need him to see you already stationed here.

Shortly after, a curvy young woman with a straight, blonde ponytail that goes down to her waist comes out and jogs to the red sedan. She gets in on the passenger side, and you wait until the car disappears on the horizon to exit yours.

The short walk from your car to the office should be muscle memory. Only today, the gravel feels steady under the flat soles of your Van’s, and your jeans allow you to take actual, proper strides. Carried by the momentum, you march into the room, opening the door so wide it bangs on the door stopper with an ominous sound of shaking glass panes.

Behind the desk, Raul lifts his head. It’s easy to tell by his puzzled expression that he doesn’t place you. And why would he? You look nothing like you usually do on every other Friday evening. Your clothes are casual, your face is bare, your features pulled taut by mental and physical exhaustion and an array of soreness and pains, your forehead shines in Technicolor, set off by a fresh, inch-long scar.

“Good evening,” you start with a tight smile. “I—“

A whole week. Seven days, and you haven’t thought this through. The liability that is your impractical brain appalls you, exasperation heating your temples. In the silence that ensues, the droning of the AC unit seems to grow louder. You smile again.

“I come in every week?”

Jesus.

“Oh yes,” he nods, his boot-button eyes boring into yours, “Friday nights, room number 2.”

“Yes,” you answer with a strained, cringy little chuckle, “room number 2. Is it–”

You wipe your sweaty palms on the sides of your jeans.

“I was wondering if the room was booked last week?”

“Yes, last week room 2 was booked. But you didn’t come, last week.”

“Yes, no, I was held back,” you hear yourself say. You wince before you add, “And, the— the tall man— the tall man who joins me, did he come, last week?”

“Yes. He came. He waited, two, maybe three hours. You didn’t come, so he left. No refund. Reservations paid in advance are not refundable unless canceled at least 48h—“

“Oh no, that’s fine,” you cut in, relieved he might have thought this embarrassing interaction was about money. “And is the room booked for tonight?”

Raul’s boot-button eyes linger on you for a beat before he lowers them to the computer screen on his left. The mouse clicks a few times, loud and suspenseful, as he operates the thing. You try to catch the reflection of something, anything in his round glasses. There are seven rooms, two cars beside his and yours in that parking, what can possibly take him so long?

If the bacteria hasn't killed you, the wait surely will.

“No,” he eventually declares, looking up at you, “it’s not booked for tonight.”

The answer falls on you like a guillotine. It rings out in your ears and you sway on your feet from the violence of the blow. You don’t know how to breathe.

“Do you want to book it?”

You shake your head slowly.

“No. Thank you.”

Back outside, in the muggy semi-darkness, your wobbling legs find the way to your car on autopilot.

He made no plans to come back. This time, he didn’t leave any note. This is how it ends. Between your lungs, the wild creature is bleeding.

You should turn around, ask if they have his full name, bribe Raul into giving you his contact info. You never thought of memorizing his plates, but you could always drive back to the Hole in the Wall, see if he’s been there, if he came looking for you.

You don’t. You won’t. You’re not entitled to any of it. He was never yours. Never yours to want, to long for, to miss, to hold.

All that’s left now is the abyss and the fear. You’re terrified. Of what lies ahead, the choices you’ll have to make, the answers you’ll have to give. The hollowness in your chest. The gap in your existence. The fracture in your years.

The before and the after him.

He has changed you. You changed yourself. You’ll never know if you changed him.

Stunned, you stand still by your car, cloaked in the velvety night, frozen in space and time. Your hand petrified on the door handle. Unable and unwilling to leave. Eyes riveted to the brass number on the door, glinting with a blurry glow in the soft yellow hues of the porch lights. Moths flutter fuzzy and silent into the light beam, oblivious to the drama of your story.

The rectangular window stands guard over your secret life. Behind the yellow curtains, your lonely silhouette awaits to come to life, poised and silent, seated on the edge of the bed.

That woman, young and brave . Want has made her bold and determined. In just a few moments, her trained ears will pick up the sound of an old truck engine drawing near on the empty road. Her existence will come into focus with thrilled anticipation. She will bloom out of her restraints at the sound of tires on the gravel.

“Oh god,” you whisper, whipping your head around, your grip on the handle white-knuckled as the red truck parks behind your sedan.

His massive silhouette comes out, and you clasp your hand to your mouth to muffle a dry sob.

It’s a trick of your overwrought brain. He’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and a suede jacket over a dark t-shirt. The brim of his hat casts a long shadow over his face, but he’s moving fast, and in a couple of strides, he’s standing before you, hands on his hips. He’s smiling, a broad and bright smile. You catch a glimpse of a dimple you’ve never seen. A trick of the mind.

Oh but he’s here, in the flesh, your body knows before your brain comprehends his presence. The instant pull, the humming purr of the creature inside you, the blood level instinct.

“Hey!” he calls. He sounds out of breath. Like he’s been running. Running to you.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out through your clenched fingers.

“What?”

His smile drops when you take a step back.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t make it, I thought I could, but I couldn’t make it, and then I couldn’t—“

Your throat closes around the memory and you swallow hard, eyelids weighed by stubborn tears that refuse to fall.

He takes a step forward, tilting down his head. That scowl. That scowl, you know. You’re only too familiar with it.

“Then it was too late and I couldn’t reach you,” you finish.

“What happened to you?”

The low timbre of his voice reverberates inside your chest. His eyes flicker up to your forehead. Before you can think of anything to say, he cups your face with both hands and turns it to the side, towards the light. The whole sequence happens so fast that you trip on your feet and catch yourself on his forearms.

“Who the fuck did that to you?” he grits, leaning so close his breath fans your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whisper.

“Did he do that to you?”

“What?”

“Your husband. Did he do that to you?” he asks again, louder, this time. Separating each syllable.

“Oh no! No, I fell.” You bring the tip of your fingers to the sensitive mark. “The nurse said it will fade.”

“How did you fall?” he presses.

He doesn’t believe you. Like you could lie to him if you wanted to.

The tension from his frame resonates through yours, where a week’s worth of suppressed emotions and tears are piled up, waiting for a detonator that will bring down the dam. You push away his hands, your frown mirroring his own.

“I fell, ok? I’m here now, so let’s go inside.”

“I’m not– no,” he huffs, hands back on his hips, shaking his head. His boots scuff over the gravel, the grating sound loud in the empty lot, in the stifling night, and despite the dimness you can make out that scowl, ever present, splitting his gaze.

“You can barely stand.”

However relevant, his rejection burns your cheeks. You raise your chin, leaning against the hood of the car for countenance. For balance.

“I’m fine. The room is free. Let’s go.”

“I said no. I’m not fucking you. Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re clearly not well enough–”

“You don’t fucking tell me what I’m well enough to do,” you snarl with your heartbeat in your throat, pushing away from the car, sustained by your last shred of strength. “Don’t assume you know what I’m capable of.”

He stands in front of you, seemingly unmoved, impossibly tall, infuriatingly silent. Stoic, and you’re thrumming with frustration, standing stubborn and brittle in front of him. He gives you none of the myriad of micro-expressions that usually play across his face, that you read instinctually. You feel ugly, exposed, but you withhold his gaze, jaw clenched, breathing heavy through your nose. You might faint again.

The silence drags on. It’s a minute before he moves again, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice is calm, when he speaks next, low and quiet, almost soothing. You don’t want it to be soothing. You don’t want to be soothed, you’re not done with your anger. He didn’t book the room, and now he doesn’t want to go in. You are a swappable vessel, after all.

“I don’t. I don’t assume anything,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”

“I told you already, you cannot hurt me,” you snap, impatient.

“Wanna bet?”

You don’t need to. You know he could. Just not in the way he thinks he would. He’s already marked you permanently, deeper than any injury, any wound ever could.

“Listen,” he begins with a sigh.

“No, I get it, I look like shit and you don’t want to fuck me—“

“Alright, that’s enough!” he silences you with his index finger pointed at you. His voice booms in the dim parking lot, and you avert your eyes. Weariness washes over you, you fall back against the hood of your car.

His shoulders sink just a bit, the slightest drop in the tension pulling them taut. He steps closer to you, leans down, seeking your gaze, searching your face in the semi-darkness.

“Hey, why don’t we go for a drive?” he offers. “We can talk. Or not. We can listen to the radio. Or just drive in silence, if you want. Clear our minds. What do you think?”

Our minds.

He’s so close you can smell the clean scent of his t-shirt and the musk of him underneath it; you can feel your skin reaching out for him in feverish little tendrils you cannot control.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yes, ok.”

He smiles, a cautious, appraising smile. The light catches at the mahogany depth of his eyes. He reaches for you, placing a large hand in the small of your back, and whispers, “Alright, let’s go.”

—

The cab of the truck feels almost sacred. For months, it’s been your favorite daydream. Picturing him alone in the only private space of his you’ve ever seen, driving to you.

What are his thoughts, then? Are they of you? Are they happy? Are they hopeful?

On any other occasion, you’d relish the opportunity to be in here with him. You’d catalog and store up every tiny detail for future use in your fantasies of him. Instead, you’re sitting tight and rigid on the wide bench seat, pressed against the door, face turned toward the window, seeing absolutely nothing.

You hate yourself for that, too.

After a while, you risk a glance at the dashboard.

Judging by the analog dials, the truck has some mileage, but it’s visibly been well maintained. There’s no visible spots, no dust, no dents, only the patina of time. The vinyl bench seat is upholstered with a soft fabric whose colors have fainted after too many years under the Florida sun. There’s a cassette player and a cigarette lighter. The windows are manual.

The one on Frankie’s side is cracked open. The night air carries his scent over to your side of the cab. Leather, laundry, musk. You can’t escape it.

“Hey. You ok there?”

In the moonless night, you can only make out the sharp lines of his profile against the outside darkness of the country road.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

He looks at you, brow pinched, but his expression is soft. Compassionate.

“C’mere.”

The truck slows down to a snail pace, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. You scoot over near him. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches to your right and rolls out the middle seat belt across your lap, fastening it between your hip and his.

The truck accelerates to a cruising speed, and he wraps his arm over your shoulders, drawing you closer.

You let him, allow your body to slump against his, embrace his warmth, your cheek pressed against his chest. It’s solid and strong, a match for your skeleton of loneliness. The suede fabric of his jacket is smooth, worn in. You inhale him there. You rest a hand on his thigh, and slide the other under his jacket, to rest on his chest. It rises and falls with his breathing. If you lie real still, you can feel the steady thumping of his heart.

“I’m not married.”

“Ok.”

The word is felt through your cheek as much as you hear it.

“The man I live with. He’s not my husband.”

“Ok.”

The nodding motion of his head nudges you a bit.

“And I really fell.”

He remains silent, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. The leather lining creaks inside his fist.

“I got sick, last Friday. I get these stomach bugs all the time, but this was a mean one. I tried to make it through the workday, but eventually I passed out. Like a corporate rendition of a Victorian damsel, or something.”

You chuckle, diverting the humiliating memory. Just something that happened.

He tightens his embrace.

“That when you hurt your head?”

“Yes. On the edge of the elevator’s frame. At work”

“Fuck. Did it hurt a lot?”

“Actually it didn’t? I was out. It hurt when I woke up later, in the hospital, though. I had this terrible headache. I didn’t know where I was, or when I was.”

You feel him shake his head as he asks, “Were you scared?”

How to put into words, that the only fear you’ve ever had, is to never see him again?

“I survived,” you answer with a shrug and a little, empty laugh.

If you were brave enough, if you had some strength left, you’d ask. How did he feel, when he got to the motel and found the door to the room closed. Why he didn’t book the room again. Why he still came tonight.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

“No,” you lie.

“Mmh. And for real?”

You rub your cheek against the smooth suede, imprinting your soft smile into it. And maybe some of your scent for him to keep. In case, just in case he does care.

“A little. I’ll be fine.”

The truck cruises over the black asphalt, between the straight, stretching yellow lines.

Your next words come in quiet, but not hesitant.

“He wouldn’t hit me.”

“Ok.”

“That’s not what he does.”

He exhales slowly through his nose.

“What does he do?”

You bite your cheeks, already regretting this moment of weakness. The treason.

“He makes me doubt.”

“Him?”

“Myself. And him too.”

Your eyes clench shut. His chest flexes under your cheek as he hardens his grip on the wheel.

The truck drives past a gas station, through a small town. Neatly delimited square lawns, white houses with flags hanging on their porches, Christmas lights blinking through square windows, and you tilt up your head to look at him in the streetlights.

His outlined profile, his steady expression, everything about him feels safe and grounding. The beauty that radiates from him, from within him, sinks to your heart. It races madly, awakening the soreness in your bruised ribcage, and perhaps he can feel it, with the way you’re curled up into his side. Leaning down, he brushes a kiss to your forehead. You bunch up his T-shirt in your fist.

Soon, the yellow lines unwinding endlessly in the truck’s headlights weigh down your eyelids. In the safety of Frankie’s hold, your mind and body slowly drift into a peaceful slumber.

“You ok? Want me to close the window?”

His voice is a distant whisper skirting the edges of your consciousness.

“No, ’m good,” you mumble. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

Under your palm, Frankie's heart thumps loud and heavy.

—

When you wake up, the truck is still and silent. Engine cooled off, windows rolled up. The night is pitch dark. Frankie’s scent, heady, familiar, everywhere around you. Your cheek is resting on his lap, and his hand lies heavy on your waist. His breathing comes in even and slow. Both your seatbelts are unbuckled. Your feet are bare.

Aside from your legs, sore from being crammed into the length of the seat bench, you feel better than you have in a week, with your headache finally gone.

You sit up, take in your surroundings and his sleeping form, seated behind the wheel. He stirs, lifting an eyelid and glancing in your direction, the corner of his mouth tugged up into something that resembles a drowsy grin.

At some point while you were asleep, he drove back to the motel. Parked the truck so that the cabin faces away from the only source of light.

You stretch side by side, sleep-heavy limbs, comfortable silence. You watch him lift his hat and comb his fingers through his hair, a tender smile lifting the corner of your lips. You know the curls he hides there.

Of course, it cannot last forever. Nothing ever does. In a couple of hours, it’ll be daybreak. He’s always gone, by then.

You won’t make this uncomfortable or difficult for him. You slip your socks and shoes back on. You’re reaching for the handle when he stops you with a hand on your thigh.

“Wait. I need to talk to you.”

His voice is low and husky from sleep. You realize you have never woken up next to him. Never slept with him through the night. Probably never will.

You hum quietly, pivoting on the seat bench to face him.

“I can’t come, next week,” he says, searching your eyes.

Emotionless. That’s how you have to be. You know how to do this. Not when it comes to him, but you can try. You try your best, your very hardest.

“I understand.”

“I imagine you can’t be here either.”

No, you can’t. Thanksgiving at your parents’, Christmas with Adrian’s family. Always.

“No, I can’t.”

The following week, either. But you don’t share that.

This is when the two of you should discuss a practical means of communication. The awareness hangs between you, loud and unspoken. The consequences it would have on whatever it is that the two of you share. The shockwave, the shift in nature and intention. The names that exist to describe your situation, crass, overused, sordid. Tainted with lies and deception, secret texting, hushed phone calls, disgusting, undeniable guilt.

Frankie moves first, getting out of the truck and going round the hood to open the door for you. You slide out of the high cab into his arms, and when your feet touch the gravel, you wonder if this could be the last time he will ever hold you.

In the feeble porch lights, his face is a landscape of diffuse shadows. The dip in his collarbone draws you in, a beacon in a dark ocean. You nuzzle into it, inhaling his scent, taking in his fragrant warmth. You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, graze your cheek along his pebbled skin. What if you stayed there? Tucked away forever. Disappeared to the rest of the world. Would it matter? Would he let you?

Your fists bunch the sides of his jacket.

“Kiss me, Frankie, please.”

“Yes.”

His first kiss is tentative, the plush cushion of his lips a soft press over yours, but they return immediately, hungry for a taste, for more, the tip of his tongue brushing against your parted lips.

All that you crave, all that you need is here, in his embrace, between his arms and his hands tugging at your waist, beckoning your body closer to his.

Your arms circle his neck, the tips of your fingers seeking his curls. His hand spans your back, finds your nape. He molds you into his chest, and with the way he’s pressing you against him, firm and commanding, you know this will be one of these moments that feed into your hopes. The delusion you’ve been nurturing since the first time you’ve faced him. The dream that he wants you to be his above anyone else.

His third kiss opens you up, tongue swirling around yours, and you keen, rising to your tiptoes, angling your head to take more, more, more and he gives. Hands gripping, tongue licking, crushed lips and guttural moans, he gives you all that you need like he needs it too.

You’re floating above the gravel, there’s no time, there’s no space, his body has no end and there’s no beginning to yours as he kisses away your fears, your doubts, your darkness.

Together, you stand entwined between night and morning, linked by chance, need and hurt, bonded by will and desire.

There’s no urgent hunger in the spanning of his splayed hands across your body, no rage in his kneading of the soft of your hips, or the swell of your breast. His grip is strong, but studious and thorough. He takes you in, your curves, your dips, the slopes and slants of your figure. Like he’s storing up the feelings and memories of you for when there will be no more, when you’re far and gone, away with your husband who is not your husband. There’s despair in his touch, but most of all, there’s foresight, and intent.

He’s untucked your t-shirt, calloused hand skimming up to cup your breast, thumbing the hardening peak of your nipple.

Once again, you find yourself pressed against the hard, cool metal of the truck, and like the first time, you’re frantic in his hold, but he’s in control. His thick thigh parts your legs, offering friction to the coiling need between your hips, that fire pooling liquid down your core. You squirm against the firm muscles.

“Want me to make you come, baby?”

He’s breathing into your mouth, and you whine in frustration.

“No, I want you inside me.”

“Shit, you sure?”

“I’m not made of glass, you’re not going to break me.”

You push away to look at him, a demonstration of strength. All talk, but you’re that desperate. He pulls you back into him for another kiss, chuckling into your mouth.

“You think I don’t know that?”

So many simple things you had never done with him before tonight, after months of lying bare and naked, to his gaze and his touch, inside and out. Driving, falling asleep, walking, his steadying hand nestled in the small of your back.

Behind the reception desk, Raul seems unfazed by this new development. The drawing pad blackened in charcoal is back.

“Room number 2,” Frankie asks, “for the night.”

It’s so wild to consider that the two men have never interacted, when Raul plays such an important part of your Friday ritual. You’d try to get Frankie’s full name, real name, perhaps, but Raul doesn’t ask. This is not that kind of place.

“I can pay,” you whisper into Frankie’s shoulder, tucking your t-shirt back into your jeans.

“I know you can.”

When he flips open his wallet, a small color picture pops out, next to his driver's license. The photo booth format is easily identifiable. In the snapshot, a bare-headed Frankie is holding a very young child. The picture is that of a moment, seized through movement, the kid holding the Standard Heating Oil hat in her chubby hands, likely mere seconds after having snatched it from Frankie’s head, who’s looking down at her, with a bemused grin, tousled hair.

It’s him, his distinctive, sharp features unmistakable, only he hardly looks like the man you know. There’s no trace of the grief he carries like a cloak when he meets with you. No crease splitting his brow like when he looks at you. Instead, his eyes glint with pride, creasing with a smile that dimples his cheeks, large and genuine. And the child’s round, plump face is brightened by the same irresistible dimpled grin, the same head full of wild curls, the same mahogany eyes.

You quickly avert your gaze, but you’ve seen enough. The guilt is physical, visceral, it squeezes your ribcage harder than the pliers. The pain has you wincing and you grip the reception desk for balance, but Frankie’s arm is already wrapped around your waist and he’s leading you outside.

In a trance, you walk beside him to room number 2. Your room. That picture-perfect image of fatherly love dancing before your eyes.

He’ll never be yours. The wild creature shivers between your lungs. The certitude shatters your heart.

Stepping inside, you’re rooted to the floor. Limbs too heavy to lift. Your blood has turned into lead. The fire in your core is a pile of ashes. You can taste it on the back of your tongue.

Frankie flicks up the toggle switch, and the room lights up in amber hues. It feels too big, the satin quilt, the brown carpet, the yellow curtains, everything is foreign and distant.

Behind you, he sets his hat on the desk, drapes his jacket on the back of the chair.

“You ok?”

His voice jolts you up. You turn around to face him, unshed tears hanging round and heavy from your lashes. After a beat, he takes a step towards you, and you feel that absolute pull tugging from behind your midriff.

His gaze drifts up to your fresh scar, where your flesh is tender, swollen and bruised. Yours travel down along the pebbled skin of neck, to the dip between his collarbone. A firework of freckles springs from the V-shaped collar of his faded blue t-shirt.

Carefully, he slides your t-shirt out of your jeans again. You lift your arms like a docile child, let him undress you. He places a hand, warm and calloused, beneath your sternum. His palm heats your skin, warmth seeping into you. It untangles something, there. Something you didn’t know was still bruised. You lean into it.

He stays like that for a while.

Then his hand skates up to the base of your throat. His cold hard stare finds your soft sad eyes.

“Do you get wet, thinking I could hurt you?”

“I trust you,” you answer, a nod contradicting your words. His gaze hardens.

“Why did you think I wouldn’t come tonight, then?”

You shake your head, blinking fast. You never mentioned that. How would he know your thoughts?

“Don’t you know I would fuck you on my deathbed?” he grits.

But you don’t know. Of course you don’t know, and how could you? Nothing in your life has ever prepared you for him, for this, for the strength of that pull, inescapable, for this obsession that has uprooted your life, your body, your instincts. Nothing has prepared you for the magnetism of his skin, the things you’d do to be in his presence, to breathe the same air, what you’d risk for his touch, what you’d give up for his attention, what you’d destroy for his affection . Your comfort, your safety, your future, your health. Your family and his, nothing fucking matters compared to the insatiable hunger of this wild thing inside your chest and its incessant chant of him, him, him.

Your chest heaves, but his grip is firm. He leans down, lowering his lips to your ear, where he whispers, “What’s your name?”

You close your eyes, the wild creature is gnawing at your chest, eating you raw from within.

“I want you.”

His hand lingers, travelling higher, fingers splayed across the width of your throat in a loose grip. You hope he tightens it. Like he does sometimes when he’s inside you. Tune out your mind, toss you into white-hot pleasure. Into oblivion.

He doesn’t.

He’s never truly been gentle with you before. Tonight, his kisses are languid, his touch soft and slow along your ribs. Delicate, when he reaches the swell of your breasts and slides down the cup of your bra, replacing the fabric with the palms of his hands. When he leans down into you, wrapping his plush lips around your nipple, sucking in the peaked bud ever so lightly, flicking the flat of his hot wet tongue around it, lips pursed, suckling.

Against your belly, you feel him harden. You shiver with arousal and anticipation, with exhaustion. With the weight of this week and the burden of your life. With pain, ache and soreness. With your empty body, and your empty cunt. With that creature in your chest that can’t be tamed or satisfied. Can’t even be named.

You shiver in his hold, for fear that this’ll be the last time. For fear that he’ll never be yours, that he’ll never want you the way you want him, with determination, with madness, without a choice.

“I want you inside me, Frankie please," you breathe out, and he backs you into the bed to lay you down on the quilt.

The fabric is cold under your burning skin, you shudder at the contact. He takes off your shoes, rolls off your socks. He slides your jeans down and off your legs, then your panties.

You sit up to watch him undress, his eyes of mahogany brown never once leaving your face.

He stands before you, naked, erect, filling your vision with this breadth, and you want to rip your beating heart out of your aching chest.

The bed dips and he’s crawling over you. Leaning down, he drags the crown of his head up along your belly, along the valley of your breasts, his hair a soft caress on your quivering skin. Your fingers twine in his curls, you get lost in the sensation. For weeks he has barely let you touch it, kept it out of your reach. Now the abundance feels decadent, your head sinks back into the mattress with a faint exhale.

Cautiously, he parts your folds with two knuckles. You bite down a gasp, tensing up. You can’t shake off that chilling dread, the one that trickles inside you, cold and piercing, when you think you’re losing him. But your body knows better, that sticky wet slick pooled between your hips, the coiling heat at the center of you.

“Stop me,” he breathes into the crook of your neck, “don’t let me hurt you.”

He inches the tip of his length inside you with a strained groan, hooking your legs around his waist. He tries to work you open with a few shallow thrusts, panting against your temple.

“Fuck you’re tight.”

“Please, Frankie–”

His frame tenses up under your palms.

“I’m trying, you’re too— fuck, you’re too tight. Let me eat you open.”

“No!”

That’s not what you want, not tonight when you have no strength to spare, no time to lose, no patience left out.

“I can—“ You trip over your words.

“What?”

“I can sit on it.”

Heat creeps up your neck, setting your cheeks ablaze. He gives you a quiet chuckles.

“Yea. Yea you can.”

He grabs your wrists and lifts you with easy strength. A few swift movements and he’s lying on the bed underneath you, your folded knees a straddle across his lap. You feel dizzy, like your blood can’t course along your veins fast enough, like it’s no match for his strength, for your arousal.

“Spit on it,” he says.

You circle his cock, smooth, heavy. It throbs into your hand. You take it all in, with a trance-like gaze, the coarse curls at his base brushing your skin, the round head, an angry shade of red, the ridges and pumped up veins along the length, the tip of your fingers that don’t meet around it.

“Come on, don’t be shy, spit on it.”

Bending down, you lick a broad stripe along the thick ridge of his underside, from his balls to the fat round tip, where the skin is smooth and his taste heady, and he hisses something you can’t make out. It shoots through you, his sound, his burning skin, his taste. The curled tip of your tongue slides inside the small leaking slit, collecting the pearly drops he gives you. Your eyes flutter shut. His hands grip your thighs above the knees as you take him into your mouth, his fingers digging, a bruising furrow, something desperate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your lips slide along him, up and down, tongue wrapped around his girth. With hollowed cheeks, you take him deeper with each stroke until your head is spinning and you slip him out, rueful, glassy-eyed.

His breathing comes in almost as heavy as yours.

“Sit on it, now.”

His voice sounds wrecked, like you must look.

“Yes,” you pant.

Hands braced on Frankie’s chest, you’re not that flimsy, empty shell. You’re that fierce creature inside your chest, the one that claws and purrs and spits and demands. You tap into the bottomless pit of its life force, tap into the rumbling of Frankie’s ragged breathing under your palms, and you take.

Eyes strained on the solid breadth of his chest, on the expanse of his amber skin and the darker circles of his nipples, on the constellation of soft brown freckles that turn your insides into a sticky leaking mess, you slide up his lap, part your folds with his hard cock, rub your clit over it.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs, not for you, not really. To himself. Like the memory comes back crushing.

The bobbing of his throat, the low rasp of his voice, the wet sound of your slick smearing over his cock, it all builds up hot and prickly right under your navel.

Sweat breaks on your forehead, along your spine, down in the bow shape of your arched back.

You push away from the cradle of his hips, knees sinking into the creaking mattress. Raise yourself from his heat just enough to line him up, with his hands curled around your thighs, a steadying help.

You’re tight, but wanton-wet. He’s a gliding stretch along your walls as you sink down on him with all your weight, your cunt ready to collapse, fluttering frantically.

His thrashes back into the mattress, corded neck, strained muscles. Thick fingers bruising the tender flesh of your legs.

“Fuck wait, don’t move, don’t move. Stop moving, shit!”

You still, not like you can move anyway, the pleasure-pain has you numbed out, limp, blinded. Your head lolls back, your eyes roll shut. Your lower lip twitches with the tension and the stretch. He’s so big you forget how to breathe but this is what you wanted, for him to annihilate all the other pains.

A sound comes out of your parted lips. A grating against your vocal cords, a primitive vibration of the air that’s punched out of your lungs. It’s not you, it’s the creature mewling.

You can feel his cock pulsating hard and angry inside your belly. It’s a tidal ripple that travels up your chest. Your heart skips several beats.

His hands cup roughly around your breasts. You lean forward into his hold, hips swaying, slack mouthed. You keep him inside you, a deep roll, hipbones to hipbones. The coarse black hair at his base a harsh scrape against your swollen clit.

And suddenly, he fucks up into you. A hard shove, filling, merciless, into your cervix. You cry, nearly toppling backward and he sits up with a cinch, arms wrapping around your waist, catching you before you can fall.

“Too much?”

“Oh god yes.”

You’re crying, at last. Big, hot beady tears of salt rolling down your cheeks. Full, fucked out, filled to the brim. Everything that’s not him obliterated. Thoughts, emotions, sensations.

“That’s what you wanted, right? You want too much, baby?”

His voice is quiet and soft like silk, teeth raking along your throat. It’s almost a bite but not quite, tongue tasting your sweat, lips wrapping around your pulse point, barely sucking in. You can’t speak, your nails dig into his arms, forming little pink crescents you’re not allowed to leave behind.

You nod, you breathe out, “Yes, I want too much.”

He straightens up, your breasts are pressed to his chest, sweats mingling. His scent is overwhelming. That musk he exudes, a leathery spice, whenever you’re fucking. The scent of his desire.

His hand tangles in your hair. He makes sure you’re looking at him.

“Take it. Take what you want. Fuck, you’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful, you believe it, right?”

You try to tilt your face down, hide your tears, hide your scar. He doesn’t let you. So you give in. Because, what if you are?

“Say it again, please.”

“Look what you do to me, baby. Can you feel what you do to me?”

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and he grinds you onto his cock, a slow, thorough grind, splitting you deeper onto him. It’s coiling fast, hot and heavy, right at the center of you.

“I’m gonna come, Frankie.”

“Do it. Come. Use me, make yourself come on my cock. Make yourself feel good. Take everything you need.”

He talks you through your orgasm as you tremble and crumble in his hold. It’s a high that feels like a free-fall, like you’re unraveling, like you’re never landing. Like your skin’s burning and your mind is the horizon.

You’re sobbing quietly when he carefully eases out of you, still hard. He carries you in his arms and you think you’re floating. You’re drained, boneless, falling asleep already.

He lies you down under the covers, tucks you in. Places a glass of water on the nightstand. Folds your clothes on the desk.

You don’t hear him dress up. You don’t hear him leave.

And in a few hours, when room service wakes you up, barging into the room, you won’t remember his forehead kiss.

****

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wardenparker · 3 months

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Hurry Home

Frankie Morales x female reader x Santiago Garcia

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: Reader is described as wearing feminine clothing and having hair long enough to run fingers through. Fluff. Domesticity. Food/alcohol. Oral sex (m receiving), mention of shower sex. Summary: A small snapshot of an established poly relationship. Notes: There is no world in which I do not want to be in a poly marriage with Frankie and Pope. End of story. I hope you enjoy!

The light in the living room is still on when you come through the door; the smell of long-cooked chili wafting from the kitchen where unwashed dishes sit waiting for the morning. You drop your purse in its traditional place on the little table by the door and immediately reach down to pry the high heels off your aching feet. Too many damned meetings have fried your brain and left you craving a hot dinner and sweet cuddles. Thankfully, that delicious smell from the kitchen and the sound of Yellowstone on the television in the living room mean that Santiago is home. Alas, the gentle snoring means he has fallen asleep on the sofa.

Intent on not waking him up, you decide not to turn on the light and move soundlessly around the kitchen in your stockings and dress, glad to have rejected your heels at the door. Santi’s chili is your favourite comfort food. It’s spicy enough to clean out your sinuses but so complexly flavored that he completely betrays his years of culinary school every time he makes it. And he never minds that you scoop it up in half a bag’s worth of convenience store tortilla chips every time you need that next level comfort. Tonight, you pour absurd amounts of cheap tequila and margarita mix into a novelty pint glass and tap the microwave button to stop the heating cycle before it beeps too loudly across the apartment.

You reach blindly over to grab a spoon out of the drawer and have one plopped into your hand instead. “Jesus Christ!” You hiss, snatching your hand away and just barely managing not to drop the flatware.

The snickering giggle from your right isn’t Santi’s.

“Frankie!” You almost shriek, face splitting into an immediate smile and throwing your arms around his neck without a second lost.

“Shh! Shhhh, love.” Frankie wraps his arms tight around your waist, breathing in the faded strains of your expensive perfume. “Santi’s sleeping.”

“I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow?” You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, smiling against his skin. He’s already stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers from whatever he’d put on that morning and he looks good enough to eat. Damn the chili, Frankie is a whole three course meal in his own right.

“I rescheduled for an earlier flight.” It sounds almost confessional, the way he quietly whispers in your ear. “I missed you.”

“Mmm,” The hum comes up from the back of your throat. “We missed you, too.”

“Is that why you have the world’s largest and saddest margarita in that glass?” Frankie smirks, raising one eyebrow at the glass on the counter next to your bowl. That awful sugary bottled cocktail mix only sneaks its way into your home when Frankie is away. As a former bartender he finds it fully offensive, but he knows you like sticky sweet drinks.

“Give me a break,” you beg, pouting fiercely. This is why you were having such a big drink tonight – not only because of the day you’d had at work but to empty the bottle before his return. “I had four meetings today, I earned this sugary tequila.”

Frankie knows how hard you work, constantly proving yourself day-in and day-out in an office full of men where you are the best educated in the room but always last to get a new client. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m only teasing.” He plies you with a soft kiss, letting it deepen when you sigh to let him in. Your reunions are like this more often than not now, after almost a decade together. In the beginning you would be fucking against a wall within minutes of the door closing, so desperate to feel each other’s touch again after a business trip or other time away that you had ruined a fair few pieces of clothing in moments of enthusiasm.

Now you linger together and let yourselves melt into each other, usually ending up going to bed early with a bottle of wine. When Santi had become a part of your romantic lives, you had become oddly more domestic, but you all quietly agreed that that was due to age and not a loss of passion. In fact, the only odd thing about it was that it had taken so long. For as close as Frankie and Santi had always been, it had taken the three of you going camping for a long weekend for something to finally happen.

Soft became sensual becomes hungry, and proof of that passion shows itself in you shoving Frankie’s hips against the kitchen counter so you can drop to your knees in front of him in synchrony with his boxers hitting the tiled floor.

“Goddamn.” Frankie’s long, thick fingers flex insistently against the base of your skull, not scratching or pulling, but encouraging as he drinks in the sight of you in the glowing shadow of the flickering living room television.

You have only gotten more gorgeous as you’ve gotten older, growing from an adorable little imp to an elegant and confident woman who owns her curves instead of hiding them. He’s always loved your body in every form, but he loves even more the way you’ve come to love yourself. With that confidence in yourself had come even more confidence as a lover – and he is more than okay with that. He simply wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t show you the vocal appreciation he has for your skills with your tongue. “Fuck, baby girl,” he moans, humming so deeply that he practically purrs.

“You know he’s just going to keep taking more out of town jobs if this is how he gets greeted at home.” Santi’s sleep-thick voice joins the rather obscene sound of your mouth leaving Frankie’s cock and your eyes flick up to Santi with an amused glint.

“Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t give him the same hello?” You tease. These men always make you smile. And moan. They always make you moan.

“Of course not.” Santi’s hand goes to his chest in mock affront before he leans down to nip at your bottom lip. “I gave him a good fuck in the shower. Obviously.”

“And I’m the one who’s spoiling him?” On your knees with Frankie’s length in one hand, you reach for the waistband of Santi’s joggers with the other and feel your smile go lopsided as your eyes grow darker. “I’ll spoil both of you, then.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you up.” Frankie apologizes by pulling Santi in close, untangling one of his hands from your hair only to catch it up in the other man’s equally thick locks as they come together in a kiss. You’ll lavish them with attention here and then they will bring you to bed where they have space to work over every inch of you – the three of you falling asleep in a sweaty pile of satisfied partners.

When Santi had joined your family, you and Frankie had become a little more domestic. You had found the piece of your marriage that you hadn’t known was missing in a clever, loving third partner, and now you can’t imagine your lives without him.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

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theanothersherlockian · 9 months

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ok maybe i’m seeing too much into the picture and maybe someone has already pointed it out BUT

i can’t help but notice that everyone has a drink in front of them except Frankie.

Will has the blue beers (2) , Benny the red one in front of him and the other red one (2), Santi has the blue one (3) and Tom drinks the red beers in front of him.

What about Frankie you might ask, well on the scene where they all leave Frankie is driving. Frankie was the designated driver of the night, he couldn’t have a drink. His space on the table is empty because he’s responsible to get them safe.

idk love the detail jeje.

#frankie my beloved #my triple frontier boys #frankie morales #pedro pascal #francisco morales #triple frontier #santiago garcia #will miller #benny miller #benjamin miller #oscar isaac #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fanfic

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absurdthirst · 3 months

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Breaking & Entering {Frankie Morales x F!Reader x Santiago Garcia}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.3k

Warning: Home invasion, restraints, guns, threats, non consensual sexual activities, vaginal sex, double penetration, anal stimulation, fingering, cum play, derogatory language, role play, aftercare.

Comments: Two men break into your house with more than robbing you on their minds.

🚨🚨DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - this story contains dark theme of role-play and non-consensual sex🚨🚨

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

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

You’ve never been a deep sleeper, always worried and there’s so much to worry about. With your friends overseas fighting for their country and their lives, you wonder if you’ll ever see them again. The usual things worry you too. Money, your job, settling down with a guy, having kids. Would you be a good wife? A good mom? There’s so much to worry about. So when you hear the bump, you’re stirred from your light sleep. The creaking of the wooden floor makes you frown and you open your eyes when you hear what sounds like movement downstairs.

You’re not sure if it’s your imagination and you sit up, trying to figure out if it’s the darkness making you hear things or if someone is in your house. You get your answer a few moments later when the door to your bedroom opens and two masked men enter, guns in hand. “Don’t make a fucking noise.” One of them demands, aiming his weapon at you while the other starts to rifle through your drawers.

You can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips until the one closest to you grabs you, shoving his gloved fingers over your mouth, “I told you to shut the fuck up.” He growls and you shake, starting to panic.

“Nothing here.” The other one says before he holds up a pair of crotchless panties, “unless you wanna take these home?” He asks his partner who chuckles, looking down at you.

“Are you a dirty girl?” He asks, the gun still pushed against your temple.

Your mind suddenly goes blank, unable to form a coherent thought other than the terror of having two men in your house in the middle of the night. Your mouth opens and nothing but a squeak comes out, making the taller one of the men chuckle behind his mask. “Ohhhh she’s so scared she can’t even speak.” He coos mockingly. His gun nudges deeper into your temple and he steps forward, closer to you. “Why don’t we make her scream?”

“How are you thinking of doing that, hermano?” The other one asks, shutting your drawer but he’s still holding the panties. “Or we could keep her quiet? Tie her up? No one would ever know.” He suggests and the other hums in consideration.

“She’s a pretty one. We haven’t seen a pretty one for a while. Maybe we could see how good she is at sucking a cock? Would you suck a cock to save your life, pretty girl?” He coos, sliding the gun down your head until he’s caressing your jaw with the muzzle.

You shudder and a small whimper escapes. You don’t know what you would do, but you don’t want to die. The gun in his hand feels cold and deadly against your skin and you don’t want that to be the last thing you feel. He hums and lifts it up over your chin and presses the barrel up to your lips. Shaking, you let him press it harder, opening your lips and your tongue touches the barrel.

"Oh she's eager to save her life." He chuckles, pushing the gun deeper into your mouth. "You don't wanna die, do you, hermosa?" He coos and you make a noise around the gun, shaking with the possibility of what they could do to you. "Nooo. She doesn't" The other one coos and your eyes are wide as you look at them, wondering what they want. Are they here to rob you? Or worse? "No need to be frightened, little one. We are just gonna have some fun." He promises, caressing your cheek.

Fun. A shiver races up your spine at the word and you must struggle slightly, because the arm around your body tightens to the point of near pain. “Don’t fucking move.” He hisses angrily, growling it into your ear and pulls the gun out of your mouth. “Kiss my hermano.” He orders, moving you forward towards the other man. “Say you’re sorry for insulting him.”

The ski masks conceal their identities but their mouths are free due to the cut out hole so you are shoved towards the man and you know you have to kiss him, otherwise you could die. He leans in to meet you halfway, his lips forcing yours to move, his hands finding your waist to pull you up against him while his partner grabs your hands, keeping your wrists together until you feel something pinch the skin as he tightens the zip ties. "Shhh. Don't worry, baby. You are safe...as long as you do everything we tell you." He promises and you gasp, allowing the tongue of the one you're kissing to push into your mouth.

His tongue slides into your mouth and all you can think of is that it is some kind of dream. You are dreaming. Still asleep in your bed, safe and sound. You'll wake up and shake your head, wondering what had caused you to think of this. His kiss is skilled and despite the terror, you feel yourself starting to respond to him. Your body heating up and your tongue flickering out shyly to mix with his.

The man watching you smirks, chuckling at the way you respond to the kiss. “That’s it, pretty girl. Just relax. You do what we say and you get out of this alive, okay? You’ll enjoy it too.” He promises, sliding his hand down to squeeze your tit through your tank top.

You whimper, trying to shift away but you can't, not when the other man shifts closer. Boxing you in between the two men and surrounding you. You can feel the strength in their bodies and you know that resisting will only result in you S’s hurt.

His hand squeezes your breast and pinches your nipple, making you whimper into the other man’s mouth. His tongue sliding against yours and they can feel how tense you are, slowly trying to relax you. They didn’t find what they wanted in your house but they did find you. “Wanna see how wet you are baby.” He murmurs, sliding his hand down into your sleep shorts to cup your cunt.

It’s shameful, the small sound that pours into the man’s mouth when a thick finger slides through your folds. Making you freeze for want of grinding into his touch and begging for more. You aren’t supposed to encourage them. You try to pull away from the kiss, but he’s holding the back of your neck, not letting you go.

Your moan vibrates between them and urges them to continue. The shorter one chuckles and pulls at your tank top, tugging it down until your breast is exposed and he ducks down to take your nipple into his mouth. The other one’s fingers push inside of you, curling before sliding back out to rub your clit.

Your cunt quivers, making you gasp so the two men touch you so brazenly. Making you moan at yourself mockingly, closing your eyes in shame at how good it feels.

“She’s a dirty one, hermano.” The shorter one chuckles against your breast while the other kisses down your throat, his fingers pushing back inside of you. They can feel you relax under their touch and their cocks are hardening at the thought of more. “You’re gonna suck my cock, aren’t you baby? Be a good little whore for us so we spare your life.” He hums, slapping your tit when he pulls back then he reaches into his pocket for his knife. Your eyes widen and you start to move but the other holds you tight to keep you still. “Don’t move.” The shorter one holding the knife warns and he grabs your tank top, cutting it through the middle to expose your tits to their hungry eyes.

Both men groan at the sight and the taller one behind you reaches up and cups your breasts. “We should fuck these.” He huffs, pinching both of your nipples. “Maybe we take our time. Keep her for a few days. It’s been a long time since we’ve indulged.”

You whimper, in both fear and lust which terrifies you even more. You shouldn't be turned on by this. Hands are everywhere, pinching and pulling, pumping and curling inside of you until you can't keep track of who is who. "I think she wants us to fuck her. You are a cock hungry little whore, ain't you?" The shorter one asks and you can't stop the strangled whine that escapes your throat. Both men chuckle and you pant as you are pushed closer to your orgasm. "That's it. She's gonna cum." The taller one coos, his fingers pushing deep and the other presses his finger to your clit, rubbing harsh circles.

Your eyes roll back and your head falls against his shoulder, crying out when you feel your body start to pulse. You shouldn’t cum, but you can’t help yourself. Pushed to the brink by these men and their skilled fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You whine when he doesn’t stop stimulating you.

They don't stop, pushing you past the first orgasm and onto another, wanting you to be overstimulated and writhing, trapped between them. "That's it, such a good girl. Taking what we give you. Gonna make you feel good." The taller one promises, biting down on your ear lobe while the other slides his hand down to smack your ass, his fingers sliding between your cheeks to press against your puckered hole, "you want us both inside of you?" He murmurs into your ear. "Oh she does." The taller one chuckles when you clench around his fingers.

"I don't want your ass. I wanna be inside that tight little cunt." The short one says and his hand finds his friend's at your pussy. "Gonna stretch you out." He promises, pushing his finger in alongside two of his companion's.

They are filthy and yet you aren’t struggling. Gasping when you feel the thickness of his fingers inside you alongside the taller ones fingers. They are going to fuck you. You should be screaming and begging them to stop but another wave of arousal pours out of you and makes it even wetter as he scissors his fingers to work you open. “Why me?” You manage after a moment, wondering if they had been watching you or if they would have done this to any woman they found.

They both chuckle, deep and dark. "We have been watching you. We wanted to wait, make sure you were the one we wanted. You are everything we have been looking for, baby." The shorter one murmurs, kissing your neck as he pushes another finger inside of you to stretch you out even more. "You are so pretty. We wanted to see you scream out for us. You have something we want. Your cunt and...the money." The tall one reveals.

“Money, what money?” You gasp, eyes closing tight and you try to restrain another moan.

“You know what money.” The shorter one huffs, chuckling quietly and curling his fingers up again just to pull another sound out of you.

“You know what fucking money.” The taller one grabs the gun from his side to press it against your temple again, “all that money your daddy left you. It’s hidden all over the house. At least that’s what we heard.” He says, his fingers still moving inside of you.

You whine, shaking your head even as your body bucks against his touch. “That- it’s a rumor.” You promise them. “There’s no money.”

"Don't fucking lie to us." The shorter one growls. grabbing your hair but the taller one reminds him, "after, hermano. After." The gun is lowered and your hair released before the men continue fingering you.

There’s no way that you are going to get out of this unscathed. You feel the hardness of the taller man’s cock behind you, grinding into your ass and throbbing insistently. “Don’t hurt me. I’ll do whatever you want.” You pant out breathlessly. “Just don’t hurt me.”

The men withdraw their fingers, unable to wait any longer. "You wanna fuck her first then me?" The shorter one asks and the tall one nods, reaching down to unbuckle his pants, working on pulling his hard cock out. "What - what are you gonna do?" You ask, knowing exactly what they are doing but you want to hear it. "We are gonna fuck you baby. Both of us. At the same time." The short one answers, grabbing his knife so he can cut those flimsy sleep shorts off of you. Your arms are grabbed, still tied together, and you are pushed to straddle the tall one. "That's it, don't struggle. Good girl." He coos, reaching down to position his cock at your entrance. He holds your zip tied wrists to keep you still as he starts to push deeper inside of you.

Your cry is both fear and pleasure. Feeling him fill you up, you know another cock inside you is going to be a stretch and they are going to push you beyond anything that you have ever experienced before. You can’t balance yourself and would collapse forward if it weren’t for the man you are impaled on holding your shoulders as he grinds up into you.

Watching you take the other man’s cock, the shorter man reaches over to look into your drawer. “I knew she was a dirty little whore.” He chuckles as he pulls out the bottle of lube and he opens it, pouring some onto his hand while he works his pants open with the other. “It’s gonna feel good baby…we promise.”

You can’t even manage a comment as he starts to rub the lube around your already stretched out hole. Whining when you feel him shuffle closer and then the blunt head of his cock swipes through the lube. “Oh fuck.”

The man beneath you stills so his companion can start to push into you, slow and steady to not hurt you despite them stretching your tight cunt to the limit, their cocks pressing against each other as they push deeper inside of you.

The men groan, both of them holding onto you like an anchor. Fingers digging into your hips and ass. “Fuck you’re tight.” The taller one groans, leaning in and biting down on your shoulder.

You can’t speak, overwhelmed at the stretch and slight tinge of pain as the two men fill your cunt with their cocks. “Move.” You manage to gasp and the taller man chuckles, starting to move inside of you. It doesn’t take them long to establish a rhythm, a cock constantly inside of you as they rock their hips.

They both rock into you, a steady pace that steals your breath with the stretch of both of their cock drilling up into your cunt. “Fuck, this is perfect.” The shorter one groans, kissing along your neck and flexing his hips just a little sharper. “She likes this. Our little whore. We need to keep her just like this.”

You whine at their filthy words and their hands are everywhere while yours are still tied together. “We could do anything to her right now and she’d love it. Maybe I can fuck her ass next. You want me to open you up for me?” The one behind you coos, his hand sliding down to smack your ass until he’s leaning back so he can press his finger against your puckered hole.

You are so eager to please them it’s almost pathetic. Your own hips trying to move and get even more friction than they are providing. “Look at her. So fucking eager to please us she would let do any goddamn thing we wanted. We could fuck every hole she has and thank us for it, wouldn’t you, baby?”

“She would. She’s desperate for us.” The other one coos, reaching between your bodies to rub your clit. The strangled groan you let out makes them chuckle and they continue their punishing pace. “Gonna cum for us? Soak us in that tight little pussy?” The shorter one groans when you arch your back, changing the angle. “That’s it. Good girl. Fuck - shit. Yes that’s it baby, cum.”

They keep rocking into you, pushing you higher and the shorter one palms your tits. Massaging them and then pinching them sharply enough to make you gasp.

You’re pressed between them, their cocks moving a little faster inside of you and you are gasping for breath as their cocks push deep inside of you. “Fuck. She’s so tight.” The one beneath you groans and rubs your clit a little faster.

It’s so intense, all you can do is just let them use you. Your thighs tremble and your fingers hook around a belt buckle and you hang on as they fuck you like there is no tomorrow. “I-I’m- I’m gonna cum!” You squeal, starting to clamp down around their lengths.

“Fuck yes. Yes. That’s it. Shit.” One hisses while the other groans his appreciation, biting down on your shoulder as you shake, your cry echoing off of the walls of your bedroom. “That’s such a good girl, good little slut. Gonna - gonna fill you up with cum, let you drip.”

Your eyes roll and your cunt clenches at the filthy words. Your body responds like a bitch in heat and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. “Please.” You beg, feeling their thrusts get even harder. Enjoying the pinch of pain as they slam into you now that your cunt is used to being stretched full.

The taller one cums first, pushing up inside of you with a hiss and his hands grip your hips as his cock twitches. Rope after rope of his seed coating your walls and the cock of his partner who groans and keeps his frantic pace, seeking his own orgasm. It only takes a few thrusts before he’s spilling inside of you too, moaning out loud against the back of your neck.

Both of them pant, the taller one chuckling slightly as he starts to soften inside you. The rough fabric of his pants scratches the inside of your thighs and the burn from it is noticeable now that the high is gone. “Good little slut.” He coos softly, smirking beneath the mask. “So good we might let you live.”

The shorter one pulls out of you first and shuffles back to grab his flashlight, turning it on after the taller one pulls out of you so he can watch the combined cum drip from your abused cunt. "Mierda." He murmurs, watching it with fascination and you slump over, barely able to stay upright as the men shift away from you.

The taller one shifts you onto your stomach, pulling your knees up under you so that your ass and cunt is on display for them. Admiring how swollen and cum filled your cunt is. “Too bad we don’t have time to fuck her ass.” He groans, reaching out and scooping up some of their combined cum to rub around your puckered hole. Enjoying the way the muscle spasms at the sensation and you whimper. “Now, be a good girl and tell us what we want to know.”

“I don’t know what you want to know.” You pant when his finger presses against the muscle, slipping in just slightly. “You know. We know you know. Don’t make us hurt you, sweetheart. You know where the money is.” The taller one coos and the other one smacks your ass with his palm.

You cry out, clenching around the pushed in finger and scrub your head against the sheets. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You insist. “There’s no money. None.”

The taller one tuts, “don’t lie. It’s not very sexy, hermosa.” He clicks his tongue and pushes his finger inside of you while the shorter one pushes two thick digits into your abused cunt, cum pushing out around his digits.

“Oh fuck.” Your body jerks in pleasure and the slightest pinch of pain but you enjoy it. You moan into the sheets, feeling stretched out in a different kind of way. “I don’t.” You pant, denying it even though you know that they won’t believe you.

The tall one tuts, leaning down to spit on his finger when it pulls out of your ass and he adds another finger to stretch you out. “You do know. We know you do.” The other one coos, acting like he’s coaxing you when his fingers are pushing deeper and curling inside of you.

It’s too much and yet you are pushing your hips back for more. “I- I need-“ you choke out before a wordless sob of need rips out of your throat. Their other hands seem to have multiplied, touching you everywhere and it feels like you can’t even breathe.

Your choked sob makes them chuckle and they rub your clit and squeeze your tit while their hands continue their movements. “That’s it. That’s it baby girl. Cum for us. Cum. You can do it.” The short one coos and leans down to bite your shoulder.

All you can do is obey them as they coax your body towards their goal. Every finger curl of their hands making your body shake and tremble. "I- Fuck! Frankie! Santi!" You scream when stars burst behind your eyes and your cunt clenches down and soaks them.

They work you through it but Frankie groans, “baby, you ruined it.” He whines slightly and Santi chuckles, kissing your shoulder.

“She didn’t ruin it. We did. Made her cum too hard ,she forgot to role play.” He smirks against your skin and the men soon withdraw their digits from inside of you. “Felt too good, huh, hermosa?” Frankie snorts, leaning in to kiss your neck.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp out, trying to catch your breath as they stroke your ass and sides, both of them on either side of you. “I- it was too good.” You admit, giggling slightly. “But I want to do it again.”

“Yeah? You wanna maybe do something a little more…aggressive next time?” Santi asks, knowing you wanted to tonight. It was your idea. They are happy to indulge you, wanting you to be satisfied in their duty as your lovers.

“We would do anything you wanted us too, baby.” Frankie promises, kissing your shoulder gently. “Tonight we just needed to see how you would react. You didn’t even use your safe word, I knew you wouldn’t.”

“So damn good for us.” Santo says as he removes his mask and Frankie follows suit, grabbing the flashlight to turn it off before he reaches over to turn on the lamp, letting you see them both for the first time. Santi grabs his knife to cut the zip ties, massaging your wrists as he helps you turn over. “I’ll get you cleaned up.” Frankie murmurs, kissing your forehead before he shuffles off of the bed.

Santiago presses closer, kissing your cheeks and petting your hair. “You were so good for us baby. Do you feel good? Anything you didn’t like? Wanted more of?”

Frankie comes back and carefully cleans you up, tossing the rag aside after he tucks himself away in his pants and he lays down beside you, pressing you between him and Santi. You turn to kiss Santi, “it was so good. Everything I wanted. I wanted the surprise and you gave that to me. I loved it, baby.” You promise and peck his lips while Frankie caresses your side.

“You want more?” He asks, wanting to know himself.

“I do.” You snuggle down between the two Delta force soldiers and while your relationship is not conventional, it works for you. They are gone a lot and often stressed from their work, so the easy, shared relationship with you works. “Maybe something a little more primitive?” You ask. “I know you two don’t look at camping like a vacation but something out in the woods?”

Frankie caresses your spine, “yeah? You want us to chase you down?” He coos, his blunt nails scraping your skin. “You want us to chase you down and fuck you in the woods? Use you for our pleasure?”

You grin as you turn your head and look at Frankie. “Yes I do.” You promise him. “Especially if you fuck me like you did today.”

“We can arrange that. Leave it with us. Now, get some rest. You need to sleep after that. Me and Frank are gonna clean up and then we are gonna fall asleep with you.” Santi murmurs, kissing your shoulder as Frankie works the covers from beneath you so he can cover you up.

They are so good to you. Despite saying they were shit with relationships and couldn’t give a girl what she needed since they were always gone, you found both of them to be incredibly thoughtful and sweet. You wouldn’t have much communication while they are deployed but they would let you know when they could and that’s good enough for you.

Frankie and Santi clean up, stripping down to their underwear and sliding into bed beside you after getting you a bottle of water. “Come on baby, let’s get some sleep. Frankie said he’d take us to brunch tomorrow.” Santi promises with a chuckle.

“I’m not dealing with you on endless mimosas, Pope.” Frankie snorts, curling around you.

“You know you love it when I get horny from Prosecco.” Santi smirks against your forehead and you chuckle, “brunch sounds good.” You murmur, pressed between the two men, satisfied and safe. You trust them with your life and you know they will always protect you, satisfy you, and make you happy. Even if you ask them to fake breaking into your house.

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #catfish x reader x pope #catfish x f!reader x pope #catfish x you x pope #santiago garcia x reader

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romanarose · 4 months

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Favorites of 2023

Hi! I've seen a lot people doing these so I thought I would too!

These are all sorts of Oscar Issac/Pedro Pascal fics that delighted me this year <3

I tried to keep it to one rec per author just because I have soooooo many friends with wonderful fics and blogs who deserve recognition

If yours didn't make it, NO FEAR you are still wonderful to me <3

Everything is labeled properly in the fic so be warned, many of this contains dark!

3 series that I couldn't stop thinking about

Hungry Hearts By @atinylittlepain: The Last of Us, A Bruce Springsteen themed Joel series? SHEEEEEEEESH

Yearling by @justagalwhowrites : The Last of Us, Jackson!Joel and a victim of prolonged sexual assault. If you know me, you know I love a traumatized reader healing with the power of love and friendship

The Fractured Moon by @melodygatesauthor : Moon Knight, NON CON, dark moon boys is always a slay but the way Marc is so tortured and Steven is so needy?!?!?!?! Mels characterization of Steven may or may not have influenced my Ben in ROF

Three fics that rewired my brain

On the Waterfront by @beefrobeefcal : Triple Frontier, Now, I've always loved a tubby man with a belly (who else had a crush on Samwise Gamgee in LOTR?) BUT DARK FRANKIE?!?!?!?! Turned it into a full obsession.

I can be your pretty girl by @walkintotheriveranddisappear : The Last of Us, Wow, I devoured every single chapter!!! I thinka bout it so much, ESPECIALLY that scene with Tommy... I've never looked at a pool ball the same way.

Dancing With Wolves by @hon3yboy : Moon Knight, Now, I'm not the biggest monster fucker out there, but this?!?!?!?! WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR??? Unwell about it.

3 times men jerking off was hot

Caught by @toxicanonymity : The Last of Us, I've mentioned in the authors note for Keep Cry'n that this fic inspired it, it's one I go back to allllll the time

Take Care of me Tonight by @missdictatorme : Moon Knight, Jake is horny and lonely and jerks of..... reader helps, and makes our boy feel special <3

Pent Up by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin : Narcos, Javi is... well... pent up, needs to let loose! and boy does he.

4 times it got gay bc something is wrong with me and I couldn't decide

Behind Enemy Lines by @astroboots : Triple Frontier, Y'all know how much I love this series, seeing as I wrote a fic for it XD but this chapter is something i always hold close <3

Captain of the team by @writefightandflightclub : Triple Frontier, MAAAAAANNNNN this fic is why I will never be the same as a person.

Trine by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction : Sucker Punch. Anyone who reader blue jones should be reading this. Incredible.

What if he never had to go? by @velocibeewords : Triple Frontier, The infamous series I read on my friend bachelorette weekend! So good I couldn't put it down, going so far as to read it at a casino XD Benny and Santi, my babies

3 times underused characters shined

Oxford Comma by @whatthefishh : The Two Faces of January, Tell me, how does someone take a character with almost no following and make a series so damn beloved by many??? Only Mona could.

My Ex's Tapes by @runa-falls : Lighteningface, Basil Stilt AND Jake Lockley??!?! God bless this mess hnnggggg

I'm Getting What's Mine by @winniethewife : The Card Counter, dub con, I think we as a society need more William Tell, and sensory deprivation to break down reader? Amazing.

3 times they talked dirty to me *trumpet noises*

Not a Survivalist Girl by @tightjeansjavi and @chaotic-mystery : The Last of Us, when they finally fuck??? HELLO?!?!! unreal

Only Daddy That'll Walk the Line by @millerscoffee : The Last of Us, Joel is so degrading and condescending in this I think about it so much it's fucking unreal.

Making Trouble by @juneknight : Moon Knight, The fic that completly fried the brains of the moon knight fandom. "You cried like I was killing you—except you were begging me not to stop" yeah. Yeah...

3 times there were three or more

The story of us by @pimosworld : Triple Frontier, This series has a special place in heart bc Priscilla said I influenced a lo of it with the characterizations and thats such a big honor. Priscilla Is so talented and I adore how she writes these guys... and the FishBen wins my heart

Eyes on Me by @cavillscurls : The Last of Us, Soft Joel? Tommy watches? AFTERCARE?!?!?! Y'all know how much I love aftercare.... I should read this again shouldn't I?

Run the Table by @katiexpunk : The Last of Us, MORE TOMMY JOEL THREESOME! MORE!!!! This one came out recently so its still fresh in my mind

3 Times I should NOT have been into that

No Soul to Sell @atticrissfinch : The Last of Us, NON CON V DARK, this is the fic that made me like... yeah I'm into piss. No doubt. It was so dark and hot ;-;

Plushies Series by @pedge-page The Last of Us, Haru knows how much I love this, and it was a toss up between this and their piss kink but seeing as I got that above.... plushes needs more love bc its so soft and domestic and horny <3

Plaything by @missannwinchester : The Last of Us, wow, I adored this fic… then I lost it!!!! Thank you to everyone who helped find it bc it’s one of my favs. I wanna be Joel’s lil doll he dresses up 🥺

3 times I said “this is underrated af”

No One But Me by @koshkamartell : The Last of Us, Are y'all tired of me talking about this fic yet? Koshka told me my series The Wrong Way inspired this so it's special to my heart <3

Safe by @criticallyacclaimedstranger and @apascalrascal : Triple Frontier, Cal has so many good Frankie one shots it was hard to pick, but this one is sooooo soft. We love Frankie being willing to listen and learn.

Through the Scope by @ssuperficialspacecadett : Triple Frontier, Y'all know I love a traumatized reader learning to heal, but his fic is fantastic bc it's a traumatized reader who has done a lot of the work already and is strong and brave as it is <3 Also, all 4 of the guys are her friends now which is the best way to have a fic

Thank you all soooooo much for all these amazing fics and for a great 2023! Well. Not so great, I had terrible time lol but y'all were my solace <3

If you feel so inclined, check out my best of year wrapped for both RomanaRose and Romana-after-dark

I'm not gonna say 2024 is my year, I leanred my lesson XD I am approaching 2024 with RESPECT. It will be the year it is.

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qveerthe0ry · 2 months

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If You're Crazy Too

Summary: It isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten. Word Count: 8,600 Pairing: Santi x m!amab!reader x Frankie Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, mutual masturbation, watching porn together, threesome, handjobs, ass eating, oral sex (m receiving), anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), dirty talk, dom/sub undertones, polyamory Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar thank you both so much, you're angels for helping me through this <3 A/N: Special thanks to the author of this post for making an excellent resource for writing Spanish in fics, it came SO in handy. Also thanks to @triplefrontier-anniversary for inspiring me to finish getting this brainworm all written down before the deadline!

Santi is an incredible fuck. Also, he’s a fairly sweet guy.

You met him at your favorite club. He’d been dancing with men and women all night long, graceful and respectful, and you itched to get your turn with him.

When you finally got the chance, his body was solid and sweaty and sure against your own.

You could barely hear him over the music when he told you, lips brushing over your ear, that he was hoping you’d seek him out.

He kissed you, after a few songs, and you met it with an eagerness you didn’t even know you had in you. It wasn’t long before he asked you to come back to his place, and he made you fall apart underneath him.

The morning after wouldn’t have been awkward, either, if his roommate hadn’t been cooking breakfast for the both of you.

Santi introduced him as “Frankie, or Catfish, or Fish.” He was gorgeous, too, in a softer way than Santi. His brown eyes were wider and less menacing than Santi’s, and his curls peeked out under a well-worn trucker’s cap.

He said it was nice to meet you, and asked how you liked your eggs, and if you were way too loud the night before with Santi, he didn’t mention it. You did, however, catch him sneaking glances at Santi while the three of you ate, and wondered what they meant.

It didn’t matter much at the time when you thought you’d never see Santi again. But he walked you to your Uber after breakfast, and asked if you maybe wanted to do this again, no pressure, no strings attached. And you did. So you exchanged numbers and he kissed you on the cheek before sending you off.

You’ve met up with him a few times now. Each time Frankie makes himself scarce. You either hear the TV in his room, or you pass him on your way in, telling you he’s got errands to run. What errands he’s running at 10pm, you’re not sure you want to know, but you don’t think much of it.

Until now. You knock on the front door of their apartment and hear voices, too muffled to make anything out clearly.

Santi answers before too long with a smile, and you follow, intent to trail him to his bedroom like you usually do.

This time, though, Frankie’s sat on the couch in the living room, a beer in his hand, and he looks like someone just kicked his puppy.

“Am I, uh, interrupting something? We can rain check.”

Frankie looks to you, and then to Santi, and you feel like you have your answer before either of them speak.

“No, no, you haven’t interrupted anything,” Santi starts, “it’s just our favorite OnlyFans guy released a new video a few days ago and we haven’t had the chance to watch it yet. Fish is a little eager.”

“Fuck you, I’m not. Just thought we were watching it today is all. No big deal.”

It’s a lot of information to process, that these two not only share a favorite OnlyFans creator, but watch his videos together. And— not to assume, but you’re sure they probably do other things together too.

“Oh… I mean, I don’t want to ruin your plans.”

“It’s fine—“

Frankie’s reassurance is cut off by Santi though, something that seems like a common occurrence by the way he settles back into his seat and closes his lips when Santi begins to speak.

“You wanna watch with us? First orgasm of the night, but I promise I’ll make it up to you after.”

And fuck it, you think. It isn’t quite what you imagined when you left your place, but it doesn’t sound like a terrible way to spend your Friday night.

“I’m down,” you shrug, and Santi’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and winks at you.

He turns the lights off while Frankie casts the video to the TV. You settle in the armchair, as Fish looks a little uncomfortable, but he assures you he isn’t when you check in with him.

Santi takes the opposite side of the couch as Frankie, and then he’s ordering him to start the video.

The bar on the bottom reads 45:06. Longer than you expected. The video is well-edited with soft royalty-free music over a logo that fades when the man appears on screen.

You chance a small glance at the couch. You aren’t really sure what the etiquette is here, but neither of them seem to be making any moves yet, hands resting on their own thighs. You mirror them, subtly shifting to do so, and avert your eyes to the television once more.

The man on the screen is a wicked dirty talker. He spends a good five minutes telling the viewer what he wants done to him. He’s also quite submissive by the sounds of it, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. Santi loves the way you submit to him, tells you so every time you hook up.

You find yourself wondering what Frankie likes in the bedroom, if he’s also just as dominant as Santi, if he’s more sweet or hardened, if he would be vocal like Santi or more reserved like he seems to be in his daily life.

Before you realize it, the man on the screen is stripping down into a skimpy, lacy set of underthings. His cock is on the smaller side but rock hard and leaking, tenting his little lacy briefs in a deliciously obscene display. Your cock stirs at the sight, and you peek over at the couch again.

Frankie’s palming the bulge in his sweatpants, eyes glued to the screen so diligently that you think it’s calculated. Santi, in contrast, has his hand under the waistband of his gym shorts already.

But you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker from the screen, and not to you, but to Frankie, flitting up and down quickly from his face to his lap.

You try not to sigh too loudly as you cradle your own package, half-hard in your own skimpy briefs you wore just for Santi. You watch as the man on the screen turns his back to the camera and bends over, allows the camera to get a full view of the outline of the plug nestled between his juicy ass cheeks.

The air in the room feels humid, almost too hot as the video goes on. You definitely get why this guy is their favorite OnlyFans creator. He’s gorgeous, first of all, all lithe muscle, soft in the perfect places. And he’s an incredible performer. He talks to the camera like he’s talking to you, desperate and breathy. It doesn’t take long for your prick to fully fill out in your briefs.

The camera angle changes on screen. It cuts to him on all fours on the bed, his hole gaping from removing the plug, his pretty pink cock leaking between his legs. A rough grunt from your left has your eyes wandering to the couch again.

Santi’s cock is out, and the sight alone makes your mouth water. Thick and glistening in his big hand, his balls sat atop the waistband of his shorts. Your own throbs under the pressure of your palm, and you let yourself sneak a look at Frankie, too.

He’s finally got his hand down his pants, and you almost feel bad for wondering what his cock is like, too. If it would mirror the differences between he and Santi’s bodies, longer but thinner. You wonder if he’s uncut like Santi is, and you wonder what he’d taste like.

A loud whimper makes you peel your eyes away from the couch and look back at the TV. The guy is three fingers deep in himself, fucking them in along with the messy amount of lube he’s used. It’s fucking hot, and you throw all caution to the wind to unzip your jeans and pull your cock free from its confines.

“He’s fucking hot right?”

You turn your head to Santi at the sound of his voice. Your heart picks up at the sight of him, one hand stroking his balls while the other works slowly up and down his shaft.

You squeeze your own in response.

“Yeah, not exactly my type but he’s still doing it for me.”

Santi chuckles, nods his head back to the screen. But before you turn back yourself, you see Fish glance at Santi out of the corner of his eye. He starts to shuffle his waistband down his hips, but you turn away before you see anything you think you shouldn’t.

The guy on the screen is limber. On his back now, knees pressed to his chest, he’s whining and whimpering while he fucks himself with a big, realistic dildo.

It’s massive, much bigger than any real cock you’ve taken, but you guess that’s some of the appeal. You try to quietly spit in your hand, then spread it up and down as you lazily stroke yourself off to the video.

It’s loud. The obscene squelching and consequential moans fill the living room, but not enough that you can’t hear the strokes from both Santi and Frankie on the couch next to you. Occasionally you hear a muffled curse, or a stilted gasp, and you can’t be sure which man they’re coming from but you want to hear more.

You glance over again. Your eyes land on Santi first, of course, who’s almost shamelessly staring at Frankie’s crotch, the way he lifts his hips to fuck into his fist every few thrusts.

Frankie’s cock is longer, and thinner, and you’re delighted to find that he isn’t circumcised either, the fat head of his cock disappearing and reappearing from under his foreskin.

He turns his head, and you stop stroking your cock all together, afraid of Fish’s reaction to you sneaking a peek. Only, when you meet his eyes to shoot him an apologetic look, he’s not looking at you.

He’s looking at Santi, staring, eyes roaming up and down his body, lingering where he fists his prick, then back up again. You’re stunned still at how intimate it feels, the heat in Frankie’s gaze as he licks his plush lips.

You turn your eyes back to the video with a pounding heartbeat. Your erection begins to wane as you stare through the TV. You can’t get it out of your mind, the way they look at each other. You’re surprised they haven’t caught each other looking yet. The heat from both of their gazes looked tangible, hungry and yearning. It’s as plain as day to you, on the outside looking in.

“Ah fuck—”

The curse is not from Santi. Your eyes trail over just in time to see Frankie pull his shirt up and spill across his stomach. His eyes are closed, head thrown back against the wall behind the couch, and you see Santi’s fist speed up, a blur of tan skin.

You watch him watch Frankie, unabashed now as Fish’s eyes are shut in bliss, and Santi comes too with a deep hum, closing his own eyes just in time for Frankie to open his and look at the both of you.

He quickly averts his gaze when he sees you staring, reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table in front of him. In a move that looks so familiar, he pulls out two for himself, and then two for Santi, handing them over with practiced ease.

Santi pants out a gruff gracias and uses one to clean up with, then holds out his hand to offer you the other.

“Oh— no thanks, I’m good. Didn’t quite get there.”

Santi hums, uses the extra tissue to finish wiping himself up.

“What’s wrong, hermoso? Have I ruined you for all other men?”

His grin is cocky when he asks, tucking himself back into his shorts.

“Yeah Santi, that’s it.”

You roll your eyes and look over to Fish as if to say this fuckin’ guy, but he’s busy boring a hole into the paused TV screen like his life depends on it.

Your dick is hanging fairly limp out of your underwear, so you stow it away, pull your jeans back up.

“Don’t bother,” Santi tells you, nodding his head toward his bedroom, “let me make it up to you now.”

So with your fly undone, you stand on weary legs and follow Santi to his room. When you make it, you turn back to Frankie, to say thank you or sorry, you can’t be sure, because he’s already closing his own bedroom door behind him.

Santi makes good on his promise, though. He eats your ass for what feels like hours, until you’re shaking and begging for him to fuck you. And then he does, somehow riding the perfect line between rough and tender, holding your back against his front with one big hand on your chest as you both kneel on the bed. His other hand works your cock so perfectly that you come unglued in a grand way, like you always do with him.

He cleans you up after, gentle. He’s a huge cuddler, so it doesn’t phase you anymore when he spoons you close and presses his mouth along the little love bites he’s left.

“You really aren’t into subs, are you? Not even a little bit?”

You know he’s referencing your lack of interest in the video. You could agree with him, or you could tell him the truth. You’re not sure what to do, and so you sit in silence for some time before you decide to bite the bullet.

“It isn’t that. I mean, I am more into doms but— that wasn’t it.”

You feel him go stiff behind you.

“Shit, was that too weird for you? I didn’t mean to force you into—“

“No! No, Santi, it was fine. I just— you’re into Frankie, right?”

Air escapes his lungs in something akin to a sob.

“What!? Why would you say that?”

He’s not denying it, which is a good step.

“C’mon man, you were watching him more than you were watching the TV.”

“Pendejo, no I wasn’t.”

“Pendejo” you mock him, “don’t gaslight me. I don’t care. This isn’t, we’re no strings, right? I’m just saying, I don’t wanna come between this thing.”

“There’s no thing to come between. Even if you were right, which you’re not, Fish isn’t into me like that.”

You laugh.

“O-kay.”

“Don’t ‘okay�� me. How would you know? You’ve known him for a grand total of an hour and a half.”

“He was looking at you, too. You know that, right? You’re just in denial?”

“I would’ve seen if he was looking at me.”

“Because you were looking at him.”

“Fine! Okay, I was looking at him. He wasn’t looking at me so what’s it even matter?”

“He was, Santi. He was looking at your cock and licking his lips like he was starved. I saw it.”

Santi huffs behind you, and it tickles your neck.

“I’m not lying to you. I’m not in love with you or anything but I care about you a little bit.”

His arm around you tightens for a beat.

“Awww, so sweet, querido.”

“Shut up,” you huff, “you’re changing the subject. He was looking at you, like he’s always looking at you. I’ve watched him moon over you every single breakfast I’ve eaten here. You know how bad that makes me feel, eating the breakfast he made me while your cum drips out of me?”

“Fuck, why’d you say it like that? That’s so hot.”

“Because it’s true. If you guys have feelings for each other you need to figure that out before I die of a guilty conscience.”

You can practically feel Santi’s eyes roll behind you.

“Dramático,” he groans.

“You do have feelings for him. It seems like he does too. Get your poop in a group about it, man.”

“Will you still stay over? I’ll need a morning fuck if this is the way my weekend’s gonna go.”

——

I can’t do it. Frankie’s visiting his kid this weekend

The text comes a few hours after you shared your now routine, dysfunctional family breakfast, where Fish was indeed making googly eyes at Santi, and Santi’s cum was indeed leaking out into your underwear.

Likely story

No really. I don’t want to mess with his vibes, his kid is super important to him. It’s cute.

Oh my god just fuck him already

I’m TRYING okay? Can you help? I need moral support.

And look, it isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten.

So the two of you devise a plan. It’s convoluted as all hell, but also fairly simple. The next time their OnlyFans guy posts a video, Santi invites you over to watch again. Conveniently, just before you arrive, he spills a glass of red wine all over the seat of the armchair, and soaks the cushion trying to get the stain out of the beige fabric.

You show up, ‘none the wiser.’ Still, the vibes are absolutely weird in their two bedroom apartment. Frankie’s fidgeting on the couch, and Santi misses your cheek and plants a kiss to your eyelid. You have to get these boys together.

The plan goes off without a hitch from there. Santi flicks off the lights, and Frankie casts the video to the TV, just like they did last time, just like they’ve probably done dozens of times before. But now, the armchair is out of commission, so you all squeeze together on the couch. Santi’s in the middle, of course, his thick thigh pressing against your own as you all point your attention to the flatscreen.

You’re kind of excited. It’s a weird thing for you to be excited about, but you weren’t lying all those days ago. You do care for Santi. And Fish too, really, if only for the delicious breakfasts he makes, and for making Santi happy.

This time, you don’t wait for any of their cues. You pull your cock out as soon as the OnlyFans guy starts stripping his clothes. Santi grabs your hand, and for a second you think you’ve ruined the plan. But then spits into it, and Frankie groans from Santi’s other side as he watches the display. You moan a little too, partly for show, partly for the way Santi never fails to make your dick rock hard in record time.

You stroke yourself, and it goads the boys into pulling their pants down, too. The guy on the screen is doing things a little differently this time, fingering a see-through fleshlight as he lubes it up. This is hotter to you, anyway. It doesn’t take long at all for pre-cum to gather at your slit and slick your strokes even more.

By the time the guy is fucking into it with timid strokes, whimpering through the speakers, Santi still hasn’t made a move. You elbow him in the side, and he flinches, then elbows you right back.

You turn your head toward him, make like you’re kissing his neck, because Frankie’s eyes are about to pop out of his skull with the way he’s got them trained on Santi.

“Go on. You already have an audience,” you whisper.

Santi shudders, and Frankie looks away. Just in time, too. Santi eyes the way Fish is stroking himself, and then you hold your breath as Santi lifts his hand and wraps it around the base of Frankie’s cock.

“Ohmyfuckinggod.”

Frankie’s head thunks against the wall behind him, and his hips jolt up into the touch. You’re watching without any hesitation now, and Fish’s eyes are closed anyway. Santi squeezes and Frankie whimpers and scrambles to find Santi’s cock without looking.

“Fuck, Fish. Yeah?”

Santi’s voice is dripping with arousal, low and gruff, his cock twitching in Frankie’s grasp.

“Please, please.”

Frankie finally opens his eyes, lets his head loll to the side to look at Santi. But his eyes quickly flutter to you, his expression twisting up in confusion.

“Santi, what—“

“Shhh, hermano, s’okay.”

You lean forward, and for a moment you’re having an out-of-body experience, watching yourself cradle into Santi’s side, not knowing if you’re helping or hurting their cause, but wanting to reassure them both that this is a good thing.

Frankie takes the encouragement for what it is, allowing himself to fuck up into Santi’s fist and look at him with hooded eyes, mouth gaping open.

Like a fish, you think, and chuckle against Santi’s neck.

“What’s happening? Why?”

Frankie looks between the two of you for an answer, and you bite down on Santi’s earlobe to goad him to answer.

“He caught you looking, last time. Caught me looking at you, too. Put two and two together for me. This okay?”

Frankie shudders and closes his eyes, but nods his head.

You watch both of them, their hands on each other’s pricks, their hips meeting the thrust of foreign fists.

“Waited so long,” Frankie whispers.

“Lo sé, me too.”

Their faces inch toward each other, and you nuzzle the curls at the nape of Santi’s neck. To encourage him, or maybe to shield your eyes from the intimate moment, or probably both.

You feel the kiss, the way Santi’s neck cranes and flexes, and you hear the ragged moans from their lungs, and you are rock hard.

But your work here is done. You may need to jerk off in Santi’s bathroom before you leave, lest you tumble down the apartment stairs since there’s hardly any blood flow to anywhere other than your dick.

But as you make to get up, Santi’s free hand plants firmly on your thigh. You still behind him, a rush of awkwardness flushes through your system.

His head leans back when he pulls away from the kiss, and you watch the way Frankie physically recovers from it, takes a big lungful of air and slowly opens his eyes, licks the taste of Santi from his lips.

“What do you think, Fish? Should we thank him?”

Your cock throbs where it’s pressed against Santi, and you feel him chuckle, but Frankie’s nodding his head fast and looking straight at you.

“Yeah, yes,” he answers, breathless.

“My bedroom or yours, hermano?”

“I couldn’t give any less of a shit.”

They both laugh, and you find it in you to huff, but it’s anything but authentic when all you can think about is having these two men in bed with you, thanking you.

“Go get comfy, yeah? We’ll be there in a minute,” Santi tells you.

You’ve never moved more swiftly in your life, and you’re sure it looks so graceful, walking to Santi’s room with your hard prick swaying in the wind. But you, like Frankie, couldn’t give any less of a shit.

You undress in the now familiar bedroom, lie back on freshly washed sheets as you hear Santi and Frankie mumble, incoherent all the way out in the living room. Your heart rate picks up when you hear footsteps, but only one pair, and Santi struts in. You can hear rustling from beyond the door, a kitchen cabinet opening and closing.

“He‘a grabbing us some waters. I wanted to check in, make sure this is all okay? I know it wasn’t the plan.”

Now you laugh.

“Is it okay? Do I want two gorgeous men thanking me for squishing their heads together like Barbie dolls? It’s more than okay.”

Santi clicks his tongue at you.

“No need for the sass.”

Your blood runs cold at his tone shift, even as his lips quirk up just the tiniest bit at each corner.

Frankie walks in, then, and almost looks startled by the staring match happening. Still, he wades further into the room, sets a few glasses of water down on the nightstand.

You’re suddenly feeling self-conscious, naked and spread out on the bed in front of these two men, fully clothed and practically leering at you. Frankie’s not so shy now; you can feel his eyes on you as they roam across every inch of exposed skin. It’s a heated, tense moment that only breaks when Santi tugs Frankie to him by the hem of his shirt.

Christ, is it hot to watch, the way Fish’s body goes lax as Santi’s tenses, grabbing the back of his neck. His strong arm flexes as his hand gets lost in Frankie’s curls. They share a kiss that looks like less lips and more teeth. Then Santi’s sliding his hands under Frankie’s shirt, along his flanks, exposing smooth, tan skin.

They part to fling their shirts off, and you can’t help it, you reach down to touch yourself. You’re watching something beautiful. Their dance is stilted with novelty but still looks so easy, familiar in an unfamiliar way.

Their noses bump together awkwardly at times, but their hands map out patterns across each other’s bodies that look practiced, like they’ve done this thousands of times before, if only in their dreams.

And they look incredible together. Santi’s thick and bulky, skin so taught over his frame. And Frankie is leaner, corded muscle covered in softer flesh. It looks so squeezable. It is, you find out, second-hand, by the way Santi grabs him by the hips and pulls him closer, just to push him away to get his pants down.

They don’t part for long, and you’re stuck in this haze, a participant only by the way you’re sliding your hand lazily up and down your shaft while you watch them. Santi hasn’t waxed since you first met him, and now all that chest hair is growing in, a stark contrast to Fish’s hairless one. And you know it feels incredible, to be in Frankie’s position, getting scratched by all that wiry hair. You know his own hairless chest will be red and splotchy by the time the night ends, like yours has been countless nights before.

Finally, they come up for air, naked and heaving breaths across each other’s faces as they share a look. Santi raises his strong brow, tilts his head in your direction, and you’re snapped out of your voyeuristic state.

“Let’s show some gratitude, yeah?”

His voice is all low and hoarse, and you watch it affect Frankie in the same way it affects you, cocks jumping. And fuck, Fish does exactly as he’s told once Santi coaxes him with a playful slap to his ass. He crawls up between your legs, and his full lips are even more so now, bitten and slick and deep red. Glancing up at you with those long, pretty, fluttery lashes, his sweet brown eyes are all heavy-lidded and hesitant.

“This is okay?”

His voice is small, and he’s so goddamn perfect.

“Yes, Frankie. Please.”

You both exhale at the same time, and then he gets to it, immediately. His tongue hangs out of his mouth when he opens it wide, and he wastes no time sinking down on your prick.

“Jesus Christ, Fish.”

You damn near give yourself whiplash to look over to Santi, frozen in place next to the bed, eyes glued to where you and Frankie connect. The latter moans around your cock, encouraged to bob his head faster already, take you deeper.

“Knew you’d be such a good little cocksucker with those pretty lips. Fuck.”

It’s so hot, it’s too hot. You’re going to blow in record time with the warmth of Frankie’s mouth and the filth Santi is reciting.

He must see it in your face, the panic of this all being over way quicker than you want it to be. He kneels on the bed beside you both, gets a hand in Fish’s silky curls and you see the shudder that cascades down his body.

“Not a race, hermano,” Santi says, tugging at his hair to get him to lift off of your leaking prick.

Fish stares, wide-eyes and ragged breathing, as Santi arranges himself to lie beside him, both of their faces now inches from your throbbing cock.

“Control freak,” Frankie mumbles, but the smile on his face makes any heat from his words dissipate.

Santi punishes him with a bruising kiss anyway. Your hips jolt as Frankie’s hair brushes across your dick, so on-edge that even that whisper of a touch sends you reeling.

Santi chuckles around Fish’s bottom lip that he’s got between his teeth.

“He so sensitive, Fish. Gotta take it slow, alright?”

It makes your entire body burn, the way he’s talking about you like you’re not even there. The way he’s been guiding Frankie through everything so far, and the way Frankie follows so obediently.

Santi shuffles a bit, and Fish does too, so in-sync that you almost laugh. Their unplanned choreography has them both straddling one of your legs respectively, arms in between, their hands finding each other just close enough to your heavy sac that you can feel the heat coming off of them.

They both look up at you, and for a moment everything is so eerily perfect that it feels like you’re in some sick, twisted Truman Show remake, and this was all a ploy to get you into bed with them.

But then Santi looks at Frankie, a soft bueno? uttered toward him, and Frankie nods. Santi leans in, for what you assume is to kiss him more, but his nose brushes the base of your shaft. And then Fish leans in too, his own strong nose nuzzling just under your head.

Your hands find purchase on the backs of their necks, a light touch to ground yourself as you watch. It’s so fucking intimate, and you’re the catalyst for their exploration, and it’s driving you up the goddamn wall. Your curse and watch twin grins break out on their faces.

Shitheads, both of them.

They continue on with this dance, breathing in your scent as they nose up and down your cock. Their eyes open and close, but their gazes always seem to land on each other at the same time.

And then Santi leads, licking a long stripe up the side of you. Frankie follows eagerly once he catches on, meeting him for a sloppy dance of tongues all over the head of your dick, your frenulum, lapping up the pre-cum that’s been steadily leaking from your slit.

It jerks wildly under their loose attention, and Frankie chuckles deep and low as he chases your cock and Santi’s mouth at the same time. Your nails start to bite into their napes, the burning in your gut becoming far too intense.

“Guys,” you gasp, “I— fuck. I can’t.”

Santi hums, leaves a playful nip at the base of your prick that nearly sends you over the edge. Fish lets up, intent to lick up every last drop of your taste from Santi’s mouth, and groans when he succeeds.

You’re all left panting for a minute. You can’t decide who to look at. Santi’s head has fallen onto your thigh, and Frankie’s propped up on an elbow, staring down at him, all along the dips and curves of his tan skin. Santi gets a hand around Fish’s cock, thumbing under the head in slow circles, soothing and relaxed.

“Everyone still having a good time?”

Santi’s tone implies he already knows the answer. A weak Jesus, yes huffs out of your vocal chords, just as Frankie nods his head eagerly where it rests in his palm.

Santi cranes his neck to look up at you, and already you know you’re in for it, a wicked glint in his eyes.

“You want Fish to fuck you?”

Your cock throbs near their heads, and Frankie snorts.

“Think that’s a yes, huh?”

You answer Fish with a nod. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone but Santi. The thought shorts out all the wires in your system as you realize you get to learn him this way, what he’s into, what he’ll want to do to you, and how different it is from his counterpart.

“All fours, both of you. He’ll let you eat his ass for hours, Fish,” Santi instructs.

“Jesus.”

If it weren’t for the way Frankie scrambles to get into position, you’d ask if he was alright with it. But once he’s hovering on his hands and knees between your legs, he’s manhandling you to do the same, and you love it.

Your cock sways and leaks between your thighs, and Fish pulls and tugs to get you exactly how he wants you. You feel even more exposed than usual like this, with these two men behind you. He spreads you open for him, and you feel your hole clench and relax as it’s exposed to the humid air of the bedroom.

Then he spits, perfectly aimed, and you feel his saliva trickle all the way down your taint, tickling your balls as it drips onto the sheets.

A puff of hot air is all the warning you get before his tongue is following that same trail in reverse, all the way up to where your crack meets your back, and then back down, and your elbows buckle and so does your resolve.

You moan a mix of curses and Frankie’s name, and it only eggs him on, gets him to zero in on your rim with his tongue, circling then flicking, over and over.

You try to crane your neck enough to see Santi when you hear him swear.

“You really fuckin’ like this. Don’t you, Fish?”

All you can see is his tight curls behind Frankie’s own arched back, and his big hands wrapped around Frankie’s slender hips.

You feel Frankie answer him, an incoherent groan into your asshole as the tip of his tongue breaches you.

You’re on fire. Your cock is leaking a really pathetic stream onto Santi’s bedding, neglected, and you know you won’t come without any friction, but you also don’t want to. Not for a while, not until you get to feel Frankie’s cock inside you, get to see Santi watch him fuck you.

You’re anything but impatient, though. Santi was right, the smug asshole. You could keep Fish here for eternity, especially with how fucking diligent his tongue is, lapping you up and pressing inside of you, over and over. It’s dizzying, especially when he begins making desperate noises against you.

You know he’s in for the time of his life. Santi, as smug as he is, loves eating your ass ‘for hours.’ He’s fucking sloppy with it, and he does this thing with his thumbs that drives you—

“Fuck! Ay dios, Pope, what the fuck?”

Frankie falls lax into you, his nose against your hole and his lips brushing your taint as he curses.

“Yeah, you like that? Want me inside this cute little ass?”

Fish whines, shifts his face so he can bite the tender flesh where your thigh and ass meet, and all you can do is groan and push back into him as he gives Santi his answer.

“Damelo, need you, please.”

Santi hums, and you can tell by how it’s muffled that his mouth is once again occupied. Frankie recovers, though his tongue is much less coordinated now, a messy flurry of licks as he prods at your entrance.

Then you hear it, the click of a bottle opening, bouncing off the bedroom walls in a familiar way. You clench around Frankie’s tongue, a Pavlovian response, and he groans and fits his lips around your hole and sucks.

You’re babbling now, strings of nonsense, begging, and praise in the otherwise silent bedroom. You know the exact moment Santi sinks his thick finger inside of Frankie, because you feel him stiffen and shake against you, feel his nails dig into the meat of your cheeks where he’s spreading you open.

His mouth retreats, and you whine, but he’s tugging on you again to get you to lie on your back.

It’s a fucking sight when you’re finally able to watch. Fish has his back arched like a goddamn cat, presenting his ass to Santi, mouth gaping open at his skilled fingers.

Santi’s looking over him, one large hand splayed out on his back to keep him still as he fucks into him with what you assume is at least three fingers, the way Frankie’s drool is dripping from the corner of his mouth. Santi’s eyes are glued to his ministrations, where he’s slowly thrusting in and out, his big bicep flexing as he goes.

He manages to tear his eyes away, though, to look at you and wink.

“How’d he do? Think he deserves to fuck you, papi?”

You whimper at the mere thought of it, finally feeling him inside you.

You shake your head, but Santi tuts.

“Yeah— Yes, Santi. He did so good.”

Santi’s lips tilt up into a wicked smirk.

“There he is, that’s it, tell Francisco how good he is for us, huh?”

You see Frankie’s cock throb between his legs, hear a pathetic little noise fall from his lips. You and Santi both get a curious but delighted look on your faces at his reaction.

“Did so good, Francisco.”

He shivers, hides his face in the bedding between your thighs for a hot minute. A lungful of air escapes him, slow and methodical, before he tilts his head back to Santi.

“Lube?”

Santi huffs, tosses the bottle next to Fish’s head.

“Doesn’t take long for him. He likes the stretch, don’t you bebito?”

You huff, and your face feels hot and prickly as both men look at you. You squirm, and you don’t want to answer, you want at least a tiny bit of pride going into this, because you know you’re bound to come out the other side with absolutely none.

“He asked you a question,” Frankie says.

His gruff voice makes your breath catch.

Santi hums his approval behind him.

“Yeah, yeah, just— just two, give me two and I’ll be good.”

“What do you say, papi?”

And Jesus, this is the most Frankie’s said all night and it has your toes curling.

“Please, Frankie.”

He makes a patronizing, satisfied noise that makes you want to hide but also expose yourself even more. You want to give him everything, him and Santi, let them use you to get their pleasure however they want.

But then Fish groans, and you see Santi’s arm twisting behind him, reaching for that perfect spot. He makes a mess squirting lube out onto his fingers, and you at least have enough control of your faculties to lift your sac out of the way so Frankie can spread it across your hole.

It twitches under his fingers, begging, and so are you, just incoherent babbles as he teases you, toys with you. You think you maybe could wait him out, knowing he doesn’t get his until his cock is pressed inside you, but you don’t want to.

“Fuck,” you whimper, “please fuck me.”

“Yeah, good boy, there you are.”

You open your eyes at Santi’s voice.

“Give him what he wants, Fish. Give it to him so I can fuck you.”

Two fingers, right off the bat, pressed in slowly but surely in one swoop to the knuckle. You cry out, reaching for purchase and finding the bedsheets to twist into your clenched fists.

“You’re okay, you can take it, right?”

And it’s so goddamn mind-blowing, Santi talking you through it with Frankie’s fingers deep inside you.

You nod, opening your eyes again to look up at him. His eyes are so dark, and he’s stroking his thick cock as he continues stretching Fish out, and he looks hungry. He licks his lips and watches where Frankie’s fucking into you, boring holes where you’re connected. You have to reach down with your free hand and squeeze the base of your prick to get yourself together.

It doesn’t take long for you to adjust, to relax around his digits with a few deep breaths. He praises you, that’s it, take ‘em so well, wanna be fucked so bad don’t you? Your head spins with it as he works you open. Little by little your legs spread wider for him, hips canting up to direct him to the spot inside you that you want him to reach so desperately.

But he doesn’t. Once it’s obvious you’re ready to take him, he slips his fingers out and wipes the residue on the inside of your thigh.

“Gonna take me now?”

It’s a rhetorical question, obviously, as he grips behind your knees and pushes them to your chest. You answer anyway, your own voice so foreign to your ears as you plead for him.

Santi shushes you, and that familiar noise is calming enough to bring you back down to Earth, where he’s resting behind Frankie, one hand caressing his chest while the other grips his waist.

“Wanna be inside you, Fish,” he mumbles, nose pressed behind his ear, lips teasing his earlobe.

Fish’s eyes close, but he guides the head of his dick to your entrance and sinks in, blinding pressure as the head of him stretches you wide. When it slips past, you both gasp, and Santi groans into Frankie’s neck as he watches.

It feels like years, waiting for him to seat himself all the way inside you. It burns in the best way, friction that has goosebumps dotting every square inch of skin.

But then his thighs reach the backs of yours. He curses, moves your legs out of the way so he can cover your body with his own. Santi’s gaze is heavy where it falls, the place you and Frankie are fused together, as he spreads a healthy dollop of lube over his prick.

“Ready for me, baby?”

It’s palpable, the way the energy of the room shifts when Santi presses closer behind Frankie. Like he’s about to step off a ledge, Fish’s eyes widen and he looks at you with his brows drawn up tight. You reach for his curls, run your fingers through them, scrape your nails across his scalp in hopes that it evens out his breathing a bit.

Past Frankie’s shaking form, Santi’s expression is nearly identical. His bottom lip is caged between his teeth, brow furrowed, shoulders squared. His eyes flicker to you, and his features soften just a fraction before his hips begin to press forward.

Frankie sobs at first contact. His sweaty forehead falls to your chest. His cock is jerking inside you, rhythmic pulses as you watch Santi’s hips slowly inch forward.

“Relax for me, Fish. Deep breaths, baby. I’ve got you, take it for me.”

Santi sounds so wrecked. His voice is wispy, and so deep you can hardly hear from the bass in it. He’s never really sounded this way before, and the reality of this entire situation makes you clench around Frankie’s throbbing cock.

Santi curses in whispers, and you watch the sweat from his forehead drip down, between his eyes, down his nose, and drip onto Frankie’s heated skin. And then Frankie shifts, pulling out of you. And then, you realize, pressing Santi’s cock deeper inside himself.

You groan at the revelation, chase Fish’s hips with your own, a domino effect that sets both of them off as well. It doesn’t take much at all for them to find the right pace, like this is just as natural as everything else they do together. For a while you just take it in, let Frankie get his pleasure from you, let them discover the feeling of being so close to each other after a long while of only imagining.

Santi’s signature filthy mouth doesn’t make an appearance. Instead, he looks stunned silent above the both of you. His mouth hangs open like he wants to say something, but all that leaves his lips are grunts and groans that Frankie echoes into your sternum. His eyes don’t know where to look, so they float between where he’s fucking Frankie, and your own roaming eyes, and finally land where your hand grips Frankie’s hair.

He lets go of one of Fish’s hips to tangle his fingers with your own, tugging on those chestnut curls. Frankie slams his hips into you at the sensation, bites down on the meat of your pec and keens before he lets Santi’s grip pull his head back.

His eyes are completely fucking black, no iris to be found when his heavy eyelids open to look at you. And it’s a very strange thing, when you watch him look right through you and call out Santi’s name.

Strange, but fucking hot.

“Let it happen, Fish.”

“No. I– I can’t.”

“You can, fuck, don’t hold it. Come inside so I can fuck it out of him.”

Frankie crumbles. You watch it happen, his eyes snapping shut as he chokes on a high-pitched sound. His face twists up, and you feel his hips stutter against you as he starts chanting Santi’s name, over and over. His cock jerks with every wave of his release, and he’s shaking, collapsing dead-weight on top of you.

“That’s it, did so good. Feel so fucking good squeezing me Fish.”

You’re momentarily squished by the weight of two grown men when Santi rests against Frankie’s back. He kisses where he can reach, soothing the place on his scalp where he was tugging at the hairs.

“Mierda, Santi, get off you fucking oaf.”

And it’s cute, the way Frankie gets so grumpy even after he’s just come his brains out. You ruffle his hair, when he’s finally not sandwiched between you two, let him collapse beside you instead with a sweaty arm draped across your middle.

You only have a few moments to appreciate the tenderness before Santi’s lifting your leg onto his shoulder pressing his thick fingers inside you. The noise is obscene, and Santi swears as Frankie’s cum trickles out of you.

You know you’re in for it now. Santi sets his jaw and arranges your hips so he can slide right into you. You moan at the feeling, and the knowledge of where his cock has just been, noises tumbling out of you as he picks up the pace where Frankie left off.

And you almost forget about Fish, caught up in the pleasure of Santi railing you just how he knows you like. But then a warm, trembling hand wraps around your cock, even though Santi’s own are gripping onto you tight, and it’s heaven.

“Let me see you come,” Frankie says, voice all hoarse and worn out.

You whine, loll your head to the side to look at him.

But this time Santi’s hand is grabbing you, just shy of too rough when he takes your chin in his hand.

“You look at me. Look at me when I make you come, papi.”

And you take it as an order, because Frankie’s hand speeds up and squeezes tighter, and Santi’s fucking into you deep and fast like he does when he’s about to come.

You shake with it when it finally happens. Your spend splashes down Fish’s knuckles, up your stomach, your chest, christ some of it even lands on your chin. And you know you’re babbling but you don’t know what words you’re using, only know that they come from high in your throat as you gasp for air.

Santi follows you so closely, burying himself impossibly deep as he releases. You hear Frankie encouraging him, but the sound is miles away as your head swims in that familiar, blissful place.

When the ringing in your ears settles, and your vision unblurs, and all your nerve endings don’t feel like they’re on fire anymore, Santi’s cock has been replaced by his tongue. You give a weak protest at the overstimulation as his greedy mouth licks the mess out of you. It doesn’t matter, he comes up for air just as soon as you realize where he’s at.

Your bleary eyes watch as Santi leans over you, grabs Fish’s face in his hands and tugs at his bottom lip with one of his thumbs. Frankie opens his mouth, obedient as ever, and then a mix of Santi’s cum and his own is tumbling from Santi’s lips into Fish’s mouth.

Once the damage has been done, an image that will forever be burned into your mind, Santi lets his lips press against Frankie’s. He kisses him deep but slow, savoring the concoction of tastes, until Frankie has to lean back for air.

And then it’s silent, and still, and a pit of dread makes itself known in your gut in record time.

“I’ll grab us some towels. Don’t either of you move a muscle.”

Frankie huffs but stays put. You shake out some of the tensed-up muscles in your legs, grasping for something to say to break the tension.

Turns out you don’t have to.

“Bossy little prick,” Frankie mumbles.

It makes a giggle bubble up out of you, even though it’s not even that funny. You suppose the nervous energy needed out somehow.

“Don’t know what you see in him,” you agree.

Frankie hums, tilts his head like he’s contemplating it.

“I’m kidding. He’s sweet. You’re a lucky guy, so is he.”

You’re interrupted when Santi reenters, two fluffy towels in hand. You tidy up as best you can, then sigh when you no longer have anything to occupy your hands with.

“Stay the night?”

And this time, those familiar words are uttered by Frankie. It surprises you. For a moment you think he’s just being nice, appeasing you. But his brown eyes do that same thing that Santi’s do, where they get all wide and watery and it’s impossible to say no.

So you snuggle under the covers, and it’s a bit awkward at first with an extra set of limbs. Santi takes his coveted position as big spoon, but this time behind Fish. Then Frankie coaxes you closer, a hand at your back to urge you to rest your head on his outstretched arm.

The three of you talk about how hard you’re all going to sleep, and you close your eyes and listen to two other sets of breaths. You let it lull you to the edge of consciousness. Just before you slip under, Santi’s voice is deep and smooth.

“Te amo.”

And Frankie’s whisper is just as silky.

“Te amo.”

—

In the morning, you all wake up slow, and take care of business, and mosey out into the kitchen. It’s natural to watch Frankie make eyes at Santi over his eggs, but you know that Santi’s routine walk to your Uber will be anything but.

Their apartment door slams heavy behind you two as you head to the normal pick-up spot.

“So this is probably it, huh?”

You have to force yourself to look at Santi’s face, squinting in the mid-morning sun.

His brows draw up, and you really hope he doesn’t make this anymore awkward than it needs to be.

“It doesn’t have to be, no.”

His head shakes back and forth with his declaration, and you almost flinch when he reaches for your hand.

“Listen. Give us some time, you know? Let us… figure… this out. Once we settle, I wanna see you again. Fish does too.”

You’re sure your face is doing something funny, because Santi laughs and pushes you.

“Not gonna get rid of us that easy, cabrón.”

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romana-after-dark · 4 months

Text

Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting. Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

PLEEAASEEEE LMK YOU'RE THOTS AND THEORIES!!!!

Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

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TAGLIST:

@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock @neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows @hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile @rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado

if I missed you LMK!!!!

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floralpascal · 2 years

Text

Heartbeat - Part 1

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

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 7k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

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

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

Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything for you.”

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

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, guys!”

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

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

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

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

Hermosa. He had never called you that before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever it was, it was loud.”

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

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frankie shrugged. “It’s news to me.”

You shook your head.

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

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

“I do, Frankie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The promise in his words filled you with anticipation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You thought about it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Frankie, that was-”

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

“Well, that was a hell of a warmup.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please. I need you, Frankie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right there, Frankie!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m listening…”

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

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

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

“That’s the idea.”

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

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

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

#frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal #triple frontier fanfiction #will miller #william miller #william ironhead miller #benny miller #benjamin miller #santi garcia #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #my writing

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angelickks · 2 months

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ex-wife - francisco ʻcatfishʻ morales

drabble - ex-husband! francisco ʻcatfishʻ morales x ex-wife! reader warning(s): divorce (obvi), longing, insinuation to drug use, like one swear word, nickname "mama", a very sad and lovesick frankie this was definitely just something i was playing around with, just a short little drabble. i havenʻt been as active much BUT I have been working on some things. feedback is always appreciated loves,my inbox is always open! it could be a potential series?? who knows. slightly proofread, muah!

“francisco?”

he hadn’t heard that voice in almost two years, that soft angelic voice he had missed since the ink on his divorce papers dried.

he betrays his mind when his heart tells him to face you. he can’t help the way his lips part in surprise, his ex-wife as he lives and breathes, just beautiful as the day she left him. he can’t help but crack a sad smile at the beautiful woman that still takes up every inch of his heart.

“hi mama” he utters softly, unsure if he’s even allowed the pleasure to call you that anymore, he simply can’t help it. you purse your lips together at the endearing nickname from your ex-husband, still, you give him a smile as you’re genuinely happy to see him.

frankie doesn’t fully register that you’re moving towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist and planting a greeting kiss on his cheek. he blinks a few times before wrapping his arms around you, he’d dreamt of the day he’d feel your arms again and here he is not fully registering it.

“how are you francisco? what brings you here?”

you ask kindly, genuine concern and curiosity laced in a voice he’s yearned for. he rubs the back of his neck nervously, still not believing that you’re here and looking absolutely radiant, you pick up on his nervous tell like it’s second nature.

“oh…meeting the guys in a bit actually, pope brought us out. you know this isn’t usually my scene, mama.”

he can’t help your infamous nickname from slipping out, he’s called you it long before your marriage and seeing you again is bringing back memories of it.

you nod knowingly, chuckling slightly at the mention of santiago and his endeavors.

“i know that. i’m sure this is certainly awkward for you frankie, i just hadn’t seen you in a while and it would’ve been rude of me not to say hello.”

always so kind and considerate his girl, he guesses that even after the two years of being separated that never changed, just the fact that you weren’t his anymore.

while yes, you certainly wanted to talk to frankie, it brought back memories. not to mention, his nickname for you made your heart flutter for your ex-husband but that certain fondness and memories were just that, an old flame and memories. at least you tell yourself that, one of the many things you and frankie have in common.

“speaking of which uh…what brings you here? business calling, i assume?”

you look down as you smile, frankie’s memory impeccable as always. when you two were together he remembers the dreadful business meetings held at more prestigious bars such as this one. they were never your thing, usually feeling like it was a waste of both time and resources.

no ethical amount of business is done over expensive seafood and booze.

“thank god, no. in fact i quit working for that company, i’m currently the project manager for their competitors. no more cocktail business meetings for me. i’m just out with some friends, i secured a partnership so i’m celebrating.”

he nods understandingly, admiring the way your face lights up at the mention of your new job. he loves how happy you look, picking up on how well-rested you look and how healthy you’ve been as you practically glow. it’s downright criminal how breathtaking you look right now, and while he will take any chance to admire his ex-wife’s beauty, he can’t help but feel guilty.

“well i’m happy for you mama, you deserve it all. you always did.”

his voice is low and endearing, there’s a tinge of sadness laced behind it and he prays you don’t pick up on it. you open your mouth to respond, but are quickly cut off by a ruckus only identifiable as the only men frankie trusts with his life.

“catfish, you sorry fuck! where the hell have you been?”

it’s almost ironic how hothead benny miller steals the show. you giggle at the stares and the frustrated frown frankie adorns, squeezing the bridge of his nose. it’s comical how ben’s brows quirk up, head whipping around as he hears a laugh he hasn’t heard in a long time. in a flash of blonde hair and pure muscle, you’re engulfed in a hug by none other than the younger miller.

“look at you mama! gorgeous, as i live and breathe, where have you been all my life?”

for a brief moment your heart soars, and if seeing your ex-husband didn’t help, this brings back memories of all the times spent in your old home.

“oh benny, look at you!”

you both pull away but your hands remain on his broad shoulders as you take him in, that infamous cocky smirk ever present on his lips.

“do a spin for me will you handsome? lemme look at you”

he gives you a flirtatious “yes ma’am” before doing a slow spin, blabbering on about taking it all in. as if you needed more reminders from your past, you see a group starting to form around you.

your eyes land on will first and you swear you could cry at the sight. he pulls you into a reassuring hug, sensing your nerves, mumbling a greeting into your shoulder. while benny was well loved by you, will always was your favorite miller. at one point in your life, he was your rock when frankie fell back into using. so far you’ve had nothing but pleasant memories but with one look it had turned bittersweet, reminding you of the weight of your divorce.

“alright we get it, there’s enough of her to go around. c’mere woman, i missed you”

you pull from will, rolling your eyes as they land on santiago. you shove him back playfully before pulling him into a tight hug.

“hey mama” he chuckled out, pulling back for a second to plant a kiss on your forehead.

you were over the moon to see the boys again, the divorce in itself was painful, but having them go away for the time being only added salt to the wound. meanwhile frankie did what he always does, fall back and observe quietly.

he sighs quietly, his mind still in shock at seeing you again, but god did it make his heart wrench seeing you with his friends. it was eerie how natural you fell back into their dynamic, not because it irked frankie, but because of how much it reminded him of you both.

of how much time was spent with the very people surrounding him, how many beautiful memories were shared, how beautiful the memory of his marriage was.

this entire ordeal opened the floodgates to the months spent longing, drowning out what was left of you, and having to live with his mistakes.

if he didn’t have as much willpower, he’d find the nearest exit and simply breakdown. he lingers on the thought until broken out of his trance by the woman that still plagues the very idea.

“it’s lovely to see you francisco, you look handsome as ever. i’d love to take you all in but it would be rude to abandon my own entourage..” your voice trails into a teasing tone as you playfully flirt with the guys, all in good fun.

frankie blushes at the sentiment, silently cursing how warm and red he feels without even touching a drop of alcohol.

“i mean it when i say you look stunning ma, thank you.” he says lowly, meant for your ears and yours only.

he doesn’t quite thank her for the compliment, he thanks her for her kindness, her short-lived company, for simply even being in his presence.

her eyes shine at his response, causing her ex-husband to melt at the sight.

she knows, she always knows. my smart, beautiful woman.

while he doesn’t voice his inner thoughts, she reads him like an open book and for a split second looks at him like how she used to.

she sees the man she fell in love with and has said many times even after their separation, that she will always love him.

during that split second she sees a husband, a best friend, a partner, and most importantly the source of her love and adoration.

but as quickly as it comes, it goes. eyes looking away to avoid his lovesick gaze, reminding herself of why she left and why she will stay away.

with that, she kisses them all on the cheek sweetly, says goodnight and to always be safe. as she approaches frankie she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a tight embrace.

it stands a reminder, that she’ll always have love in her heart for the man that was hers long before their marriage, that he’ll always love the woman that was his long before his mistakes ate away at him.

she pulls away, still in his arms and places a soft kiss to his lips. it’s meant to be soft and forgiving, still it wasn’t long enough for either of them.

as quickly as she came, she was gone. lost to a sea of people that crowd the pretentious place that’s far too nice for his taste.

his reality comes back and the room isn’t as bright as it was when she walked in, faced with the harshness of his predicament just as it was two years ago.

santiago claps a hand on his shoulder, sensing his sudden distress.

“life is unpredictable. maybe another time, in another place”

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firsttimewriter92 · 1 year

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Pope the meddler (18+)

A Frankie Morales x f!reader story

Summary: Frankie is head over heels for you, you are a pining mess but none of you will realise it. Santiago has had enough and takes matters into his own hands. Not knowing that the both of you seem to be even more oblivious idiots than he thought

Wordcount: 4.002

Warnings: SMUT!! Minors, be GONE! Not for you!! Neighbours to lovers

Slight angst, insecure reader and Frankie, cursing, smut, P in V, unprotected intercourse (reader uses an IUD), Wrap it up, kids!, mutual pining, teasing, dirty talk, age gap 10 yrs

Beer in the fridge, Dips on the table, steaks prepared, some veggies, lest benny would be gnawing his ears off about his diet again…The grill fired up…everything set. Looking at the clock above his kitchen door, Frankie noticed he was right on time. He grabbed his cell phone, checking for messages. Pope hat sent him one about 10 minutes ago, saying he was on his way. Checking the fridges contents one last time he heard a knock on his door. Confused he stared at his front door. It was a light knock. Almost hesitant. Nothing like the way his boisterous friends would almost take the door off of its hinges. Sometimes they just let themselves in.

He crossed his living room and opened the door. Heat immediately rose from his neck across his face, his hands instantly becoming clammy. You stood in front of him, wearing a blue sundress with intricate white lines across the bodice. You smiled up at him so sweetly his heart nearly gave out. “Hey Frankie,” you said a bit hesitantly. His throat made some kind or gurgling noise before he cleared it awkwardly. “Hey there,___” he said, trying desperately not to sound overwhelmed. Though that feeling caught him almost every time he saw you. When you were waving at him from across your own back yard next to his, whenever he saw you casually shopping and looking like a literal angel doing it. He once saw you and a group of friends enter his favourite bar and he nearly choked on his beer. Benny wouldn´t let him live it down for weeks. But that was the last indication for his friends to find out that Frankie was head over heels and absolutely desperately attracted to you.

“I come bearing gifts” you said cheerfully and lifted the wicker basket in your hands. “Huh?” he said dumbly. Your face fell at his reaction. “Oh, I´m sorry…Santi said…I didn´t know he didn´t ask you. I´ll…ehm…go home” you said turning around. Your insides squeezed painfully with embarrassment. Of course he didn´t want you there. He wasn´t even the one who invited you. Santi said you should come over. You should have listened to what your grandmother always told you: Don´t go to an event, if it´s not the host who invited you.

You thought you were quite friendly with your insanely adorable neighbour and his friends. You always got a smile out of him across your yard fences, had some nice conversations with him at the produce section. And sometimes even with his sweet little daughter he sometimes had over. You were delighted when Santi invited you over for a barbeque. Maybe you should have known better. Frankie was way out of your league. Incredibly handsome features, a kind man, respectful and loyal. Older by 10 years…why would he be interested in you of all people?

__________________________________________________________

When your front door closed behind you, Frankie was still staring at your back, unable to move. What had just happened? Were you coming over for the barbeque? He couldn´t remember having the balls to actually invite you. What did you say? Santi said…What did he say to you? Still shellshocked about the disappointed look in your eyes when you turned around he felt his stomach turn and waves of regret washing over him again and again. He had to hold on to his front door when Santi´s car rolled up his driveway.

“Hey there, Fish. You good?” Santi bellowed as he exited his car. Coming up the steps to his front porch he suddenly looked concerned. “Frank? What´s going on? You look like shit, hermano.” Frankie just stared blankly at him. “I think I fucked something up….bad” he whispered. Santiago raised one of his thick eyebrows and then suddenly looked very concerned. “Have you…” he looked left and right quickly while steering him back into the house. “Frank, have you been using again?” “What?” Frankie said sharply, coming out of his stupor. “Of course I haven´t, are you nuts?” Santi looked relieved. “Then why were you just standing on your porch looking like regret itself?” he asked. “You scared me, man.” Frankie looked away. “Sorry,” he said. “It´s just…you know,___ came over just before you did and-“ “Oh, good”, Santi beamed looking around. “Where is she? Did she bring those awesome Muffins I asked for?”

“Muffins….” Frankie said in a hollow voice. “Oh no. Oh no, fuck!” He pulled off his hat and threw it on the sofa. Pacing and raking his hands through his hair he stared at Santi. “You invited her? And didn´t care to mention that to me?” Santi looked almost offended. “Dude…I didn´t know I needed permission to invite someone to our barbeque just because we are having it at your house, and besides” he said exasperatedly. “You´ve been drooling all over her for months now and she is crazy about you. I did you a funkin´ favour ´cause none of your flippin´ pendejos would do anything about it!” Frankie stopped in his tracks. “She´s….she´s not-“ “Oh, for fucks sake, Frank, open your eyes! I know you are as blind as a bat when it comes to romance, so let me help you out.” Santi stood in front of him, his hands on both his shoulders while staring him down. “That woman is mad for you. You might not see it, but that is because for some reason we all don´t get, your self esteem is at rock bottom.” Frankie rolled his eyes. “You know exactly why that is” he murmured. Santiago took a deep breath. “You made a mistake. You paid the price. Frank, you need to start allowing yourself some more. Like accepting someone’s feelings.” Frankie knew he was right. “Doesn´t matter now, really.” He said defeated. “I fucked it up…yet again.” Santi looked at him questioningly. “What do you mean?”

Frankies shoulder dropped. “She was here…just now. Just standing there with that basket in hand and that beautiful smile.” He huffed a humourless laugh. “When she realised I had no idea why she was there…she looked so embarrassed. She just turned around and left. And instead of asking her to stay, I just…froze.” “Jesus, Frank”, Santi sounded sarcastically pissed off. “Right, that´s it.” He clapped his hands and strolled to the front door. “Where are you going?” Frankie sounded worried. “Pope!” he called in a panicky voice when Santiago left the house steering himself towards yours.

__________________________________________________________

The three sharp knocks on your door made you jump. You were not in the mood for visitors at all. Eyes probably blotchy from crying. You didn´t want to see anybody. When you heard muffled voices however you got curious. It sounded like they were arguing. Was that Santi? You went over to the door and swung it open. Indeed. Right outside your door was Santi grinning like a maniac, struggling against a panicked looking Frankie who was trying to pry him away from your door. When he saw you however he let him go. He took one look at you and hung his head, looking like a beaten dog. When Santiago saw your face, his grin dropped as well. “Hey, beautiful” he said in a small voice. “Listen, I need to clear something up. I didn´t think about telling Fish about me inviting you. I´m sorry. Really” he looked like it. You nodded trying to close the door again when you felt the lump in your throat reforming. “Wait, wait, sweetheart, please.” Santi said quickly. “Frankie didn´t know you were coming, it was my fault. He´s-“ “Pope!”

You flinched a little hearing Frankie use that kind of tone. You´ve never heard something this sharp come from his mouth. Then again, you shouldn´t be surprised. He used to be a military man after all.

Santi turned with a pleasantly surprised look on his face. Frankie hat lifted his eyes, staring hard at a point somewhere above your head and took the three steps up to your door. “Can we talk?” he rushed out. You nodded and stepped aside. “I´ll tell the boys you´ll be a while” Santi called out with a snicker before the door closed behind Frankie. “Funking hell” he breathed and shook his head.

You walked inside your living room, Frankie following you. A light summer breeze flowed in from the open window, catching onto the skirt of your dress. Frankie was mesmerised. Almost losing his words again. “I´m sorry” he stammered out. “I´m sorry I was such a dick before. Freezing like that. I really didn´t know Pope invited you.” You nodded your head, a tiny smile on your lips. “Maybe I shouldn´t have left so quickly” you said and shrugged your shoulders. “I guess I jumped to conclusions.” He turned his head curiously. “What conclusions?” he asked. You looked at him with a slight guilty look. “That you did know about Santis invitation and weren´t….weren´t ok with it.” His stomach dropped several feet. Without thinking he was walking towards you, grasping your face in his hands. “No,” he said in a reassuring voice. “No, please don´t think like that. Of course I wanted you to come over. I´m the one that never has the balls to actually ask, but believe me, I really want you near me.” His breath caught in his throat when he finished. His big brown eyes blown wide he looked into yours. They were filled with surprise and longing. “I really like you” you blurted out. “I really, really like you, Frankie. I´m sorry if that´s a bother.” You waited with baited breath, studying his reaction.

He looked like a deer in headlights for a moment. Then, your face still in his hands, he spoke. “Bother? Why would your feelings be a bother to me? No, don´t answer that” he said with a chuckle when you opened your mouth. “Sweetness, do you have any idea what you do to me?” he looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars. Your knees began to buckle. “Your ray of sunshine demeanour, your gentle nature, your laugh, god your laugh.” His forehead made contact with yours. Your hands immediately went to his chest, feeling his hammering heart underneath your fingertips. Dreaming, you must be dreaming. “What I´m trying to say without having a damn heart attack is…your feelings are reciprocated, darling.” You tried your best to keep the tears of relief at bay but they came anyway. Silently falling across your cheeks he wiped them away quickly. “Really?” you sniffled. He chuckled again, low in his chest. “Really” he said with a grin. “And right now, I´m really hanging on by a threat here, cariño. Can I…?” Before he was finished with his sentence, you were already on your tip toes, pressing up against his chest and carefully pressing your mouth to his. Your hands wound around his neck when you pulled you closer with a groan. His hands splayed across your waist, thumbs circling slowly. Goosebumps erupting on your skin when his kiss got more heated. More desperate. Your hands fingering at the soft curls on his neck, tucking lightly. He grunted a bit annoyed when the bill of his cap started to get in the way. One hand pushing it off his head and throwing it someplace while his body moved yours closer to the couch.

By the time he sat down and pulled you onto his lap, you were already gone. This was going to happen and you couldn´t look forward to it more. It had been a while for you but you knew that Frankie would not take advantage of you in any way. Pressing yourself closer to him you spread your legs around his hips a bit more. Your lower bodies connected, you could feel the obvious bulge pressing against your heat. With a gasp, Frankie broke the kiss and stared at you with hooded eyes. His lips were swollen and red, his hair tousled. He looked almost out of it. Pride swelled in your chest when you saw what your kisses did to the man that had haunted your dreams for months now.

“Jesus, woman.” He said breathlessly, raking his hands up and down your sides. “You are perfection” You giggled at that, leaning forward and starting to mouth at his throat. “Hardly”, you said against his pulse. “Just doing what I had dreamt about for ages now.” He groaned and leaned his head back as far as he could to give you more access. “Fuck, do whatever you want, hermosa. Anything you´ll do, I swear, I´ve dreamt about it as well.” He was almost panting now. Rolling your hips against him, your confidence spiked with every whimper you heard escaping his lips. You loved it. “So good, hermosa. Please. More. Umph” he clenched his teeth when a swivel of your hips brushed his erection just right.

You didn´t hesitate. Your hand went to the back of his neck pulling him upright again. Without hesitation he grabbed onto your ass squeezing while you pressed sloppy kisses to his lips again. “Frankie” you said breathily. “D-Dress” He understood immediately. Raising his hands he grabbed the thin straps of your sundress and pulled them down your shoulders. Slipping your arms out of them he pulled the bodice down, down…until your chest was completely revealed. Puffing out a gust of air, his eyes wouldn´t move from your breasts. Quickly raising and falling with your laboured breaths you waited for his reaction. Beginning to get a little self-conscious, you gently touched his cheek. “Frankie?” you whispered. “Huh?” he said, finally snapping his head up and looking at you. His eyes were not the chocolaty, soft colour anymore. More of a deep dark, wooden brown. Nearly black. You chuckled about his blissed out expression though. “You can touch them you know” you said with a seductive smile that nearly made him have an accident right there in his pants. “Do you…” he swallowed hard. “Do you really want me to? You don´t have to-“ “Francisco” you said softly. Kissing his lips again and feeling his whole body melt into yours, you tried to let him know how much you wanted this. “If I need to spell it out for you, I will. I. Want. You, Frankie. Always have. Jesus, you´re funny, ambitious, you are a great friend and I´m sure a wonderful father to your little girl,” he held onto you tighter at that. “And I´ve been thinking about this for a very long time now. You have no idea how sexy I think you are, Frankie. So please, no holding back okey? I want it, if you do.”

“If I do?…Jesus,___! You are a fucking dream come true, don´t you know that?” He leaned forward, latching onto your collarbone. Between kisses he murmured “´Been wanting you for ages. Can´t get you out of my head. You make me a blubbering mess. I want it, want you. So much.” Pressing your chest closer to him he got the idea and dived in. Closing his mouth around one of your nipples you yelped at the intensity but pressed his head further into your chest. Humming contently he gently grasped the other breast and began playing with that nipple.

The need to move became too strong. Your hips resuming their rhythm from before. A beautiful dance developed between you and both of you could feel the intensity spiking with every breath. Next time he lifted his head he whispered “Need to be inside you, please. Can I? Please, I´m not going to last much longer, sweetheart. Will you let me?” Nodding frantically you tried to stand up to get rid of your panties. He held you right on his lap with a steel like grip. “Oh no, no, no, you stay right there, hermosa.” His hands moved quickly up the sides of your thighs, underneath the skirt of your dress and grabbing onto your panties. You shivered violently. “Do you care about these?” he asked in a playful tone, nipping at your bottom lip. Grinning you shook your head. “Not very much, no.”

“Perfect.” With a very hard yank you heard the fabric tear. You could feel another rush of wetness between your thighs at the display of his strength. “Fuck, Frankie. Please.” “Protection” he whispered quickly. “I use an IUD and…and I haven´t been with anyone in a very long time…so…If you´re ok with it-“ “Are you being serious,___? You´d let me?” He sounded breathless. You nodded. “You´re an honest man, Frankie. You wouldn´t do it if it put me at risk.” He nodded his head quickly, looking at you with pure adoration. “Then take me, Frankie.”

It only took him a moment to free himself frantically from the confines of his pants. You lifted yourself from his lap, holding onto his shoulders. Your head was swimming in anticipation. To finally be united with the man of your dreams. When you first felt his tip at your entrance, your breath escaped your lungs with a punch. Moving back and forth to coat his dick thoroughly, you saw his eyes roll back and his hands held onto your hips even tighter. Finally you stilled at the perfect angle and slowly slid him in. Some Spanish curses you didn´t understand escaped his lips in a rush. Finally settling completely on top of him you sighed in relief. It was like a month’s long itch was being scratched. “God, Frankie. You feel incredible” you breathed.

“Dios mio, hermosa. Tan perfecta para mi.” His voice was high pitched when he said those words into your ear. You started moving. First swaying your hips back and forth, then lifting and sinking down on him. It didn´t take long for the both of you to completely sink into each other. Kisses were being shared while lewd sounds echoed through your living room. His panting breaths became more voluminous with every swivel of your hips and your own little whimpers became louder and louder. His hand grabbed onto every piece of skin he could find. You were sure tomorrow there would be the proof of your little encounter, prettily being edged onto the flesh of your behind. You couldn´t care less. Not when every stroke of his dick invoked a feeling of pure bliss and extasy in you. You could feel it coming closer, the sweetest of releases.

“Frankie,” you panted, trying to warn him that you were close. “I know, mi Corazón, I know. Me too, me too” he said. “Fuck, so good. How do you feel so heavenly? Like a fucking drug, you are” You whimpered at his words, arching your back and leaning slightly onto his thighs bearing yourself to him. “Beautiful little goddess” he whispered as one of his hands trailed over you chest and down towards your pussy. “Frankie, please. I´m so close, please make me cum. Cum with me!” He obediently did what you asked and began thumbing at your clit, raising his hips with every troke you provided. “Fuck, Ah! Shit…Frankie, oh god!!” your voice was almost strained at this point, calling out to him blindly. “That´s it, mi Corazón, that´s it! Come on, cum on me! Let me feel it, please. Beautiful girl, come on, come on!” The upwards spiral of his voice did you in and when your orgasm crashed over you, the only noise you managed was a choked up sob of his name. After that you only felt white hot pleasure surging through you like lightning. Faintly you still felt how Frankie played with your clit and still pushed his hips frantically up into you. When you were barely out of it and the rushing in your ears subsided you clung to him once more. “Thank you, hermosa. So beautiful when you cum for me. My turn now, hmm? Can I cum? In you?” he pleaded.

Smiling reassuringly at him but trying not to wince at your over sensitiveness, you looked deep into his eyes and nodded. “Yes, Frankie. You can cum for me. Cum in me, my love. Want it…want it inside, Please.” With a loud groan he threw his head back and stilled. You could feel his dick twitch inside of you as well as the warm liquid it shot deep inside of you. “My god, sweet thing! Fuck, fuck! Don´t move. Don´t move, let me feel you.” Slowly you both came down from your highs. You were slumped over, your head on his chest, listening to his still rapidly beating heart. His hands were splayed over your back, tracing random patterns on it, nuzzling his nose into your hair. You hummed in satisfaction and he chuckled. “Are you alright, mi Corazón?” he asked. “Oh, I´m more than all right” you said in a chipper voice. The deep rumble of his chest told you he was trying not to laugh out loud.

“Listen, I know we have this a little backwards here but” he said and almost sounded nervous. You lifted your head to look at him and indeed, he seemed caught up in his head again. “What?” you asked trying to sound as reassuring as you could. “Would you like to go out on a date with me?” he asked while pushing a strand of hair away from your face. Your heart skipped in your chest and a brilliant smile made its way onto your lips. “Absolutely, Frankie. I´d love that.” He smiled brightly and pulled you in for another heated kiss. “Let´s get cleaned up and then go over to my house, yea? There´s a barbeque going on and I want you there.” You nodded your head quickly. Washing up and getting situated again, you stole a kiss from Frankie about every five seconds. Each and every time he bent his head willingly, pressing you to any available surface, kissing you with all the affection he had for you.

“When we get back from our date,” you said with a swipe of your tongue across his bottom lip, “I want to do that again. Preferably on a bed though,” he grinned at that, catching your lip with his teeth and humming happily. “And butt ass naked.” This time he laughed out loud and heartily. It was such a joyous sound, your own laughter bubbled from your throat. You couldn´t help it. His happiness had inevitably become your own. Still hugging you close to him he kissed the tip of your nose. “I apologise for my friends in advance. They are going to be a pain in the ass for the whole evening. Scratch that, for a couple of weeks.” You hummed in understanding. “Seems like Santi already knew about what we felt for each other.” Frankie nodded. “Yea, little shit knew alright. He did all of that on purpose. Though he didn´t anticipate for me to fuck it up again, I guess.”

“You didn´t fuck it up, Frankie. We were feeling the same way but looked in totally different directions. I jumped to conclusions just as quickly as you did.” He nodded in understanding. “To be honest we should probably thank him.” Frankie immediately shook his head with wide eyes. “Hell, no! His ego is going to inflate so much, he would be insufferable.” You giggled. “All right,” you said, kissing him again. “Not a word to Santi. Now let´s go.” You took his hand and guided him outside. He walked beside you to his house, still having trouble understanding how he managed to hold your hand. But he did. And he squeezed it when he entered his house with you. One more look at you and he knew he would be all right. That all the teasing he was about to endure was worth the look of pure adoration and attraction you gave him. And sure enough, when you entered the back porch through the kitchen and three sets of eyes landed on your intertwined hands, the whooping and hollering from his friends did nothing but paint the purest of smiles on his face.

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514 notes · View notes

pimosworld · 6 months

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Never have I ever

Kinktober Prompt-Voyeurism,Squirting,Polyamory

Pairing -Will Miller x f!reader x Tf boys x f!reader

Summary-You and the boys play a game and things take an interesting turn.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, Voyuerism, Smut, Fluff, Rough sex, Dom Will, mentions of anal, mentions of MM dynamics, restraints, mentions of safe word but no use, established poly relationship, Unprotected PIV, cream pie, squirting, aftercare. Appropriate discussion of past relationships.

WC-4K

A/N- Set in the story of us verse but can be read as a stand alone. Reader is not race coded, no use of Y/N. This is my current WIP procrastination, when lightning strikes you must write. My first kinktober prompt. I just reached 400 followers and this is 4000 words so I’m gonna take this as my follower celebration as well.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

“Ben, are we seriously playing this?” The five of you are situated comfortably in your usual spots in the living room and somehow the younger Miller has convinced you all to ‘make things more interesting’ in his words.

“I’m too old for this.” Frankie mumbles into his beer as he downs the rest.

“We know…that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of it.” You chuckle briefly as Santi’s hand skirts higher up your thigh under the blanket. He’s been slowly torturing you as you relaxed on the couch, all of you decompressing and going over your week. It was a new ritual to discuss the ins and outs of your time apart but it seemed Ben was growing tired of the normal mostly mundane conversation.

“Hands up let’s go.” The impatient Miller barks from his spot on the floor, too big to fit anywhere else and you're always unsure of why Will won’t just get a bigger couch. You suggested a few months ago that it would be nice for all of you to be able to relax together. He agreed but evidently it takes time to find the perfect one.

Everyone reluctantly puts their hands up, Santiago opting for one hand because he can’t pry his other from the warmth of you under the blanket. The other part of you knows he’ll probably lose this game and he doesn’t feel like putting too much effort into revealing how much of a slut he was before he pulled his head out of his ass and finally told you how he felt.

“Both hands, Pope.” Frankie chides from beside you and Santi squeezes your thigh before drawing his hand out and flipping him off.

This game was an odd choice, almost completely out of left field. The five of you knew almost everything there was to know about each other. Although you’re sure the boys know a lot more about their respective sexual escapades than they know about yours. Nothing among these men is ever done by accident, you’re just waiting to see the angle that’s being played so you don’t end up trapped. The confused and amused looks on the others' faces has you a little at ease since it seems this is a solo mission for Ben and those didn’t always go as planned.

“I’ll start since it was my idea.” Will sends you a look from across the room as to say of course and you’re acutely aware that he hasn’t let out one protest or sign of stopping this game. You’re almost positive it’ll come down to you both in the end and he knows it judging by the smug look on his face.

“Never have I ever faked an orgasm.” You roll your eyes as you put one finger down. Maybe you were going to lose after all. The chuckles from the others don’t help your embarrassment, even though you should hardly blame yourself. It doesn’t need to be clarified that since you’d been with all of them there was no need to fake it anymore, but it was definitely known by all that you had to in the past an ungodly amount of times.

You brave a look up from the carpet that you’d all but memorized as you see Ben's wide tooth grinning at Frankie beside you. You look over just in time to see Frankie put his finger down as the redness creeps up his neck. He’s staring daggers at the younger Miller and Santi’s chuckles send vibrations through your body as you lean into him.

“How did she not know?” You ask him in the sweetest tone, no judgment behind it, just genuine curiosity.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, his calloused fingers digging into the patchy part of his beard. No doubt thinking how long this night will be if we have to explain each finger down,but of course that’s always Ben’s plan. He wants to draw this out for as long as he can.

“I pulled out and spit on her back.” He says it so sheepishly you almost feel bad for him. An image flashes in your mind and you make the mistake of looking over at Will who is doing his best to not completely lose it. You cup your mouth trying to suppress the giggle but it’s far too late.

“Laugh it up honey.” The funniest part is how could anyone not be thoroughly enjoying themselves when Francisco Morales is behind the wheel, but you figure it’s their loss.

You wrack your brain for something you’ve never done that they may have.Blowjob,one night stand,sent a nude photo,had sex in public…those are all out.

Will interrupts your thoughts as he speaks from the loveseat. “Never have I ever had a threesome.” He just saved you in more ways than one as you see Benny and Frankie glance at each other as they put a finger down. Santi tsks beside you and you don’t even have to look over to see he did as well.

You miss the look Santi shoots Frankie above your head as he makes a mental note. Ben may have been a thorn in his side at times but right now he could kiss the ground he walked on. Unbeknownst to you this has turned into a silent competition of memorizing everything you’ve never done,each time you don’t put a finger down he clocks one of them. He doesn’t even care that he’s about to lose as the room thrums with sexual tension.

As you predicted you and Will have the most fingers left. You have three,Will has two and Benny has one that he’s been holding onto for dear life. Santi and Frankie had long been out, Santi rejoins the group after refreshing your drinks. He knew he hasn't missed anything since it was getting harder to think of things as the game went on.

You need to get Ben out and you were sure this next question would. If it also took one down for Will then you would just be getting lucky you guessed.

“Never have I ever done anal.” Santi stifles a moan next you as Frankie not so subtly adjusts the growing bulge in his jeans. You were so focused on winning that you have no idea how thin of a thread they were holding onto. Frankie’s been fighting the mental image of checking each thing off your list one by one. Santiago isn’t faring much better not having realized how much innocence was still lying dormant in you.

Ben concedes as he grabs the pillow he was using on the floor, your brace for the moment that he decides to toss it at you only for him to place it gingerly in his lap.

“Welcome to the club.” Frankie mutters under his breath as you stare down Will who now has one finger up…interesting.

“Never have I ever been tied up.” Fuck

You put a finger down and wait for the responses that eventually never come. Will was playing dirty, he knows for a fact you’ve been tied up. It had only been a week since he asked you if you wanted to try it.

This was it,you had to go for the kill…but how bad did you want to win? You know there’s only one way but it will certainly come at a cost. In the end the cost may be worth it.

You raise up on the couch sitting back on your heels,proudly displaying the two fingers you have left. You can’t chance a look at anyone besides Will or you might chicken out. Frankie’s fingers grip nervously at the blanket that’s fallen next to you. He wants to reach out and touch you, the only sound over your beating heart is the rustling of the couch cushions as Santi leans forward just into your peripheral vision. Breath in…Breathe out 3,2,1.

“Never have I ever made someone squirt.” You say it so fast they almost don’t catch it…almost.

“Ha…he’s never made anyone…” Ben is silenced mid sentence as Will closes his fist and leans back into the seat. He doesn’t really care that he’s lost, in reality he’s actually won this game. Judging by the shocked looks on their faces or Ben’s mouth hanging agape. You didn’t fully think this through, your brain was clouded with the thrill of winning.

He almost feels bad for you as he says the momentary look of triumph quickly turns into one of defeat. It’s written all over your face as the realization sets in that you’ve completely fucked yourself, you would be a horrible poker player because you just revealed all your cards. If this were a lion's den you were a fresh piece of meat.

A drop of sweat trickles down your back as you lower your hand slowly to place it on your thigh. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Prove it.” Santi’s voice is so close to your ear you nearly jump out of your skin.

Will tilts his head at you as if to challenge you. This game was far from over and you’d be damned if you were going to lose. You stand from the couch and walk over to him. Four sets of eyes watching your every move as you grab his hand and pull him to stand. You raise your eyebrows as an acceptance to his challenge and he starts to lead you away from them toward the hallway. You sense no movement behind you as you make your way to his bedroom.

“You boys coming or not?” A small stampede sounds behind you and you chuckle picturing them trying not to trample each other as their bodies catch up with their feet, no doubt all thought having left their brains.

****

Santi’s lost count, has it been five or six times Will has brought you to the edge only to pull away and deny you what you so desperately want and need. He’s no stranger to this game but he doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on by it. Watching from a whole different viewpoint. Being a spectator is thrilling and watching you writhe and chase his touch after each denial makes his cock achingly hard in his jeans.

Frankie’s not doing much better as he tries to follow Will's rules he laid out before starting. If you want me to show you then you don’t touch her unless I tell you to. The captain in him didn’t come out often anymore but when it did he commanded respect.

Ben stares on with excitement and curiosity written all over his face. He watches as you grip the sheets, your chest heaving as sweat beads down your forehead. Will told you not to touch yourself and Ben didn’t know you could be so obedient.

Wills got you so on edge you can’t be shy anymore about the way you beg for him and plead for him to let you come. A far cry from when you first entered the bedroom.

He had slowly undressed you and instructed you to lay flat on the bed. He crawled over your body kissing and biting his way up your thighs and your stomach. His hand caressed your breast as his tongue laved over the other. It was too much and not enough as your eyes met the others standing in the room. They’d all seen you in this position before but something about them watching suddenly has you feeling vulnerable.

“Look at me.” He leaned in and kissed you, deep and passionate as his hand gripped your waist and his tongue prodded your mouth. An expert distraction to bring you back to the moment.

“It’s just me and you.” It was the last thing he said to you before he methodically took you apart right before their eyes. You knew he was taking his time, putting on a show. He wasn’t simply going to make you squirt and move on like some conquest. He wanted to draw this out, show them what he was capable of.

He started with his mouth as his breath ghosted over your slick folds. He looked up at you through hooded lids one more time to give you a chance to back out, when you gave no indication of wanting to stop he dragged his tongue expertly through your slit. Parting it with his thumb as he dove in circling your clit. You were a goner from the beginning as he brought you to the first cliff only to leave you hanging. You cried out his name in desperation as he dipped two fingers in, pumping in and out as he bit down on your thigh. The pleasure and pain mixed in with you on display had your nerves alight.

With each denied release you can feel the pressure building in your core, it’s so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. You can taste yourself as he leans over you again kissing you through your whimpers as your body shakes beneath him.

“Will please…” Your sweet voice begging is like music to their ears. Frankie would give you whatever you want if you asked him but Will doesn’t budge.

“Please what sweetheart…I can’t read your mind.”

Son of a bitch he’s trying to kill you.

For all his resolve Santiago can’t help but be impressed. Even if this sudden burst of confidence is all a show for them he has to admit he would’ve caved by now and just went straight for the finale.

You’re not even sure when Ben and Frankie sat on the bed leaning against the headboard beside you, or when Santi sat at the end to have a perfect view of your pussy clenching around nothing as your arousal drips onto the sheets below.

“Please Will, I need you inside me…I need to come please.” You’re practically crying as he shushes you, his cock leaking precum on your stomach as it twitches in anticipation. He’s not going to be able to last much longer at this rate either.

He leans back on his heels as he grips the base of his cock, slapping your clit and dragging it through your slick as he slowly prods your entrance. The noise you make almost has him buckling as you sigh into it finally having what you want.

He starts at a slow pace as he wraps your legs around his waist, he can see the way your face contorts with every slap of his hips against yours. You can feel every vein and ridge as the lude sounds of your sweat and slick echo in the room.

You can’t see it from where you are but Frankie’s itching to touch you, desperately wanting to break the rule as he watches you try not to touch yourself.

Ben is mesmerized as he watches your breasts bounce with every thrust of Will's hips, he wants to latch onto you and bite down until you're screaming his name, but he knows his brother would do more than scold him if he so much as tried to touch you right now.

Santi’s waiting…waiting for any sign or movement as to how he does it. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself but he’s seen nothing new, nothing he hasn’t done to you a dozen times over. Any indication as to what Will has managed to do before the rest of them. It’s driving him a little mad as he watches you beg for it like you’ve never had it before.

You can feel the tension building as Will picks up his pace, he shifts your legs to either side of his head as he punches the air out of your lungs with every thrust. He brings his thumb down rubbing fast circles on your clit as you try to grab his wrist. That all too familiar feeling has you keen and arch your back. “Grab her hands.” Frankie moves before you can think, your wrists gripped tightly in one of his palms above your head.

“Wait…please.” He chuckles under his breath as his chest heaves with the sharp movements. Not mere seconds ago you were begging to come and now you’re begging him to stop.

You crane your head back and lock eyes with Ben, his eyes are etched with worry as he lays there helpless to your pleas. “Will!”

“She’s fine…aren’t you sweetheart?” You can’t think, he’s fucked you so dumb you cant remember your own name let alone formulate a sentence. “Yes.” Is all you can manage.

“She knows what to say if she wants to stop.” He grits through his teeth as his orgasm steadily approaches, his thighs burn and he’s surely bruised your calves as he grips tightly to them.

You’ve never safe worded with him and you don’t plan on it now. It feels so good as the searing hot sensation creeps up your spine threatening to take purchase in your brain. “Please don’t stop.”

He gestures to Frankie to grab the pillow, who moves with lightning speed as he situates it under your back. Santi looks at your face then, and he finally sees it. The look of panic and bliss as you succumb to the inevitable. He’s seen this look before but he ran from it afraid that he might hurt you. Will punches something deep inside you as he lifts your hips, the sound you make bordering on pornography while your arousal coats his stomach almost forcing him out of you completely.

He thrusts once and twice before nearly collapsing his weight onto you as he comes through your high. He releases your legs as he leans in to give you a kiss. Will was nothing if thorough and he always made sure you were okay. It’s in this moment that you truly feel like it’s just the two of you and not aware of the blissed out expressions of the other men.

“You did so good for me.” He pants out against your mouth as he desperately tries to catch his breath.

You highly doubt this is what Ben had in mind when he suggested this game but it ended much better than any of you would have anticipated.

Moments pass and you’ve just barely recovered. You’re in need of a shower and some water as you try to move slightly, the grip on your wrists tighten as you look back at Frankie.

Do it again.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging a few who might be interested

@csarab615 @syrupsstuff @ghostslillady @uudelally @onefinnedwonder-fm @thedreadandthefugitivemind @romanarose @scarletthefierce

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intheorangebedroom · 5 months

Text

Tonight you belong to me

Series, ongoing

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.

Week after week, under the crushing weight of his body, you learn to find yourself. Week after week, under the reverence of your touch, he allows himself to heal. Why can’t this last forever, when you’re so good to each other?

Set a few months after the TF events.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC fem!Reader Written in reader format but Reader is an OFC. There are sparse but still present physical descriptions, she has a thorough background, and a name.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

TW: THERE WILL BE NO TRIGGER WARNINGS ON INDIVIDUAL CHAPTERS. So please tread carefully because there will be (blood) (kidding, just mine) mentions of: PTSD, death, infidelity, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, stomach bug & hospitalization, light bondage, rough sex, size kink taken to the next level, lots of bodily fluids (come spit and sweat, sweat come and spit, the usual suspects), questionable (very bad) decisions, unprotected sex like woa, intense darker Frankie, where’s my feminism at, this man, this man, this man. You know the drill.

A/N: alright orange besties, here we go again, I once more locked up Frankie in a bedroom with a girl... More or less an alternate exploration of my favourite tropes: love at first sight, soulmates, forever love, pleasure and pain, hard sex/sweet love, flourishing through a lover's care and attention, Frankie being a B I G boy... Are you in? 🥺 Also, I’ve never set a foot in Florida, bear with me, I'm trying my best. This is going to be a little rougher kind of Frankie, but still our Pilot™️. I hope you enjoy the flight 🧡

A very special and heartfelt orange THANK YOU to my love @deadmantis for the moodboards & inspos that went straight into the header for this series 🧡 Deadmantis, I love you in every colour.

Chapters

Prologue - In The Beginning

Chapter 1 - Dirt

Chapter 2 - Closer

Chapter 3 - The Man At The Frontier

Chapter 4 - Frankie (coming... before May. I hope. Tell my employer to leave me alone)

Chapter 5 - ...

Chapter 6 - ...

Epilogue - ...

Playlist

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legendary-pink-dot · 11 months

Text

To Be Explored Later

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Santiago "Pope" Garcia x female reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Swearing, dirty talk, rough-ish sex, hair pulling, oral sex (m receiving), a couple of spanks, edging if you squint, also yearning m/m if you squint, unprotected PIV, snowballing, threesome, dom!Santi.

WC: 1.7K

Notes: Not beta'ed, sorry. First time publishing. PWP, this was just not the time for a setup or plot. Rest assured that boundaries were talked about and consent freely given by all parties before any action happens, even though that discussion isn't included in the story. We love a Consent King here. Hope you enjoy, and thank you to my dear cheerleaders and fellow Pedro Pascal sluts @basicoccult @sweettoothsugarfix @lifewithoutcosette 🥰

---

Getting railed from behind by Santiago as you sucked his best friend and teammate’s cock? Not where you thought you’d be on a Friday night, especially not when they’re about to leave for a mission. What a sweet goodbye present you were being given.

What had started as an exploratory licking of Frankie’s cock had devolved, expanded, evolved into a full-on face fucking. Delicious but fast and deep, much too deep. You pull your mouth off him, gasping for air, and he whines. Fucking whines. A battle-hardened Delta Force pilot whose calm never breaks, even when crashing a helicopter, and you made him whimper like a kitten begging for milk. This is the kind of power you crave, and Santi knows exactly how to give it to you.

Santi doesn’t stop his thrusts. He snakes an arm under yours to crush his full weight against you, shoving you into the mattress and taking what little bit of breath you’d managed to suck in. "What’s the matter, hermosa? Been begging me for weeks to let you suck Fish’s cock.” He bites the sweet swan curve of your neck.

You glance up with the one eye not completely smushed into the pillow and see Frankie leaning back against the headboard, breath heaving, watching you with a hungry stare that doesn’t waver an inch. The intensity would scare you if you didn’t know how much of a softie he actually was. Too kind for this cruel world, and all that.

“So desperate for it that I finally caved and said okay. Now you’re gonna show some gratitude and fucking take it, cariño,” Santi rasps, punctuating with sweet hot thrusts into your cunt that’s somehow still getting even wetter. “Fucking. All. Of. It.”

Frankie smirks lecherously and swipes his thumb slowly over his bottom lip, eyes still fixed on yours, in promise you hope.

One extra deep stab of Santi’s cock inside you to make you cry out before he sits back and pulls you up to sit in his lap, crooking a finger at Frankie in invitation. No second invitation needed.

Frankie moves back to you, his hard cock swinging. You know he wants to slap it against your face, bob it on your tongue. Feed it to you while he holds your jaw open with a firm hand. Or maybe that’s only what you want. His eyes still fixed on you so solidly that you wonder if he’s even blinked once since this started.

“Be a good girl for him,” Santi hums, gently swiping your hair out of your face and into a loose bunch. “I’ll help you. Here.”

He fists your bunched hair and pulls your head back, hard. Straight rail line of nerves travelling from your scalp to your cunt, and he knows every stop on the route. Santi’s calloused hand spans the entire back of your skull and settles fingers into the grooves as he pushes your head forward, forcing your mouth to slide down Frankie’s cock, inch by torturously slow inch. Frankie hisses, cool droplets of spit raining on your forehead, soothing the fire.

True to his word, Santi doesn’t stop until you’ve taken all of it, right down to the base until you’re almost choking. “That’s it. Look how pretty. Doesn’t her mouth feel sweet, Fish? Fucking told you it would.”

Frankie groans loudly and stills himself, dangerously close, wrapping a hand around Santiago’s to keep your head right where it is. Santi stops moving inside you and you feel their fingers intertwine in your hair. Strangely sweet, probably an unconscious gesture. Something worth exploring. Later.

Frankie’s other hand snakes around Santi’s bicep for balance as he lets Santi pull your head back, all the way off until only the tip is left resting on your tongue. It’s delicious and just when you think you finally have a moment to appreciate it, Santi shoves your head down roughly again and quickly back up, forcibly driving your mouth up and down Frankie’s length, setting a brutal pace. “Yeah, that’s it,” he croons. “Fuck. Swallow it. Take it. Take him.”

You cry out. Or it would have been a cry, if your mouth hadn’t been stuffed so full of cock. Tears start to form in your eyes, you gag, but you keep going, because Santi told you to and he wants you to. You want to. And you’ll take Frankie any way you can get him. Santi has never entertained the possibility of sharing you, ever. This is special.

A hard smack on your ass brings you back. Santi starts driving back into you, in and out, wrecking your cunt from behind, one hand still gripping your skull and the other now around the front of your neck, one finger stroking under your jaw as Frankie holds him up and braces him with all his strength.

“I can feel him fucking your throat, cariño,” Santi gasps. “He’s so fucking big. You’re such a good girl, such a good filthy fucking sweet girl, taking him like this.” You squeal around Frankie’s cock at the praise and he twitches in your mouth with a loud groan. Oh, you are a good girl. So good. You know it.

“Who do you want to come in you first, Fish or me? Nod once for him, twice for me."

Santi shifts his angle to hit that sweetest of spots inside you and you don’t know, don’t care, can’t move, just don’t stop. Sliding into that blissed-out zone where time stands still, where you lose all connection with everyone and everything. Haze and stars.

Smack. “Answer me when I’m fucking you. Him or me?”

Strong fingers press bruises into your shoulder and you don’t know whose they are, don’t care, give me all the bruises please, mark me as a reminder of you for when you’re gone. You’re so close to coming that you almost bite down on Frankie’s cock. That just makes him moan lounder, thrust harder, you feel the heat of his stare on your face even if you can’t see it. You nod once.

Frankie finally pipes up, breathless and heaving. You like how he only speaks when he has something to say. “Both. She wants both, don’t you, honey?” Is this the way he talks during a mission, voice so deep and intentional? Shit. Gimme more of that. Your shaking legs and throbbing clit can wait.

You pull your mouth off him with a wet, pornographically loud slurp and meet his whining stare. Fuck that intense gaze, going straight to your cunt like that, especially when it’s on fire. Special indeed.

“I’m not sure,” you murmur shyly in your most fake innocent-virgin voice as Santi grinds to a halt inside you with a yelp and a squeeze. You know he hates edging himself, he’s not a man of great patience. “That sounds a little… dirty. How do you two know when the other is about to come?”

Frankie’s eyes dart for a second towards Santi and back to you, flecks of panicked black pepper in a chocolate gaze. Gotcha. They’ve definitely done stuff before. Another thing for the Explore Later file, yes please, fuck yes if I ever get this chance again.

Santi’s breath is warm against your neck. "Don’t worry about that, hermosa. Worry about me being fucking jealous of how desperate you are for our guest. I’ll make you pay for it tomorrow.”

You wriggle your ass against his crotch and wink at Frankie, who still stares at you, the tip of his cock painted bemused scarlet and resting a millimeter from your swollen mouth. “Oh no,” you whine in the highest fakery, licking your lips and holding his gaze. Eye fucking never looked so good. Bad pun.

Rough hands on your hips, hitching you up into position. “Maleducado. I told you to show some fucking gratitude. Be nice or I won’t let you come tonight.” Empty promises. Santi’s already reaching for your clit. “We’re gonna fill you up now. Eyes on him." They already are.

Santi slams back inside you, lurching you forward, and you swallow Frankie’s cock in one gulp. Both slides sweet as honey, both men slotting home, perfect match. No more words.

Frankie has no sentences now. No intention, only sound that makes perfect sense and none. Eyes still on you.

Santi’s hand is doing its work on your clit and nerves start to fire in your core, burst on your tongue, the roof of your mouth, even down to the roots of your teeth and melting into your bones. Santi always knows. "That's it, I've got you. We've got you. You’ve been so good to us, you deserve this, come for us, cariño." Good words, breathlessly spoken just for you, or maybe for all of you.

You come first. Your moans vibrate around the velvet hardness of Frankie’s cock and he’s next to shatter, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it, some kind of neediness mixed with liquid heat splashing on your tastebuds and slipping down your throat. You reserve some, keep it close, willing it to rest in the mouth that you no longer have control over, as he holds himself in you as long as he can.

It all tips Santiago over the edge as he gushes more praise for you, his good girl, his good fucking girl, and you take it, all of it, like he said you would.

You twist your head around to give Santi a kiss. He also deserves a goodbye present. You swallow his moans as you feed him Frankie’s come, still hot and thick in your mouth, letting him suck it off your tongue until he’s full and sated.

He reaches out a tired arm and pulls Frankie towards him, giving him a taste of himself, being sure to let you watch how their stubbly faces scratch against each other as their tongues whirl and slide. Frankie doesn’t seem surprised at this, at all, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows what’s left. His eyes aren’t on you anymore. They’re on Santi’s.

You have so many notes now for your Explore Later file. Just come back from the mission please, boys.

#frankie morales x you #santiago garcia x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier fanfic #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x santiago garcia

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jake-g-lockley · 1 year

Text

Sunflower (Frankie Morales x reader)

Masterlist | Playlist

Warnings: mentions of sex, other than that just fluff

Word count: 822 words

A/N: Saw a TikTok, instantly though of Frankie 🥰 Also two fics in one day? I’m tryna feed my childrens ok 🥹

.��。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

He was doing this on purpose. You were supposed to be completing your lesson plan but instead you're staring at the man who is doing pull-ups in front of you. The small part of your mind that was tied down to Earth was aware of the amount of saliva that had pooled in your mouth. Any more and you would’ve started to choke. Your eyes trailed past your laptop as you watched your boyfriend’s t-shirt strain under the flexing of his back muscles.

Frankie had subtly set up the wall pull-up bar right in front of your working desk and the contraption has been the bane of your existence since he started using it.

Who in the fuck does pull-ups at 11 pm on a Sunday night?

Frankie had tried anything in his power to distract you. He tickled you, kissed your neck and stole your laptop, but to no avail. You had practiced deep breathing techniques to immune yourself from the tickles, strained yourself from caving into Frankie’s soft kisses and your backup laptop sat perfectly under your thighs, your document safely backed up the cloud as you smiled sweetly at your fuming boyfriend. It was then when Frankie decided to (literally) pull out the big guns.

His legs were crossed at his ankles, creating the perfect vision of his butt that was displayed in front of you. You glared at his butt as if it was the cause of all your problems. If you had a boyfriend who didn’t have such a fat, juicy butt then you’d not have a problem with your concentration. But where was the fun in that?

His arms looked dangerous from this vantage point, shining with sweat that made his skin look like he was doused with honey. You knew first hand how those biceps have the ability to literally smother you in your sleep. His biceps made you dizzy with delight as you could see the array of scratches you left from last night, even at a distance.

You lick your teeth, wondering whether you could sneak a bite when a small chuckle from him threw you off balance.

“Heh, my plan worked.” he said with a sing songy voice as he let go of the bar and walked towards you.

“How-?”

“Your breathing gave it away, mi girasol. Besides, you stopped typing for a good fifteen minutes now.” he cut you off with a cheeky grin.

Mi girasol.

Frankie Morales really knew how to tune you to sing the right notes. With his perfect golden retriever smile and his sweet charming words, you knew you were absolutely done for. He had bought you sunflowers on your first date, not knowing that they were one of your most favorite things in the world. The nickname stuck, and your heart swelled anytime he called you that in his native tongue.

“I hate you, Francisco Morales.” you mumble as you feel the weight of his taunting gaze on you.

“You’re so bad at lying.” he says pointedly as he walks around the table to kiss your forehead.

“I am going to get rid of that pull-up bar.” you said smugly, getting up from your seat.

“Love to see you try.” Frankie retorted with a grin, crossing his arms and leaning against a nearby wall.

You stood at the doorway and looked up, wondering why the bar was so far up. Stretching one arm out, you try to grab onto the bar, but you obviously couldn't so instead, you resorted to jumping.

You huffed, clearly annoyed at your state of affairs as Frankie continuously chuckled from where he was standing. You jumped a few more times before large hands grabbed onto you and lifted you up by your waist. You grabbed onto the bar above you and your legs dangled below you as Frankie’s big head appeared in front of you with a shit eating grin.

“Gonna admit defeat, girasol?” he smiled, cupping your face with his hands.

“Help me do a pull-up and maybe I will.” you said, frowning at him.

“Of course, bebita.” he said as he slid his hands over your tits and abdomen before settling them onto your hips.

He pushed you up until your chin touched the bar and as he lowered you down, you swung your legs to lock your ankles behind his back, pulling him closer, letting go of the bar as he gripped you tighter. You giggled as he started to pepper your face with kisses, his beard tickling you in all the right spots.

You took his face in your hands and admired his earthy eyes as you pulled away. He smiled dopey back and swayed the both of you as you stroked his hair.

“I love you, and your juicy butt, mi sol.” you said giving him a kiss on the nose.

“I love you more, mi girasol.” he chuckles again, his eyes shining with your love.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Translations:

Mi sol: my sun

Mi girasol: my sunflower

Bebita: baby girl

Tagging: @romanarose @mintpurplemnm

Reblogs are appreciated <3 love you all so so much *muah*

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 11 months

Text

Familiarity Breeds Contempt

Chapter Ten of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Eleven

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.1K

Chapter Overview: Rochelle and Frankie's relationship finally reaches a boiling point

TW: toxic relationship, mentions of cocaine, depictions of domestic assault/violence

Notes: hey everyone !! this is a heavier chapter,, so it didn't feel right to include a lot of the things i originally intended too. not to worry though because that's what next week is for hehe ((: thank u to @missbabyjay for being a blessing and giving me some inspo for the fight scene !! i updated the tag list so please let me know if i missed you/ you want to be added ! as usual ... my asks are always open and happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What’s going on?” Benny looks puzzled as Will holds your scared body with extreme care. He peers past his brother to find only Pope following closely behind. “Where’s Fish?”

“Dealin’ with his past.” Will sighs as he sets you down.

You quietly wrap your arms around your body and turn to look back at the front door of the gym.

“His past? Could you be any more vague?” He brushes past his brother for you. Benny crouches down and cups your face in his hands while cautiously inspecting you. “What happened out there?”

“I don’t know. I really don't know. One minute everything is fine and then the next minute a car comes barreling towards all four of us and I’m being rushed inside.”

He looks for his friends for more answers as he rubs your shoulder. When Will stays silent, Pope speaks up.

“Crazy bitch decided it would be a good idea to show up here.” He offers.

“Rochelle?” Benny stands to his full height. “Rochelle is outside my fuckin’ gym? No way in hell.” He starts heading for the exit with murder in his eyes, but Will plants a steady hand on his chest.

“Fish is takin’ care of it. Leave it be.”

“Leave it be?! How can you say that after everything she has done to him?” Benny spits.

“For the love of God will someone tell me what’s going on?!” You finally crack.

All three of them look at you with pained expressions.

“As much as we want to tell you-” Pope starts.

“And we really want to tell you.” Benny quickly adds.

“This is something Catfish has to tell you himself. You deserve to hear it directly from him and not a third party, hermosa.”

“But-” You begin.

“He will tell you, hon.” Will wraps his arms around you and you allow yourself to accept the comfort you so desperately need amidst the chaos. “You just need to be patient with him. His past, just like the rest of ours, is hard to talk about. I know it’s easier said than done, but trust us.”

You slowly move your own limbs around his torso and take a deep breath of his woodsy cologne. Of course he wears a scent that is reminiscent of trees. They are one in the same if you think about it. Both of them are tall, strong, able to stand firm in any weather, and always constant. Will is your oak tree and you cling on to him until the raging winds start to die down. Unfortunately, just as trees are predictable, the winds never are. Muffled yelling begins to seep through the door accompanied by pounding fists on glass.

***

“Francisco fucking Morales!” She screeches. “We need to talk!”

He starts walking towards her. “Yes, Rochelle. We do.”

“Oh!” She gasps dramatically. “So now you want to talk?! That’s funny because you have been avoiding my calls and texts for the past week! I haven’t heard from you since Saturday night! It wouldn’t have anything to do with that fucking receptionsit, would it?”

He knew this would happen. He knew that she would immediately bring you up.

“Do you know how many times you would disappear on me while we were dating, Rochelle?” He asks calmly. “But now that we aren’t dating and I’m the one not responding, it’s an issue for you?”

He can see it in her eyes that she's taken aback. In every argument that they have ever had in the history of their relationship, Frankie had always rolled over and bared his stomach to her. He never tried to fight back in order to preserve the peace. Clearly she thought that this time would be the same.

“Why haven’t you answered my question?! Does that receptionist have anything to do with you ignoring me?!”

“This is between me and you. Leave her out of this.” He wants to keep you as far away from her hooked claws as he can. He might not have been able to escape them, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her drag you down.

“So, that’s a yes!” She throws her hands up in the air as if she is celebrating a victory. “I’m also going to correctly assume that she’s the reason why you haven’t given me an answer about getting back together!”

You were the reason. You were without a doubt the reason. In the short time that he has known you and the even shorter time that he has been with you, you have given him things he didn’t think he was worthy of. You gave back all the kindness and care he gifted you tenfold. You listened when he talked, communicated with him about the little things, and above all, even if you didn’t know it yet, were patient with him. He knew he was a broken and shattered piece of glass, but you were like the sea. Your gentle waves came up and kissed his rough edges until they were soft and round. You were nothing like the relentless, careening waters that he knew Rochelle to be. That he thought all relationships to be. You never made him feel like he was in a perpetual state of purgatory waiting to be granted access to the Heaven that was your affection. You gave it to him so willingly and without hesitation.

“No, I’m the reason why you haven’t been given an answer about if we are getting back together. I don’t want to do this anymore,” He motions his hands in between the two of them. “I want something healthy.”

He watches her eyes grow wide at his words. The sheer weight of them slams down on her so hard that he swears he almost sees her knees buckle.

“You ‘want something healthy’?!” She mocks. “I pulled you out of the gutter when I met you!”

“Oh my fucking God.” He whispers. It’s like he’s looking in a mirror eight months ago. “You’re high, aren’t you? You could have killed all of us and yourself driving like that!” Anger starts to bubble below his cool demeanor.

“Don’t change the subject!” She bellows.

“You want to talk about pulling me out of the gutter? Fine! You pulling me out of the gutter caused me to lose my fucking pilots license! The best part was,” He can’t help but laugh dryly. “You didn’t even care! That didn’t even snap you back to reality! You never came to visit me in rehab either!” He takes a deep breath to get centered as he can feel himself getting sucked in. “I’m just as complicit in the drug use as you were. You may have shown it to me, but I continued to buy it. I know this. But, when I needed your support you bailed on me.”

“I gave you a distraction from all of those goddamn nightmares!” She hollers. “If you were too busy being high on coke then you wouldn’t have them!”

“You’re fucking deranged if you think that’s what help is supposed to be!”

“At least when you were with me, you knew I wouldn’t judge you for it!” She quips. “What has she said about your little ‘habit’, Frankie? Did she gasp? Did she move away when you tried to touch her? Did she tell you she needed time to be by herself to think everything over?”

He stays quiet as he clenches his fists by his side. His nails are biting into the flesh of his palm, but he doesn’t care. Her words vibrate violently around in his head. He hadn’t told you about the coke, not yet at least. It wasn’t something he was comfortable coming right out and saying on a first date. The fear that it would make you look at him differently or even want to leave all together haunted him at night. Keeping it from you was wrong if he wanted to be in a relationship; however, he selfishly wanted to keep the image you had of him inside your head intact and uncorrupted.

“Well look at that!” She giggles maniacally. “She doesn’t know. You haven’t fessed up, have you?”

“What she and I talk about doesn’t concern you, Rochelle. As a matter-of-fact, nothing I say or do should concern you from here on out.” He conjures images of you and uses them to keep him steady and put the final nail in the coffin. “Since you clearly didn’t understand what my silence meant this past week, I’ll waste my breath on you one last time. I don’t want to be in a relationship with you. I don’t want to associate with you. I don’t want to know you anymore.”

“Frankie, baby. Please-” Rochelle begs. She can feel him slipping out from where she verbally pinned him. The struggle for control was tipping in Frankie’s favor and she didn’t know what to do.

“Don’t pretend like you care now to make up for the fact that you never did the entire time. It’s over for good. I should have ended it officially long ago. I guess in a fucked up way you did help me when we did coke. Whenever I was high I could actually convince myself that I loved you.”

Frankie watches as the woman’s eyes across from him darken. Her lips contort into a sinister smile and she tilts her head to one side. It made his blood run cold at how quickly she could switch emotions.

“She’ll leave you, you know?” Her voice is thick with false sweetness. “If she doesn’t leave you when she finds out about the drugs, she will leave when she learns about the little ‘vacation’ you took.”

He feels like he just got the air knocked out of him.

“Once she finds out that it’s all an illusion, you and all your friends, she’ll run for the hills. At the end of the day, you’re still the man who shot first.”

There it is. There is her winning blow. There is that conniving woman he always knew she could be. She had a gift for knowing exactly what to say to destroy a person from the inside out. Every time she did it, that signature smile was always present. It seemed to grow wider each time she twisted her verbal blade into his stomach. Up until this point, Frankie had managed to remain relatively controlled. He knew she was sick, but he never dreamed she would bring up what happened in South America. He told her, in confidence, a little about what happened because he desperately needed to. He went to places he never imagined due to the guilt he felt about Tom’s death. Figuring that talking about it would lessen the pain, he opened up to her. Unfortunately, that only worked when the person he was talking to was actually listening.

“Leave, Rochelle.” His voice waning under the strain of his plethora of emotions. “We’re done here.”

“I’m not done! I have something to tell that lovely woman hiding inside the gym!” She makes a mad dash to the gym entrance. When she frantically pulls on the handle and finds it locked, she resorts to yelling and slamming her hands against the glass. “Come out! Come out!”

Frankie has caught up to her by this time and is trying to move her away. As angry as he was, he would never resort to being physical with her.

“Rochelle, for the love of God get the fuck away! This isn’t going to fix anything!”

“Does it look like I care?!” She screams, turning her body to face him. “I don’t get dumped! That’s not how this works! I’m in control!”

She starts to bring her fists down on Frankie now. He blocks her blows with his forearms and prays that the guys have kept you far enough away to where none of this madness reaches your ears.

Loud sirens slice through Rochelle’s incomprehensible rambling. He looks past her flailing body and sees red and blue lights begin to paint the buildings on the street. As they get closer, its noise registers in her ears too.

“You called the cops?! You called the fucking cops on me?!” She brings her balled up hands down harder and faster on Frankie’s makeshift shield. “Asshole! Asshole! You’re such an asshole!”

A police cruiser pulls into the parking lot and comes to a quick stop in front of the gym. Two officers immediately jump out of the car and rush over. Within minutes they have Rochelle pinned up against the wall of the gym and are attaching handcuffs to her writhing wrists. She keeps yelling things like ‘this is a misunderstanding’ and ‘we were just having a passionate argument’. Frankie watches as the cops have to force her into the back seat because she keeps trying to climb out. She looks like a rabid animal being caged.

“Goodbye, Rochelle.” He doesn’t know if this is the last time he will see her, but for now he knows he can sleep without having to keep one eye open.

Once they finally have her secured, one officer climbs into the passenger seat and the one makes his way over to Frankie.

“Evenin’, sir. What can you tell me about the young lady?”

He has no idea how the cops arrived and no energy to speak with them. Frankie just wants the comfort of you.

“Uhh her name is Rochelle and I’m pretty sure she’s high right now. I really don’t have any other relevant information to give you. She just showed up here out of the blue.”

“Well, we were already goin’ to charge her with assault when we arrived on the scene, but I’ll have her drug tested when we get back to the station.” The man looks into the gym. “They know anythin’ about it?”

Frankie turns and sees Benny leading Will, Pope, and you to the front. Benny unlocks the front door and you slip under his arm and scurry to Frankie’s side. He swaddles you in his arms as he buries his head in the curve of your neck. He doesn’t know which one of y’all is shaking harder at this point.

“I’m Benjamin Miller, the owner of this gym. Maybe I could help answer some questions? My friends here were also outside when she sped through the parking lot earlier.”

Frankie looks up at his friend and nods in his direction. An unspoken ‘thank you’ for getting the attention off of him.

“Let’s get away from all this craziness, estrella. Walk with me.”

You feel him pull away from you, but reach down to take your hand. He holds it tightly as he guides you away from all the commotion. You follow him as he walks around the back side of Brass Knuckles until the sights and sounds of the evening fade away. Then it's only him and you leaning against the brick wall. There are so many questions buzzing around inside you, but no words come. You observe him take a small pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He thumbs one out and places it delicately between his lips. Then he looks over at you with tired eyes and offers you the pack. You shimmy one out for yourself, an act of solidarity, and wait as he gets the lighter. He lights yours first and then he takes care of himself. Only after he takes a long drag does he speak.

“I’m sorry that you had to be a part of that.” He sounds distant when he speaks. You don’t think that he’s doing it on purpose. This must be a defense mechanism.

“Do you want to talk about it? I know it's still really raw, but I’ll listen if you want me too.”

The sun had long set, but the faint glow from the end of his cigarette allows you to see a small smile pull at his lips.

“Would you settle for the sparknotes version right now? I promise I’ll give you the details tonight.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” You offer quietly.

“Did you-did you hear anything that she said?”

“I heard her yell your name before Will and Pope got me completely inside. Then we all heard yelling, more her than you, and finally her banging on the door.”

“To make a long story short, Rochelle showed up angry because I have been ignoring her since Saturday. Over a month ago, the day Benny hired you actually, she texted me saying she wanted to get back together. It wasn’t a healthy relationship, but it was the longest one I had been in so I was confused. It sounds silly.”

“No it doesn’t.” You reassure him. “Keep going.”

“Well, I knew I didn’t want to be in that relationship anymore and I just didn’t know what to tell her. Ignoring her was childish, I know, but it seemed like the best possible option at the time. I didn’t want to get into a big argument. I guess that blew up in my face, huh?”

“You did what you thought would be best, Frankie. Unfortunately, things just go south sometimes.”

“Hmm.” He nods at your statement. “Basically she was just angry that I didn’t want her in my life anymore. She’s not really used to being told ‘no’. You really didn’t hear anything specific though?”

“No.” You take a pull from your own cigarette. “The guys never let me leave the heavy bag area in the back.”

“Good.” He breathes out. He sounds like he is coming back to you.

“But…” You turn your head up to face him. “They really should have kept a closer eye on me if they didn’t want me involved.”

“It was you!” He says, whipping his head to look at you.

“In their defense, they were all discussing what they should do about her showing up. Will wanted to let you figure it out yourself, Benny wanted to punch her out I'm pretty sure, and Pope was somewhere in the middle. I got tired of sitting there and listening to them bicker so I took my own course of action.”

“You amaze me, you know that?”

“What do you mean?” You feel your cheeks heat up.

“I just-I just can’t believe you did that. There were four people telling you to stay out of it and yet you still found a way to help me. I’ve never had someone like that in my life.”

“Your friends would drop everything for you!”

“I know that.” He laughs lightly. “I mean I’ve never had a woman I’m … dating do that for me.”

“Oh, so we’re dating?” You tease.

“Yes? No? Talking? Courting, maybe?”

“Courting?” You cough. You were in the middle of inhaling and that caught you off guard.

“Don’t laugh!” He says, shoving you in the shoulder. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea what we are. I just know I like whatever it is.”

“I like it too, Frankie. Labels can come later.” You take the hand he had resting by his side and interlace your fingers. “So…you smoke?”

“It’s not an everyday thing!” He rushes. “It just helps curb the anxiety in a stressful situation.”

“I get it.” You say honestly.

“I haven’t had to use them in a little over a month.” His hand squeezes yours. “That’s about when you came into my life.”

“I’m your new vice, huh?”

“You have no idea, estrella.”

The two of you stand, hands together, letting the smoke from your cigarettes dance around in the air. The quiet that has encompassed y’all is welcome. You don’t hear the blaring sounds of the siren nor the damped dialogue between the police and your friends. It’s safe to say that the coast is clear and safe, but something keeps you here. Something keeps you both here. You can feel it in the way Frankie is breathing, the way that his thumb is rubbing over your skin, that he has more to tell you. He says your name barely above a whisper.

“Yes?”

“I know I said I would only give you a quick summary, but you deserve more than that. You deserve better than that.”

“Frankie, it can wait if you want it to.”

“This is something I need to tell you. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to explain it, but it’s just so hard.” You clutch his hand to let him know you’re listening. “It has to do with my Tuesday work meetings.”

“Alright?” You aren’t really sure what that has to do with the current situation.

“I don’t really go- they aren’t work meetings. They’re meetings, but they focus on something other than my job. I uhh fuck.” He has to take a breath. “It’s a support group.”

“For dealing with what you saw on missions?”

“For the things I did to erase what I saw on missions actually. I go to an NA meeting every Tuesday. I met Rochelle when I got back from a particularly bad one. We both kinda clung to each other although, in hindsight, we were both sinking ships. We would go out drinking all the time and when that stopped helping I started using cocaine. It just snowballed from there into something I couldn’t control. I ended up losing my pilot's license because my habit got so bad.”

“God, Frankie. I’m so sorry.”

“The guys helped me get into a temporary rehab and then find a new job. I’ve been clean for eight months now.”

“That’s amazing!” You're looking directly into those deep brown eyes. “I’m so proud of you!”

“You’re what?” The pure shock on his face makes you want to sob.

“Frankie, I’m proud of you. Pulling yourself up after dealing with something like that isn’t easy in the slightest, but you did it. You found your footing and have been walking on your own for eight long months. Going to those weekly NA meetings proves that you are serious about recovery. You should be proud of yourself.”

“You don’t want to leave?”

“Leave? Why would I want to leave?”

“I’m an addict.” He speaks softly.

“A recovering addict.” You say taking his face in your hand after discarding your cig. “You’re recovering. Please don’t discount all of your hard work. I’m so humbled that you wanted to tell me about this. It would be hard to support you if I left, now wouldn’t it?”

He surges forward and swallows you in a kiss. His tongue tastes of sweet tobacco as it parts your lips. Your hands find his hair and knock away his cap so you can run your fingers through it. His moans fill your ears as you bite down on his bottom lip. He moves so he’s positioned in front of you. You feel the coarse brick nip at your exposed skin as he pushes your body against it. His hand comes down to roughly palm you through your shirt. You whine in approval as your back arches in a subconscious response to his actions.

“It’s Pope! I’m coming back there! Y’all better not be doing anything I would be doing!”

The two of you scramble to separate before you get caught like a couple of horny teenagers. Frankie is in the process of snatching his cap off the ground when Pope rounds the corner of the building.

“Hi!” You say, breathing abnormally.

“Hello to you.” Pope says with a knowing grin. “Fish.” He nods

The man next to you returns the same greeting.

“Not to kill the vibe of whatever is going on here, but Benny is bitching up a storm.”

“Oh, God. What now?” You question.

“He can’t find his ring girl for this evening.” He smiles.

“It’s barely even 9 o’clock.” Frankie finally chimes in.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” Pope holds his hands up. “I was just told to come tell you to get your ass inside. You know how the Millers are about punctuality.”

“Yeah, alright.” You concede. “Tell him I’m coming.”

Pope throws each of you a devious wink before leaving. You throw your head back and sigh loudly when it's just you and Frankie again.

“Want to accompany me into the lion's den?” You hold out your hand to him.

“Yes, but can I ask you something first?”

“What’s up?”

“Would you maybe, Christ I feel like a child, want to be my girlfriend? I know you said that labels could come later, but I don’t want to wait until later.”

Your smile could light up the entire alley. You throw your hands around his neck and kiss him. He learned from your last interaction and placed one hand on his cap and circled your lower back with the other. You can feel him smiling against you as you pepper his lips, his jaw, and any skin that you can reach with kisses.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” He laughs when you finally release him.

“Of course it’s a fucking yes! Francisco Morales, I would love to be your girlfriend!”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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