#triple frontier fan fiction
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First
Frankie Morales x Female Reader
Summary: After finding out that Santi has been texting you behind his back, Frankie wants to make sure he gets to have you before his best friend does.
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Explicit Smut, Kissing, Biting, Marking, Hair-Pulling, Nipple Play, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Cream Pie, Choking, Slight Breeding Kink, Jealousy, Stalking, Reunions, Secret Trysts, Hints of Infidelity, Competition, Territorial Frankie, A Missed Phone Call From Santi
Word Count: 1.7k+
Prequel to FAVORITE
Tags: @bullet-prooflove @likedovesinthewnd @letsby @skittle479
Read more of my work HERE!
“So, Pope’s trying to keep you all to himself again, huh?” You can hear the bitter tinge of jealousy in Frankie’s voice as he kisses his way down your throat and clavicle, his mustache tickling the sensitive skin on your neck as he nuzzles his question into it. Instead of waiting for an answer, he continues kissing a sloppy trail of desire down your chest before recklessly pulling your shirt off over your head.
“Maybe,” you tease, almost forgetting how carelessly hungry his affection for you always is. Your eyes slowly adjust to the image of him on top of you in the pale moonlight as he grins up at you in sheer satisfaction, his eager mouth sending a pattern of gooseflesh up and down your torso as your toes curl preemptively. “Is that all it takes to get your attention, Frankie? A healthy sense of competition?”
“Maybe,” he mocks you with a raised eyebrow, tossing your shirt behind him and pulling your bra down to expose your breasts. “Is there a reason I had to find out you were single again by spying on his fucking texts?”
“Hey, he texted me first.” You hiss as he licks his way down to your nipple, encircling it with his tongue before finally biting down hard, those beautiful brown eyes of his shooting back up to capture your reaction. Your back arches instinctively, pushing yourself into his mouth as he hums a triumphant little laugh against your skin, exciting every nerve in your body.
“I wasn’t sure you’d still be interested,” you confess in a breathy whisper.
“Oh, I’m always interested,” he winks. “You should know that by now.” He takes your other nipple between his fingers, twisting it as he bites down one more time to deliver that quick jolt of pain he knows will drive you crazy.
His brash and blatant nature always sparked something primal in you that no one else was able to draw out so quickly, igniting a need deep within you that only he could satisfy; and he knew it. Only he could make all those years seem to disappear like it was only yesterday that you collided together amidst the sweltering heat of the war-torn desert. Only he could show up on your doorstep unannounced and expect you to hold the door open as he waltzed back into your life. Only he could make you feel this way.
“Okay,” you smile as your hands graze over his neck and shoulders until your fingers find their way between his messy curls, tugging on them as you moan in delight. You let your body rock into him at a slow, rhythmic pace as an all too familiar knot forms in your stomach, tensing your muscles as your arousal begins to collect between your legs. You hear him moan back in response as he torments that thin, delicate layer of your skin, each surge of pain followed by a languid lick of his tongue as your groans grow louder than his.
BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ
Your phone vibrates on your bedside table, an old picture of Santi popping up on the screen as his call goes unanswered.
Frankie stops his suckling and drags his teeth across your nipple, pulling it taut with an audible pop before it bounces back into place, giving you a knowing look. He hovers over you for a moment before deciding to pull back and stare at your phone, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down in his throat as he looks at the picture of his partner, of his best friend, of your ex.
“Is he still coming over here tomorrow?” He pushes his hands and knees into the mattress to stand up at the foot of the bed.
“Who?” You attempt to play stupid, unsure of just how much of your conversation with Santi he actually read.
“Pope,” he starts to unbuckle his belt, eyes fixated on you as he casually nods toward your phone. “And don’t act so fucking innocent, we both know he wants to see you again.”
“Then what are you doing here?” You challenge as the buzzing of your phone finally stops and your screen falls dark.
Instead of giving you a direct answer, he tilts his head to look at you, his salacious glare more than enough to tie that knot right back into your stomach. He continues unfastening his jeans in silence, pushing them down past his thighs and calves along with his boxers before stepping out of them completely.
“I wanted to make sure I got you first.” The honest desperation in his voice drops it an octave, making you want him even more as he gratuitously strokes himself before climbing back into bed with you, kissing his way up your belly.
“Really?”
“I want him to smell me on you the second he walks through that door.” He crawls up your body with his confession, his words making your complicated past with both of them seem trivial as he unfastens the button on your jeans. He makes quick work of pulling your pants down, nearly ripping them off your ankles as he adds them to the crumpled pile of laundry on the floor behind him.
“Yeah?” You encourage, spreading your legs just to feel his bare body against yours for the first time in years as he kisses your arms and shoulders, nipping at your clavicle before finally sucking a tantalizing bruise into your neck.
“Yeah,” he presses a kiss into the wet, reddened flesh where he’d just marked you, knowing good and well that Santi will see it on you tomorrow as he moves his lips up to your face.
Wasting no time in kissing your lips, he grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look into his eyes as he brushes the tip of his dick against your soaking wet folds. He tastes just like he did the very first time in that dive bar so many years ago, whiskey and Coke coating his tongue as it hurriedly brushes against yours. You relish that unique flavor of his saliva mixing in with the alcohol as his facial hair scratches at your chin, his kiss only deepenening with a melodic hum against your lips.
“I want him to taste my come when he goes down on you tomorrow night.” He whispers as he glides the head of his cock over your clit a few times just to watch your face change, a gleeful grin wrinkling the skin around his eyes.
“Frankie!” You gasp, his brash statement shocking you just as much as the tiny sparks of bliss he’s building with the movement of his hips. You’d forgotten how big he was, the sight of him alone not doing him enough justice as he teases your entrance over and over again with the promise of penetration before finally pushing inside your slick, velvety walls.
“Fuck, you feel good.” He whispers as if it’s a sin to say out loud, his stifled breath wisping away the stray hairs on your forehead as he carefully stretches you out.
“Oh, my god.” You whine into his mouth as he kisses you again, those little sparks of pleasure now catching fire with each pulsating thrust he delivers, bottoming out against your thighs each and every time he fans the flames of your euphoria.
“I forgot how fucking tight you are,” he nearly stutters, grabbing hold of both your thighs and pushing them up toward your head for a more delicious angle as the sweat drips down his face.
“I forgot how fucking big you are,” you praise in return, feeling that fire stoke inside you as he picks up the pace, that aching pleasure burning it’s way through you as he grinds against your muscles.
“Yeah?” He leans down and wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you slightly toward him as he gently massages your carotid with his thumb. “You gonna be a good girl and come for me, then?”
Jesus Fucking Christ. After all these years, he still knows exactly what to say to practically push you over the edge.
“Uh-huh,” you nod, swallowing against his palm as you hold onto his shoulders for dear life, every nerve in your body beginning to tingle from his valiant efforts.
“Good,” he smirks. “Then do it.”
It’s almost too much for you to handle, his girth stretching you out far beyond the size of your last lover as his head continually glides across that internal bundle of nerves he always knows how to find. It sends surge after surge of warm, delectable rapture up into your core, forcing your eyes to roll back into your head as you allow that feeling to take over entirely. Your greedy sex has no other choice but to envelop him completely, legs wrapped around his back to hold him near as he continues chasing his own pleasure in the depths of your desire.
Your grip on his shoulders loosens only to fall down to the center of his chest, the tips of your fingernails marking him in your own way as those flames finally combust in an all encompassing inferno. You can’t help but scream his name as that incendiary flash blazes up through your spine, short circuiting every synapse in your body until it singes every inch of your skin in a deafening torrent of ecstasy. The sensation nearly puts you out, incinerating your very lips, fingers and toes to the point of leaving you unrecognizable as you turn and wither beneath his hips.
A feral growl brews in his chest as he somehow quickens his pace, straining your burnt-out muscles by feeding his own cum deeper into your well spent heat. He grunts and groans as he fills you to capacity, the sweat from his brow evaporating onto your skin mere seconds after dripping down onto you. Thrust after thrust keeps that fire stoked until his fluid starts spilling out of you and down your inner thigh.
“You’re gonna feel me dripping out of you all day tomorrow.” He whispers into your ear before releasing his grip on your throat, feathering his fingertips over your neck and chest before letting go completely. “It’ll be like we’re both inside you at the same time.”
BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ
Santi’s picture pops up on your screen again as Frankie sighs in exhaustion, falling onto his side before laying down next to you.
“You should answer it.”
#frankie morales#pedro pascal#triple frontier#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x female reader#frankie morales fanfiction#triple frontier fan fiction
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2000 followers!!!!
Graphic by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog 🥰🥰
Wow, I'm in tears y'all I can't believe I'm at 2k!!!!!
I'll be straight up, the 1k celebration was a lot ;-;
And with school, I can't commit to a whole lot especially writing things for people who don't interact with my shit at all. So, I decided to do something specific
My talent lies in series more than one shots. It's where I shine. So I think the celebration will be centered more around my different universes! Acceptable universes will be listened an linked at the bottom.
Here's how to participate!
Fuck Marry Kiss
Pic 3 canon characters or OC's from any universes. If you say "Marc Spector" Specify if its from Seattle or Sunshine. Make sure I know which series bc there slightly different characterizations sometimes. Same with reader. MOST of my readers have a nickname like Little One or Madonna.
Example: FMK: IYWBW Santi, Lorenzo, and Puppy Girl reader
2. Bonus chapter or thoughts (or thots)
Ever wanted to know how Zach and Lorenzo fell in love? Ever wondered what Jana and Will's friendship is like? Wanted to see what Guard Dog! Joel and Reader do for fun? Now is your chance! Please be clear if you're looking for thoughts or an organized chapter.
Example: Can I please request a scene with how Santi calms down Laci when she has PTSD now that's she's a few years into healing?
Example 2: Was wondering if you had some random thoughts of what shows Jake and Sam have watched together over the years?
3. Crossovers!
Want two characters from different universes to meet? Have a cross story ship? Think two readers or OC's would be besties? Think a pair of characters would be fun in a different AU? Come on over!
Example (From Fen): Leather and Lace Santi and Laci meet The Wrong Way Joel and Little one
Example 2 (Also from Fen): What if Sam met Becca.
Example 3: I think Angela from Blessed be the Fruit would absolutely love Candy and they should date.
Acceptable universes to ask for fics or crossovers from:
If You Wanna Be Wild (Santiago Garcia x Latina!Reader/OC x Javier Pena) with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside (Steven Grant x OC x Marc Spector)
Seattle (Marc Spector x Jewish!OC)
Leather and Lace Universe (Santiago Garcia x OC, Frankie Morales x AfroLatina!OC, William Miller x Vietnamese!OC, Ben Miller x M!OC)
Awakening (Reader x all 4, IronPope, FishBen)
Darkness on the Edge of Town (Joel Miller x reader, no age gap)
DBF!Joel Miller Holiday Fucks (Joel Miller x reader, large age gap)
Pieces from my dark side blog @romana-after-dark are allowed too. I have 2k followers here but Ill want to open the worlds in here to the event.
The Wrong Way (Dark!Joel Miller x reader, Dark!Tommy Miller x reader DDDNE)
Guard Dog (Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!reader)
Blessed Be the Fruit (Dark!Joel Miller x darkish!reader)
Puppy Girl (dark!Joel Miller x reader, pet play)
Room's on Fire (Reader x Santiago, Francisco, Will, Ben, FishBen, FishPope)
If you have other ideas, just ask!!!
Spring Break is coming up so im excited to do some of these and my commissions!
I CANNOT thank my lovely followers enough for all this!!! I love writing so fucking much and many have reached out to me about fics being healing for them
so, thank you. I mean it. Man of these stories, like LaL universe or TWW have been healing for me, processing a lot of feelings through them and i pu tmy heart and soul into my stories, so it makes me so happy and proud yall want to read.
#romana's 2000 follower celebration#triple frontier#moon knight#marc spector#steven grant#santiago garcia#jake lockley#joel miller#moon knight fanfiction#tlou#the last of us fanfiction#triple frontier fan fiction#dark joel#dark joel miller#santiago garcia x reader#follower celebration#romana is blessed
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F My...Tonsils? - Benny Miller x wife!Reader
Pairing: Benny Miller x wife!Reader (1st Person POV; Benergy Universe)
Summary: Benny is attractive despite the ridiculous things that come out of his mouth.
Word Count: 600+
Rating: No rating but my blog is 18+
Warnings: 1st person POV, Language, Allusions to oral
Notes: Things were changed, but this was inspired by a legitimate exchange between me and my husband.
As always, Benergy is a collection of one-shots so this can be read without having read anything else.
Main Masterlist | Benergy Series Masterlist
“Boom!” Benny leaps to his feet as he slams his last Uno card onto the table. “Suck my dick!” He gestures to the area in case I’ve forgotten where his dick resides, despite the fact that the two children sleeping above should make it clear I know.
Typical Benny.
I pretend to be annoyed, rolling my eyes while I gather the pile of cards, seeming to ignore the fact that he’s now strutting around the dining room like a peacock showing off his plumage. Secretly, I watch him out of the corner of my eye, trying to hide the smile that's creeping up on my face as I realize how much I enjoy his playful antics.
“You wish,” I mumble. I shuffle the deck, waiting for him to settle down to see if he wants to continue or call it a night. We've been playing games for hours while eating snacks, chatting, and joking around – our little date night with kids when we don't have a sitter. It's not always easy balancing parenthood and romance, but nights like these make it all worth it. We share many laughs, teasing and taunting each other, just having fun and enjoying each other’s company.
“No, you wish,” Benny retorts, and I raise an eyebrow in response, curious as to where he’s going to take this conversation. He places his hands on the table and leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You wish I was touching your tonsils right now.”
My face twists in shock, unable to believe he just said that. I don’t know if I’m more stunned by his words or the fact he thinks it’s even possible.
Fuck…why is the thought of that so hot? Benny deep in my throat…chocking on his-
I try to compose myself and respond, “You know I don’t have tonsils, right?” But deep down, I can feel my cheeks burning and my heart racing. As much as I try to deny it, there's something about Benny that I can never resist. Maybe it's his sense of humor or his confidence, but I find myself drawn to him more and more each day.
Benny isn’t thrown off by my response. He simply smirks and says, “That’s how deep I’d be. I’d touch the ghost of your tonsils.”
Jesus Christ. I can’t help but pinch the bridge of my nose and, for a moment, reconsider all of my life choices. My mind races with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Part of me thinks he is such an idiot while another part of me is so incredibly turned on by him.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Before I can fully process my thoughts, Benny walks to where I’m sitting, tips my chin up, and kisses me, sending a rush of desire through my body. I melt into the kiss, my hands finding their way to the back of his neck as I pull him closer. It's like every nerve in my body is on fire, and I can't get enough of him. But as quickly as the kiss started, it ends, and Benny pulls away with a smirk on his face.
“I knew you couldn't resist me," he says, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
Once more, I roll my eyes, trying to hide the fact that he’s right.
“You're insufferable,” I reply, but there's a hint of laughter in my voice. I rise from my chair and push past him, heading toward the stairs that lead to our bedroom.
“Where are you going?” he questions, and I feel his gaze following me.
“Upstairs to perform a séance to see if the ghosts of my tonsils want to get fucked tonight.” I stop and turn to look down at him, seeing that he hasn't moved. "You coming or not?"
#benny miller#benny miller x you#benny miller fanfic#benny miller x reader#benny miller x f!reader#benny miller fanfiction#garrett hedlund#garrett hedlund x reader#garrett hedlund fanfiction#garrett hedlund characters#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fan fiction#triple frontier fic#benergy#catie writes
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Half of You (part 5) [Santiago x Fem!Reader]
Summary: the Baby Daddy Santi chronicles are back, baybee!
Warnings: a little angst, a little fluff.
Rating: 18+ ONLY. minors DNI.
Word Count: 5.2k
A/N: I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER (see: "definition of "forever"", meaning: 107 days). thank you for being so patient. As always reblogs are rewarded with a virtual hug if you're into that sorta thing. And if you're not on the taglist and you distinctly remember asking me to add you to the taglist, pls lmk, I'm dreadful at keeping that stuff organized. Much love to you all.
Fish disembarks with a playful nudge of your woodpile with the toe of his boot. “Good luck with your project, hermosa.”
“You can come check it out on Thrusday, bring me a little housewarming plant for it, huh? Something pretty.”
He gives you a lazy salute and wink. You don’t watch as he pulls out of Santi’s driveway. You zone out, staring at the clean vertical lines of your freshly shorn lawn. You can hear Santi still wrenching and clanking around in the kitchen. You didn’t hear their whole conversation, just bits and pieces, the fucking window was open and it wasn’t like you were trying to give them privacy anyway. You feel a bout of nausea swell in your throat and you can’t tell if its guilt, or if it’s morning sickness, or if its from the ungodly heat or a bodily reaction to the fertility hormones, but you feel on the edge of vomiting. You rest a palm over your lower abdomen. It could be in there right now. Jay’s face pops into your head and you want to cry. You take a deep breath and rest your head against the slatted outer wall of your craftsman home. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring out at the lawn with the echos of Fish’s words humming against the insides of your skull when the clanking stops and Santi comes to join you on the porch.
“Filters all set up, I’m letting the water run. The booklet said it has to go for an hour until it’s good to drink.”
You don’t respond, so he continues,
“I put the five gal under it though, so it catches all the water… I googled it and it said that the filtration test water is safe for plants, so maybe you can use it on some—“
You cover your face with your hands to hide the tears that well up in your eyes.
“Hey!” Santi crouches down to your level quickly with his popping knees and puts a reassuring arm around your shoulder. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head, still hiding your eyes and you laugh incredulously.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Thank you, Santi.” You sniff a sob and laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Could’ve fooled me with the waterworks, I— what’s this pile of… stickers?”
You wipe your eyes to see that Santi’s brow is scrunched, investigating the clump of alphabet’d small stickers in between his fingers.
“It’s… I thought…” you hiccup. Dammit.
Santi laughs. “Don’t tell me, Vin. Did the little earthquake I caused make the stickers fall off?”
You sniff the snot back into your nose and you nod. “You know what? That’s exactly how it happened.”
“And then they all banded together in a pile to hide from the aftershocks?”
“Nailed it. Two for two. You’re on a roll.”
You take a deep breath, hiccuping despite your best composed efforts, and Santi fully lowers himself beside you, arm still around your shoulders. He squeezes you close to his side. He smells like sweat and basil, lemons and lawn clippings.
Santi follows your line of vision to the freshly manicured lawn. “Are you crying about the hedges? I know I did them a little bit short this time, but—“
“I heard Fish.”
Santi’s grip loosens almost imperceptibly and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.
“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Vin. Love the guy to death but he’s been a martyr since recovery. ”
You nod in reluctant agreement.
“Hey….People are going to think what they’re going to think. It won’t stop with Frank.”
“Yeah I know it’s…”
The lawn is pretty. You hone in on a bee writhing on a violet blossom.
“It’s the hormones, I think.”
You know its a lie, even as it leaves your mouth. It doesn’t convince you and you sure as shit know it doesn’t convince Santiago.
“Hormones, huh? Sorry about that.”
You hiccup and laugh, “not your fault. No need to apologize.”
Santi stretches his legs out from under himself and sighs. “Well if the turkey basting did it’s job, I think it’s only fair I share partial blame, don’t you think?” His grip tightens on you once more and you laugh through a fresh bout of tears, you rest your head on his sweat dampened cotton shirt, wriggling your nose to alleviate the itch.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper as a fresh flood of tears escape.
“C’mon, Vin. You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He kisses the top of your forehead casually and rubs your shoulder, letting you shift closer to him, wrapping your arms around his middle.
“But I do. I really really do.” You bury your face into his cotton clothed chest. “Even fucking now, I can help myself… I cosign you to all my bullshit. You’ve been picking up my broken pieces, letting me cry into your t-shirts since day one, since ground zero. It’s not fair to you.”
“This shirt is filthy anyway.”
You shake your head against his chest.
“This is the hormones talking. That ovulation injection is no joke.”
“Maybe you should go lie down.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Delusional and stubborn, huh?”
You smack his chest lightly.
“Go take a nap, Vin. Lie down. I’ll get you some water… some fresh reverse osmosis water… in an hour.”
It’s hard to move, to leave this spot on the sweltering porch, it’s not exactly comfortable on the floor, but your face is resting on the soft cotton of Santi’s t-shirt. He’s content to let you, just like he’s always been; content to let you call the shots, to dictate the direction, no matter what fucking storm you decide to steer the ship towards.
You eventually concede to a nap and Santi walks you upstairs. He takes off your shoes, and tucks you into your bed, clothes and all. He leaves for a while and in your in-between-states-of-consciousness, Santi sets a glass of water on your nightstand. He’s certainly thinking you’re fast asleep as he pulls your duvet snugly to your ears. You fall asleep totally after he softly closes your bedroom door and when you wake up two hours later, there’s a fully constructed plant shelf on your front porch.
The next few days pass like any other. Every morning you arise to bake something new, forgoing the oven on Tuesday’s sweltering morning temperatures to concoct some no-bake oatmeal cookies that cause Santiago to outright hoard the batch in his fridge, making you promise not to give them out. You’re too cranky and tired on a novel lack of caffeine to put up much of a fight.
You never mention the plant shelf to Santiago, but on Wednesday morning there’s a large pot of vibrant green basil on the shelf which you’re certain is his doing.
On Thursday morning you head to the fertility clinic to test to see if the initial ‘turkey basting’ was successful. They take your urine sample and you twiddle your thumbs, seated with your bare ass on the butcher paper in the empty exam room… they tell you it has.
You’re pregnant. Pregnant. Your heart rate picks up and you have to lie down, the paper crinkling under your back and behind your hair as you cup your mouth with your hands and begin to cry… again. Fucking hormones.
The usual surly nurse congratulates you and tells you to come back in eight weeks for the ultrasound. Ultrasound.
You don’t trust yourself to drive home straight away. You wonder around the neighboring shopping complex and people-watch families. Families on evening walks, families out to dinner, families smiling, families bickering… You hold your abdomen and laugh to yourself. And cry. Again.
By the time you get home, the sun has already gone down. Santi’s driveway holds additional cars, like most Thursday evenings. the boys are over to watch the game. You quietly exit your car, you sit in the dark on your porch swing and watch Santi, Will, Benny, Frank, and Tom through Santi’s dining room window. They clap shoulders, hold cans of beer and shout playfully at one another. The noises are an unintelligible hum that swells in your heart. After about 30 minutes, Fish drags Santi to the front window and points to the street. Santiago cups his hands against the blaring light of his living room to peer out into the darkness. He’s looking at your car.
In a matter of moments, Santiago is walking down his driveway and up yours. (he never jumps the hedges. Fastidious, that one.) you smile to yourself as he fixes he hair and squares his shoulders, preparing to ring your doorbell when he spots you in the dark on the swing.
“Vin!” He takes a step towards you and pauses.
“Hey” You don’t know if he can see your face in the shadows or not, but something keeps him from advancing, from joining you on the two-person swing.
“Why aren’t you over there? You didn’t even tell me where you were going today, but, that’s, that’s okay. Everyone’s been asking about you. Ben brought that dip you like and Fish swore up and down that he hasn’t told anyone, besides Rach, obviously. So it’s not as if you have to explain anything. If you don’t want to.”
Santi scratches the back of his neck and takes one more shuffling step closer to the swing. Hesitant. “Vin?”
“I have to tell you something.”
Even in the dim lighting you can see Santi’s demeanor sobering up. He crosses his arms and immediately responds, “Okay, yeah, I have to tell you something too.”
“I— huh?” You weren’t expecting any new information.
“You first.” You can’t see his face but you know him so well that you know by his tone of voice the exact face he’s making. That defensive clenched jaw thing that he does with the upwards chin tilt. You’d bet a million dollars that his chin is high in the air.
“Come sit.”
It takes a few beats before Santiago joins you on the porch swing, but he eventually does. The chains creak, his knees pop and he exhales expectantly.
You don’t want to keep him from the game, god only knows what important plays he might be missing, so you decide to come out with it.
“I went to the clinic today and—“
“You did?! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have—“
“I wanted to go alone, just in case, I—“
“What’d they—“
“I’m pregnant.”
You’re grateful for the darkness of the porch which keeps Santiago’s expression a mystery. Beyond the hedges, through the glow of Santiago’s living room window, a muffled cheer erupts. Shouting, clapping. Must’ve been an impressive score.
“How are you feeling?”
“Been crying like crazy. Not sad crying. Just lots of crying. Crying for no reason. At sunsets. At families holding hands. At life insurance commercials… At my best friends watching a football game one house away…”
Santi sits there in silence. You can’t even hear him breathing. You continue.
“Other than that, I’m good, I— it still feels unreal, you know? But I feel good about it. It was so quick, too. Wasn’t it? I don’t know why, but for some reason because of all the rigamarole the clinic put me through I thought this process was going to take months or years or something. But, first try, and bam. Which sounds about right when I think about it. It’s you, after all. Mister tactical soap. Of course your swimmers would get into formation and attack at dawn. No survivors.”
“Those ovaries didn’t stand a chance.”
“No they did not.”
“You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to— I can give you some space.”
“No. I want to. I want to see everyone. I know its only been a few weeks but I miss those idiots.”
“Lets do it then.” Santi rises and you hook your arm through his offered elbow. Once you step out into the illuminating glow of the street lamps you see the way his mouth is quirked up in an easy smile. His eyes are slightly glassy from the lagers and the texture of his stubble, the way it folds in at his barely visible smile line… without thinking you run the tip of your finger from the corner of his mouth, up to his ear.
“I like it when you smile, old man.”
The lines deepen around his mouth when his smile expands.
“Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
- - - - - - - - -
The get together is a typical Thursday evening fare. The only difference being your abstinence from alcohol and general lack of interest in football has relegated you to maidly duties of replenishing drinks and snacks while the testosterone crew shouts at Santiago’s flatscreen.
The boys are invested the game, but you enjoy watching them watch the game. Benny is by far the most into it, which makes him the star player of the crew. He throws his poor worn ball cap to the ground when the play doesn’t go his way, stands up when he shouts. He claps and hollers when his preferred team scores and paces around during time outs. You might blame his passion on his proximal youth, but you don’t believe time will be capable of stripping him of his fervent fanaticism.
By the time you get there it’s past halftime and the “games a dead horse anyway” according to Will (Benny disagrees). You collect your hugs from each of the boys. The hug from Frankie is longer and tighter than usual.
After the game is over, the boys play some low-stakes poker and one by one each of the crew retreats to the living room to ‘rest their eyes’, the place is a mess, the boys are sloshed and and passed out on the various soft surfaces of Santiago’s living room. You help Santiago clear away the detritus of a night well spent and just before midnight Santiago offers to walk you back home.
“Would you? I wouldn’t want to get lost on my way in the dark, and this sure is a bad neighborhood. Just last week someone stole the Grossman kid’s skateboard off the front lawn. These streets are dangerous.”
“Pipe down, you’ll wake up Tom.”
You glance down at a particular patch of cozy carpet on the living room floor where Tom’s long body is splayed out, snoring like a logging factory. You roll your eyes and stage whisper to Santiago, “Yeah seems like a real Princess and The Pea situation. Better slip out quietly.” You exaggeratedly tiptoe out of the front door and put your finger up to your lips and whisper-yell at Santiago, “Close the door GENTLY!!”
Santiago shakes his head, shuts the door, and joins you on the driveway.
“Oh! Look at the moon!” Its a full one, slightly yellow and impossibly big this evening. “So pretty.”
You don’t know it but Santiago isn’t looking at the moon. He’s looking at you look at the moon. The way your eyes are all big and glittery. That awestruck smile you have. At something as simple and as constant as the fucking moon. ‘Look at the moon she says, how could I possibly look at the fucking moon when she’s so… So what, Yago? What is she?’
Santiago stuffs his hands in is pockets and looks up at the moon. It is pretty.
You grab him by the elbow. “Lets lay on the driveway and look at the sky for a little bit?”
“What? Right now?”
“No. Not right now. How horribly convenient would that be? Lets meet back here at oh three-hundred hours when we’re too sleepy to enjoy it.”
“Fine, wait here.”
Santiago turns to go back in the house.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m not laying on the driveway without a blanket.”
“Good idea… oh, Santi, while you’re in there can you make me a cup of tea?”
Santi raises his eyebrows. “Herbal tea?”
“Yes. I’ve come around. Matured. One herbal tea please.”
“Coming right up.”
You lay out on the driveway in the warm summer evening, stretching out with your hands behind your head. You get lost in time for a bit, staring at the beautiful clear sky.
Santiago stares at you from the porch. Blanket and tea in hand and admires you quietly, bathed in moonlight. Content. Pregnant. Pregnant with his child. Not his. Yours. Dios.
Santiago spreads out the blanket next to you after handing you the steaming mug. You set it down and scoot over till you’re on the flannel fabric. He lays down next to you, mimicking your hands-behind-head position.
You don’t turn your head to look at him when he speaks. You continue to stare up at the full moon, the clear sky, terrified that he might not be looking up at all.
“You hoping for a boy, or a girl?”
“Hmmm, I don’t know… I guess I’ve always wanted a girl. But after taking care of these dopes for so long, I feel finely attuned to caring for dudes… I’ll be happy either way. How about you Santi, do you have a preference?”
“Do I have a preference? No… no.. I mean. I know you’ll be great no matter what.”
“Yeah, thats a given.” You laugh and nudge his elbow with your own, “but have you had your heart set on either?”
Santi shakes his head, staring at the sky, “I haven’t had my heart set on anything, Vin.”
“I think the gender is the least of my concerns anyway.”
“What’s the most of your concerns?”
“Raising it as a single parent… if I’m co-signing them to a doomed life…”
“You’re gunna do great Vin. Don’t be nervous. I’m here for you.”
“I know. I know you are. You don’t have to be.”
“I know I don’t HAVE to be but I want t—“
“Why though? Why do you feel endebted to me? Why did you do this, let me walk all over your life without a fight? Is it guilt? Guilt I can understand. I’m well acquainted with guilt. Is that what it is? Or is it pity?”
“Pity? For what?”
“For the Widow next door that you have to entertain, the sad girl you invite to your get togethers. The crazy plant lady who can’t hold a screwdriver.” Your hands drift to your stomach.
Santi huffs with incredulity and shakes his head. “It’s not pity. I want to help because… that’s just who I am. I don’t know Vin, I see you, you’re there, you need help, I help. It’s not that complicated.”
“Not that complicated? You’d call this ‘not that complicated’?” Hot tears betray you, you hardly even try to stop them. Not here, in the open blanket of night, Santiago tilting his head in concern towards you.
“Don’t cry. Please Vin. You’ve been crying to much lately, what’s wrong?”
“I miss him. I miss Jay every fucking day. I wake up and his photo is right fucking there. I think about putting it away… I did put it away for a while, but I even missed THAT… so I put it back. On the nightstand.”
“What would you say to him?”
“Huh?”
“If Jay was here…. Not alive, but a spirit or ghost or something… what would you say to him? If he materialized right now?”
You wipe your eyes. “I’d ask if he was happy. If he was safe… I’d probably ask him if heaven is real. If he’s in heaven. If he met Elvis…” You laugh.
“And what else?”
“And then I’d say… I… I needed you Jay. I needed you. I’d say that sometimes I’m still so angry that you’re not here that it makes me scream. I’m angry that we never went to that stupid ‘Party Time Taco’ restaurant we kept getting flyers for, just to see how bad it was. I’m angry that you didn’t have a fucking last will and testament, so it was on me to guess at everything you would have wanted. I’m angry that you left me alone. And I think sometimes I get so angry, because if I felt sad instead, I’d fall apart.”
You don’t know at what point in your sobbing rant that Santiago’s arm came over your shoulders, but you’re grateful for his steadying embrace as your tears slow down to faint hiccups.
“You wanna know what I’d think he’d say?”
“What?”
“That he’s proud of you. He’s proud of how strong you are. He’s proud of you for getting out of bed every morning. He knows how hard it must be. And that he couldn’t imagine anyone being a better mother… and how badass he thinks it is that you’re doing this on your own.”
“Thanks, Santi.”
“He also says you shouldn’t be watering the backyard for fifteen minutes in the evening. Do five in the morning and 10 at night”
“Oh he said all that did he?”
“Yep. don’t shoot the messenger.”
“What was the thing you had to tell me?”
“Hmm?”
“The thing. When you were on the porch you said you had something…”
“Yeah. I… I’m taking a job in South America.”
“Where at?”
“Can’t say.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I know.”
“Ohhh… one of those.”
“Yep.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Don’t know.”
“You don’t know at all?”
“Not really.”
“Not even a guess?”
“Vin. C’mon you know I can’t tell you.”
“A week? A month?… longer? Blink twice if it’s longer than a month.”
“I don’t know.”
Your hand drifts to your stomach.
Santi breathes out, “Are you upset?”
“No! Why would I be upset?” Your voice squeaks defensively.
“Because I won’t be around while you’re…”
“I said I’m fine! I’m doing this alone and I meant that!”
“Yeah I know. I’m just worried.”
“About?”
“Oh I don’t know Vin, If something happens to you and you can’t get in contact with me.”
“If I were you I’d be much more concerned with doing some sort of clandestine mission in a foreign country.”
Santi is silent.
“Will you call?” You ask softly.
“If I can.” He replies at the same quiet level.
“Send a postcard?”
Santi barks out a laugh, “Yeah I’ll send you a postcard. Greetings from redacted! With all incriminating details blacked out in sharpie.”
“You going alone?”
“No. The guys are going with me.”
“All of them?”
“The whole gang.”
“Must be a big job.”
“You could say that.”
“When do you leave?”
Santi takes a deep breath. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?! As in, like, today-tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’m all packed. Tonight was a last hurrah stateside.”
“How long have you known about this job??”
“A while.”
"And when the fuck pray tell were you planning on telling me?"
“Fuck I don’t know Vin, I didn’t want to stress you out. I kept trying to find the right moment to tell you but, I don’t know, I didn’t want you to worry and you’ve started crying again and..”
“Hormones!”
“Right, hormones. I didn’t want to stress you out.”
“Well I’m considerably less stressed now, learning that you were so worried about this trip yourself that you decided it was better to keep me in the dark and wait till the last possible second to clue me in rather than just tell me. Did you tell the guys to keep it a secret from me too? A last hurrah party and not one of them mentioned the international travel plans the whole night?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. It is. You don’t have to tell me everything, right? That’s… you’re not… it’s fine.” You pat his back “Sorry for freaking out. If you say you’re going to be fine then I should trust you, right? You know what you’re doing.”
Santi nods and is tight-lipped when he mutters, “Right.”
“You need me to water your plants or anything while you’re gone? Get your mail?”
“Already taken care of.”
You nod and click your tongue, “Well, it’s getting late.” You dump the contents of your herbal tea onto the lawn and hand Santi the mug. “Will I see you before you leave?”
“We leave in, Santi checks his watch. 5 and a half hours.” He says with tight apologetic eyes.
“Five and a half hours,” you mutter under your breath. “You need a ride to the airport?” You ask more loudly, already deciding that if he says ‘yeah that’d be great’ you’ll laugh in his stupid chiseled face.
“We have a shuttle coming… but thanks.” He looks so tired. But so what if he is, it’s his own fault if he isn’t well rested for his trip.
“Well then, you better get your beauty rest. Those boys are going to have raging headaches tomorrow.”
You get up and rock back and forth on your feet facing Santi. His knees are bent, one hand clasping his wrist, eyebrows downturned with concern.
“I’ll see you in… well… when you get back.”
“Vin—“
“Goodnight, Pope.”
He doesn’t rise to chase you. Doesn’t grab your wrist and force you to hug him goodbye. Doesn’t wipe away your tears with his thumbs. He remains sitting on the driveway when you get inside your home. And when you lay down in your bed, tears soaking your pillow, he’s still out there, staring at the fucking moon.
You have a nightmare. Not the usual horror of Jay collapsing in the middle of highway 1, the recurring playback panic of the last two years. No, in this nightmare you’re sitting on your porch in a rocking chair, holding a potted plant, one so big it crushes your thighs. Santi’s house, usually pristine and well kept, is condemned, paint chipped, windows smashed, lawn overgrown. You rock faster and faster out of control until the ceramic pot falls off your lap and crashes to the floor.
You wake with a gasp and leap out of bed. You nearly trip over the sheet still caught on your foot when you rush over to the window. It’s still dark outside. Santi isn’t out there any longer, neither is the blanket or your mug. You look at the clock. 4:30. You sigh in relief. They haven’t left yet.
You throw on a robe over your nightgown and go downstairs. You turn on the kettle before getting the ingredients out to make biscuits. Those idiots really shouldn’t have drank so much last night. You figure the least you can do is make them some breakfast sandwiches they can take with them. It’s not like you’ll be able to get back to sleep.
You’re wrapping up the last of the sandwiches (seven in total, one for Santi, Fish, and Redfly. Two for each of the voracious Miller brothers) when you see a blue shuttle van pull up in Santiago’s driveway. The sun has barely risen and the muffler steams as the driver beeps twice. You put the sandwiches in a paper bag and forget your slippers in a hurry, meeting the boys with their pack laden arms as they unload their bags into the van.
“Morning, Vin!” Fish greets you, causing Santiago to nearly snap his neck when he turns around in surprise. You hand the bag of breakfast goods to Fish.
“Mmm what’s this?” Frank pokes his nose into the bag and breathes deeply.
“Just a little something to soak up any remaining tequila.”
“Ugh, please don’t say tequila” Benny groans, shuffling off his pack into the trunk before he wraps you up in a hug. “Take care, Vin.”
“I will.”
In turn, each of the boys hugs you and thanks you. You tell them all to “be safe” and that the “welcome home party will be at casa de Vinita. With plenty of tequila.” Benny groans again. Santi watches you, arms folded leaning against the passenger door of the running shuttle. The boys load in and buckle up. Benny is already ripping into the parchment paper of his breakfast and will snatches the bag with a gravelly, “you’re an animal, Ben.”
You lock eyes with Santi, a strange anticipation tingling in your fingers. You both jump slightly when the shuttle driver beeps his horn. Santi glares at the driver who points at his watch.
“Pinche… give me a minute, Kay?”
You take two barefooted steps towards Santi and wrap your arms around his middle, resting your head on his chest. He holds you close, like he’s giving you a concentrated dose of hugs, giving you a full month’s worth of embraces in one sitting.
“I had a nightmare about you last night.” You whisper so only he can hear. He inhales deeply and rubs his hands carefully up and down your back. You can feel the gripping dance of his fingers through the material of the robe and it makes you shiver. You grip him closer. “Be safe. Please.” You whisper, hoping you’re the only one who registers how desperate your plea really sounds.
Santiago’s hands skim up to the sides of your face and he gently pulls your head away from his chest. You choke back the makings of a whine. You don’t want the hug to be over, not yet, you’re going to miss him. He rubs his warm thumbs against your cheeks and there’s no warning at all, no hesitation, no eyes flicking to your lips, no sweep of tongue to wet his own, when he kisses you on the mouth.
It’s slow. Achingly slow. Your gasp of surprise is muffled by the insistent pressure of his mouth. You can’t be sure, but, if he he had been hugging you in prepayment of all the embraces you’d miss in the coming weeks, then this kiss is surely back payment, with interest, for all the times he’s stopped himself from kissing you in the past. Recompense, remuneration; a distilled unspoken passion. There’s nothing ‘first-kiss' about it, not clumsy, not awkward, not unsure. It feels practiced, steady, anticipated. The tingling in your fingers makes total sense and you use those same fingers to glide through his silvery thick curls when you tilt your head and open your mouth to him.
He twists your form in his broad arms, angling your faces away from the van, causing one of your bare feet to leave the ground and lift slightly like a wilting ballerina in swan lake or something out of an old movie.
There’s a romantic reverence in the way his tongue moves with yours, his nose pressed against your cheek, hot steady breath blowing comfortingly against your face.
You both jolt again and break apart your lip lock when the shuttle driver lays on the horn.
Santi doesn’t so much as furrow his brow at the driver when he steadies you back on two legs.
Frankie brushes the driver’s shoulder, and with a mouthful of biscuit says, “Pero qué coño! give him a minute, wéon.”
You blink rapidly and stare at your feet. What the fuck?
“I’ll be back soon.” Santi promises, squeezing your hand assuredly before climbing in the passenger seat and closing the door.
Frankie gives you a wide eyed smile before sliding the back door closed and you can hear the muffled admonitions of the driver as he hastily pulls out of the driveway and speeds off down the residential street.
-------
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#Santiago Garcia#Santiago Garcia x you#Santiago Garcia x reader#Triple Frontier fan fiction#Oscar Isaac#reader insert
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Heat
Heat | A03 | Rating: M
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader
Summary: You and Frankie take the next step in your relationship.
Warnings: A/B/O. NSFW. Smut. Language.
The house smells like you.
Your scent permeates every corner, filling Frankie’s lungs and clouding his senses the moment he steps inside. The windows are wide open, welcoming in the cool, fall breeze, but the strength of the wind billowing the curtains and rushing through the house does nothing to dissipate it.
Ambrette, citrus, and ylang-ylang – he can taste it in the air. Just like a siren’s song, the urge to seek more of it is too powerful to ignore, and as soon as he sheds his coat and kicks off his boots, he lets his nose lead him past the kitchen, out of the living room, and into your shared bedroom.
The afternoon sun is high, and bright streaks of light coming in from the window above the clawfoot bathtub catch on the sweat beading your brow and along the column of your throat. Frankie wants to lap it. Savor it. Swallow it down.
Fuck, he’s so hungry for you…
But you’ve been off for the past few weeks. Moping. Pouting. Making him sleep on the couch only to wake him in the middle of the night and insist he return to bed because you can’t sleep without him. You’ve been quick to anger and even quicker to tears, watching movies and reading books that upset you that much more. Frankie’s lost count of the number of times he’s catered to your nesting urges, and sex, once consistent and passionate, has seesawed between ferally enthusiastic or entirely absent.
You swear it’s nothing.
But you called off work today. Now, you’re weaving on your feet, head dangling over the sink as if you may tip over at any second. Rivulets of water are streaming down the back of your neck, sliding off your mouth and chin to stop at the collar of your shirt. Your teeth are chattering, fingers curling into claws against the countertop as you groan and curse your discomfort.
It’s not nothing. It’s very much something. In fact, it’s everything.
He sends a couple of texts – one to his boss to clear his schedule for the time being, and the other to the guys, telling them to keep away until he says otherwise. Frankie doesn’t wait for responses; once the messages are out, he shuts off his phone, absentmindedly dropping it onto the nightstand and directing the entirety of his focus onto you.
“Hermosa?” he calls, tone low and steady as he slowly approaches. “You alright?”
“I forgot,” you breathe, furrowing your brow and pressing your hand to your lower abdomen. “I forgot how bad it hurts.”
The distress and pain you feel – it rushes through the bonding mark so furiously, so swiftly, that it causes the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.
“Y’smell good enough to eat, guapo,” you croon, voice straining and breathy.
He chuckles and inches closer, “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come back sooner.”
You shake your head slowly, “You were in the air. Wasn’t gonna interrupt that.”
“You need me, you call,” Frankie barks testily. “Nothing’s more important than you.”
You’re too stubborn for your own damn good – jutting your chin and sticking out your tongue as if it were no big deal. As if today was just another day. Frankie, on the other hand, has been preparing for this since the moment you stopped taking your suppressants and birth control over a year ago, and he’ll be damned if he’s not at home with you for every, single moment of it.
The changes in you over the past twelve months have prompted his own, special type of metamorphosis. While not nearly as drastic or severe as what you’ve gone through, his own body, behavior, and way of thinking have significantly altered.
Adding on extra pounds, not cutting his hair, drenching himself in your scent, and encouraging you to renew the mark you graced him with – they’re all outward displays showing he’s strong and capable of taking care of his Omega and whatever offspring he may have with you. It also proves to unmated females and other Alphas looking to court that you’re his, he’s yours, and he intends to breed you.
The heightened aggression, the need to protect you and the home you made together, and the urge to have you beneath him at all times – they’re all indicators that your fluctuating hormones have been doing their job, and he can physically, mentally, and emotionally feel you pulling him into a rut the likes of which he hasn’t experienced since first presenting.
Frankie’s been stocking up on essential supplies while you’ve been not-so-subtly covering the bed with endless blankets and pillows to burrow in. You’ve been wearing the same shirt – his favorite shirt – for four days, and he can’t get you to take it off, even just to wash it. He also hasn’t showered in three days because all the books say not to, as it’ll be his unaltered, natural scent that grounds you and comforts you through it.
Your first heat together. The first time trying for young together.
“Cariño, I think it’s time,” he murmurs.
You swallow a handful of water and let out a ragged breath, “I know.”
Frankie takes it upon himself to turn off the tap, and as the water gurgles, he reminds you that you’re safe. You’re shaking, wincing with every breath, and he reassures you that everything you need is in the bedroom. He offers you a steady hand, and you place your trembling one in his, allowing him to guide you out of the ensuite.
“We talked about this,” Frankie whispers against your temple, fingers reaching for the snap on your jeans. “We’re ready for this, aren’t we?”
You nod. Let out a croaky, ‘yes.’ He lowers the zipper and wrangles the well-worn denim past your hips and over your knees. Kneeling at your feet, he helps you step out of your pants and slips your socks off one by one. You’re already writhing, skin clammy and hot to the touch. Your scent, combined with your arousal, is so much stronger now, making his mouth water and his cock throb.
This isn’t his first rut, and it’s difficult to put a leash on his baser instincts, to handle you with the delicacy and patience you deserve for your first heat with him, but he manages it. He can do anything, endure anything, for you.
Frankie swallows hard and looks up at you, “I’ll take care of you. Promise.”
You stare down at him – lips parted and eyes dilated, chest heaving and limbs tight. A tear slips down your cheek, and your stomach jumps when he presses a gentle kiss to the freckle above your belly button.
He rises slowly, careful not to startle you. Mouth pressed into a hard line and fingers twisted in the hem of your damp t-shirt – he takes his own steadying breath and reminds himself this moment is precious, meaningful, and not to be spoiled.
It takes effort to peel the cotton from your body, and your bra isn’t much better, the fabric straining and digging harshly into your skin. Frankie knows you’re uncomfortable, when he releases the hooks and gently slides the straps from your shoulders, you sigh. It’s that tiny, almost inaudible sound of relief that buoys him, fills his chest with something indescribable – makes him feel like a man worthy of his woman and an Alpha capable of servicing his Omega.
“I can’t – I keep fucking crying,” you blurt, shoulders curled, and head bent.
“S’okay, cariño,” he sighs, rocking you gently and nuzzling your neck. “I got you.”
You make a sound in the back of your throat that vibrates through him, giving him a headrush that makes his hindbrain lean into you, into your mating, even more. You settle enough to undress him, and Frankie watches with rapt attention as your instincts unfurl like a clenched fist.
Each seemingly insignificant action becomes tender, almost reverent, and absolutely wondrous. The way you look at him and scent-mark him. How you carefully touch him and move with him. The need to dominate, to assert his control, to make you present yourself to him – you’re somehow channeling it, meeting it, and feeding it with your own calming nature, and it brings a new balance to his rut that he’s never felt before.
It’s a sacred dance. Ritualistic. Sensuous. Something your kind have done since the beginning of time and will no doubt continue to do long after the two of you are dust.
When you’re both naked and settled deeply into the nest you built, the weight of it all, the seriousness of it – it’s still there, but it becomes less of a burden and more of an honor. The two of you are as you’ve always been – bared to each other, vulnerable, but safe. Committed. Loving.
“Te amo,” you murmur. “So much, Frankie.”
Frankie presses a kiss to your forehead, “I love you, too, hermosa.”
The corner of your mouth quirks – a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing that gets wiped away when you cup his cheek and kiss him, and he simply melts into you, into the assurance of your touch and the comfort of your presence and the way it all just clicks into place.
Tears return. This time, you let out great, heaving sobs of relief when he gets you off with his fingers, and his own scent surges in response to mingle with yours. Your release takes the edge off the pain and eventually gives way to even more pleasure when he puts his mouth to use to make you come until your thighs shake.
“Papi,” you entreat, fingers tugging at his curls. “I – I need…”
“I know querida,” he groans, licking into your mouth. “Let me give it to you, yeah?”
His mustache is covered in your slick. Your inner thighs are littered with his teeth marks. The peak of your nipple against the flat of his tongue and the heel of your foot pressing into the meat of his ass. You’re lying on your side, and he takes you just like that – bodies slotting together like two puzzle pieces as he bottoms out in a single thrust.
Your core is molten and saturated, fluttering and squeezing, and you hold him in an embrace that’s simultaneously tender and urgent. The soft sounds you make, the way your breath stutters, and how your tongue tastes when he sucks on it. There’s no hiding your greed, or how desperately he wants to breed you, and when you bare your teeth and demand more from him, the pleased rumble Frankie lets out is more beast than man.
“Fuck, you feel s’good,” he grunts, digging his fingers into your thigh, allowing his hips to swing freely for a moment before slowing. “I’m tryin’ not to – I don’t wanna…”
You nip at his chin and rake your nails down his shoulder, “M’ready. I can take it.”
It doesn’t take much to maneuver you into place, and you fall into the presenting position with such graceful ease, with such eagerness, that something in his chest tightens.
Lazy thrusts morph into harsher snaps of his hips. You go lax, limbs supple and spine melting, and when the tears fall this time, you’re smiling – brow smoothed, looking resplendent, and entirely pleased with yourself. He slips a hand between your thighs and strokes clit, bringing forth another rush of wetness that will make the next part easier.
When you’ve saturated his groin, Frankie finally drapes himself over your back, rocks into you as deeply as your body will allow, and digs his teeth into your scent gland until you yip out a comingled sound of submission and pleasure.
“Tell me, mi pequeño lobo,” he pants in your ear. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” you repeat throatily. “I want you. Please, Alpha…”
It’s as if your words are the permission he needs to give in to the instinct – to finally let go and do what needs to be done. Supporting you, protecting you, and loving you – it’s just the beginning of a story that’s still being written. Breeding you, knowing it will likely be successful, that he’ll have made you his in the most primal of ways – that’s the next chapter.
Frankie’s orgasm is indescribably, incomparably intense. A prolonged release that feels too good, one that’s on the knife’s edge of pain, somehow bringing forth feelings of helplessness and complete control. The delirious sense of peace he feels when he knots you. And when you come again for him, and your body just takes it all – accepting everything he has to offer – it’s wonderous in the extreme.
Spooning you to keep you close, to supply comfort, to keep you warm, and to ensure nothing is lost or wasted – it’s as natural as breathing. Eyes welling. Pride surging. Frankie’s seen you safely through the first wave, and again, it’s your sigh and contentment coming through the bond that lets him know he’s done everything right.
“We’re ready for this,” you tell him, voice full of excitement and certainty.
“Si, mi corazón,” he agrees, your echoing of his earlier words renewing his own conviction and joy. “We’re ready for this.”
#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales fic#frankie morales au#frankie catfish morales fan fiction#fankie morales fanfic#triple frontier au#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fan fiction#a/b/o dynamics#a/b/o au#a/b/o verse
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'𝒕𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏
pairing: frankie morales x f!reader
genre: romance, holiday fic, mutual pining, neighbor au, fluff, smut
word count: 4.5k
summary: you've been crushing on your handsome neighbor for quite some time, but even if you've made your intentions clear, it doesn't seem to get through to him. However that all might change when his flight gets canceled and the two of you spend the holidays together.
warnings: idiots in love, oblivious!frankie dirty talk, messy oral (receiving), feral!frankie but also sweet!frankie best of both worlds, a dash of competency kink king of pussy eating frankie (tag courtesy of kay)
a/n: I was the pinch-hitter secret santa for the amazing @the-ginger-hedge-witch sorry that this ended up being a tinsy bit late but I hope you enjoy it all the same! I did have a blast writing your prompts and I hope I did it justice 💜💜 Merry Christmas, I hope you have a splendid year 🎅
thank you to @pedrostories who hosted the event, and special thanks to @pedrito-friskito who cheered me on while writing and edited it for me, ilysm ❤️❤️❤️ happy holidays! ♡♡♡
my prompt was; mutual pining, home for the holidays.
A week until Christmas, excitement buzzes within the city, laughter and cheer booming within the square a large Christmas tree stands. But unlike the rest, you don’t feel a particular sense of excitement. Snow starts to fall and you walk quickly as you thread through the crowd. You’ve gotten groceries and a couple of decorations that tickled your fancy. You weren’t excited, but you weren’t sad either; you just didn’t have any special plans, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t be having a good time eating and watching your favorite holiday movies.
You struggle to push open the door to your apartment, your arms weighed down by the heavy shopping bags, and you can feel your balance start to falter. You take a step forward, but before you know it, you're stumbling, your feet slipping out from under you on the smooth marble floor.
But before you can even think to cry out, you feel a pair of strong arms catch you, steadying you on your feet. You turn to see Frankie, your neighbor and the object of your long-standing crush, standing there with a concerned look on his face.
“Careful there, neighbor,” he says, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "Are you okay?"
You nod, trying to compose yourself as you stand there, leaning against him for support. Frankie has always been a good friend, always there to lend a helping hand or a shoulder to lean on. But despite your close friendship, your feelings aged like a fine wine.
You've had a crush on Frankie for months now, and while you've always assumed that he's not interested in you in that way, you can't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, there's a chance for something more between you. However, your previous attempts in trying to ask him out ended with failure; he was either too preoccupied with something to notice that you were asking him out, or he just assumed you meant it as a kind gesture.
You either sucked at it or Frankie is the most oblivious person you know. Honestly, you assume it’s a little bit of both.
“Do you want me to help you out with those?” he asks, gently pushing you up so you can stand on your own.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you…”
He dismisses your worries with a wave of his hand, your eyes linger on the small bullseye tattoo he has between his thumb and forefinger. Whenever you see it you get the urge to press it like a button.
“As you can see I have perfectly functional, empty, hands—It’s no trouble whatsoever,”
Frankie leans forward and ignoring your protests, takes all of the grocery bags from your arms. You feel the brush of his fingers across your knuckles. He smells of pine and mint, and it takes you all of your self-control to not bury your nose into the crook of his neck. Your eyes momentarily flutter close when he pulls away, your heart swelling in your chest. He begins to make his way up the stairs and you promptly follow.
“You’re too kind, thank you,” you say wanting to make pleasant conversation. “Do you have any upcoming plans for Christmas?”
Are you fishing for information? Absolutely. You just can’t help it.
You notice the way his muscles go rigid, a nervous laugh follows and he continues his way up the steps, each one echoing. “My mom and dad begged me to come over so I guess that’s my plan— Which is fine…I just haven’t seen them in a while,”
This piques your interest and you want to ask more but Frankie is quick to change the subject.
“What about you?”
“You’re kinda carrying my Christmas plans,”
Finally reaching your floor, he stops and looks down. He deadpans for a moment, considering what to say, which you find adorable. You grin at the way he nervously chews on his bottom lip, his gaze lifting up to meet yours.
“Why do you look so worried?” you grin. “I’m actually quite excited to relax and spend some quality time with myself.”
Frankie’s eyes drop to your lips, he mimics your expression, his smile soft and endearing. He hands you your groceries and nods.
“That’s good, I’ll be leaving on the 24th so if you need anything by then feel free to come and knock on my door.”
“Thanks, neighbor,” you answer, watching him walk towards his own apartment door. “I’ll see you later then.”
With a sigh of relief, you drop the bags to the floor as soon as you close the door. Your back is pressed against the solid wood of the door, and you slide down slightly, your legs feeling weak and shaky after your run-in with the ever-faithful Frankie. You hate the fact that deep down you were hoping that he would be staying here too. It’s a silly thing to want, but you thought that maybe if he was going to stay too, you could’ve finally made your intentions clear.
You let out a sharp laugh, and look up to the ceiling. Frankie is just a helpful guy, a nice and kind neighbor, and that’s probably how he sees you as well. A person he can come to to borrow salt and olive oil from time to time.
Not wanting to wallow in self-pity, you pick up your groceries and head for the kitchen. Maybe you will take him up on his offer and give him a visit. You could be out of sugar perhaps? A perfect excuse to knock on his door.
But as you stand there, holding the bag of sugar in your hand with the intention of putting it in the cupboard, you realize that your plan has a major flaw. Frankie saw your heaping pile of groceries, and he knows that you have more than enough sugar to last you a month.
You groan; finding a decent enough excuse is going to be harder than you thought.
Frankie sits on the couch, the rough fabric scraping against his skin as he sinks into the cushions. The living room is scarcely decorated, the walls bare, and the only adornment is a sad-looking tree in the corner. He groans as he checks his phone once more to make sure he’s not dreaming; he sees the notification that his flight has been canceled due to the weather. Outside, the snow is falling heavily, the flakes visible even in the fading light. Frankie is positive he could fly in this weather. If he still had his pilot’s license. But he doesn’t, and even if he did, he would’ve needed a helicopter, which is something he obviously doesn’t have.
He dreads the thought of calling his parents and canceling his trip, feeling like he's trapped in a cycle of disappointment. The room is getting darker by the minute.
But Frankie's frustration isn't just about the canceled flight. It's also about the fact that he hasn't seen his neighbor since the day he caught her almost falling down the stairs. He had thought there was a spark between them, a bit of heat, but maybe he completely misread the situation. Ever since the day he moved in, Frankie has been infatuated with her. She’s funny, kind, and even helped him move in a few boxes when he first arrived; the boys were late, and yet there she was, ready to offer a helping hand.
He was ninety-nine percent sure that you would come knocking on his door.
He sinks further into the couch, his shoulders slumped and brow furrowed. He’s an idiot. He feels defeated, annoyed, and most of all, lonely.
Just as he's wallowing in self-pity, he hears a curse echoing from the apartment hallway and a series of loud bangs. He straightens his back, the taste of bile lays heavy on his tongue as the sounds continue. His first guess is that the sounds belong to an intruder. Silence fills his apartment, he stops breathing.
A minute later, after a series of muffled grumbling, someone knocks on his door. His shoulders relax, muscles going limp as he stands up. When he opens the door he finds his neighbor standing there, teeth chattering and covered in snow.
Her eyes sparkle when she sees him, “You’re still here!” you gasp. “Thank god! Like the idiot that I am, I forgot my keys when I left this morning and now I’m locked out. Can you help me?”
It takes Frankie a good amount of time before his brain starts to work again. You look so small hugging and rubbing yourself for warmth, looking up to him with hopeful eyes. He swallows, his throat feeling thick as he tries not to think about more unconventional ways to warm you up.
“Frankie?”
He blinks quickly, a breathless chuckle falling from his lips. If she wasn’t staring at him like a deer in headlight he would’ve slapped himself. “Y-Yeah of course—Just let grab my tools really quick.”
Just as Frankie turns, he stills his movements and meets your gaze.
“Would you like my jacket? It’s probably warmer than what you’re wearing right now. It might take me a while to get the door open.”
When she nods he swears he hears his blood rushing down to his cock. Her—In his jacket? He isn’t a possessive man by all means, but the thought alone makes his fingers twitch and nostrils flare. Without saying another word, he quickly grabs his toolbox and one of his jackets, one that’s thick and plush.
Frankie can't help but feel a little bit guilty for being happy that she was locked out and had to turn to him for help.
You stand and watch Frankie work, and you can't help but be mesmerized by the way the dim hallway light seems to dance across his chiseled features. A hint of stubble shadows his jawline, giving him a rugged, masculine appearance that makes your heart race. His tongue peeks out from between his lips as he works, a small gesture that only serves to intensify the attraction you feel towards him.
You can smell him in his jacket, a heady mix of soap and pine that makes you feel hot just by staring at him. The way he expertly toys with the lock prompts you to shift on your feet, not really knowing what to do with yourself. You can barely concentrate on what he's saying as he tells you about his flight being canceled.
"I can't believe it," he says, clearly frustrated as he twists a screwdriver in the lock. "My folks were looking forward to spending time together, and now I'm stuck here."
"I'm sorry," you say, feeling a twinge of guilt, however, you’re not sure why. "If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."
Frankie gives you a small smile as he continues to work. "Thanks," he says. "I appreciate it. It's just frustrating, you know? I feel like I'm stuck in this rut, and no matter what I do, things never seem to go my way."
"Hey, I know this is a long shot, but do you want to spend Christmas with me?" you ask suddenly, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can even think about it.
Frankie's eyes go wide with surprise. "Really?" he says, looking skeptical.
You nod eagerly, feeling nervous at the way he’s looking at you.
"Yes— I mean, you’re stuck here and I was already planning on spending it at home. And well…if you don’t mind watching cheesy movies with me I think it could be…fun?”
Frankie looks down at his hands, seeming to think it over for a moment before looking back up at you with a smile. "I'd love to,"
"Awesome," you say, grinning back at him. "I'm excited. We can bake cookies, and just relax and enjoy each other's company."
“Cookies?” he asked with an amused smile.
“It’s too late for you to run away now, you just said yes.”
You grin at the way he laughs, his hand stilling as he tries to cover his mouth with the back of his hand. The sound alone makes you feel that it was worth it to lock yourself out.
“Even if I wanted to run where would I go, cariño? I can’t go anywhere with the storm and I live right next to you.”
You feel your cheeks grow warm at the endearment, your heart swelling in your chest.
You don’t believe in miracles, but this certainly feels like one.
You and Frankie are both sitting on the couch. You realize he’s scanning your apartment, thus far having only seen the entrance. The living room is bursting with Christmas decorations, twinkling lights, and colorful ornaments adorning every surface. There's a small tree in the corner, its branches laden with tinsel and glittering balls. It's a cozy and welcoming sight, which was what you were going for.
"Wow, you really went all out," Frankie says, taking in the sight of the room with a smile. "It looks amazing."
"Thanks," you say, grinning back at him.
Two mugs of hot cocoa topped with whipped cream stand on the coffee table. You sink down onto the cushions, pulling a warm blanket over both of your laps as you huddle close together. The room is dark and quiet, the only sound is the soft clink of your mugs as you take a sip.
"This is perfect," Frankie says, snuggling closer to you as he wraps his hands around his mug. "Much more stress-free. Is it bad that I’m not that mad anymore at my flight getting canceled?"
You can't help but laugh. "I think the hot cocoa might have gone to your head," you tease, nudging him playfully.
"Maybe," Frankie says with a grin. "But I stand by what I said. I'm lucky to be here with you."
You feel a warm glow spread through your chest at his words. You never expected to spend the holidays with someone as wonderful as Frankie.
“I’m lucky too.”
Silence follows your words and you take a sip of hot cocoa. There’s definitely sparks flying all around you, there’s no way you’re imagining the heat that is continually building. You cross your legs, your knee brushing agains his thigh. You desperately try to come up with a conversation topic, your eyes scanning the room for inspiration.
However, all you can think of is how your knee still rests against his thick thigh, the way he effortlessly unlocked your door for you, and the way he laughed in the hallway. Your brain is screaming at you to just confess, tell him that ever since you laid eyes on his beautiful face that you’ve been smitten.
But instead, you do something else.
You do something stupid.
You see his tattoo.
And you press it, like a button— Luckily, you only make the boop sound internally.
“What are you doing?”
Frankie looks at you, reasonably, confused but smiling, his lips slightly curved up with one eyebrow raised. You open and close your mouth, only high-pitched noises leaving your lips. His gaze drops to where you’re still poking him, the tip of your finger still pressing into his inked skin. You swallow and quickly pull your hand back, wrapping it around the mug.
“I–I–” you stutter, biting the inside of your cheek. “God, I’m sorry— It’s just I didn’t know what to say and I always wanted to press it—like a button– In my defense, people are programmed to press stuff they’re not supposed to—”
You try to explain yourself in one breath, in the end, your lungs burn, your chest heaving as if you’ve been running a marathon. Frankie stares at you a beat longer, then he takes your mug from your hands and places both his and yours back on the coffee table. You think that he’s going to leave and that he thinks you’re crazy and will never speak to you again.
He leans closer, his arm now resting against the back of the couch, fingertips brushing your shoulder. "It's okay," he says, his lips curving up in a smile. "I know what you meant. It's just a tattoo, no big deal."
"I'm sorry," you say, shaking your head. "I don't know what came over me. I just couldn't resist the urge anymore."
Frankie gives you a wink. "Well, I'm glad you didn't resist," he says. "I’m not gonna lie, I kinda liked it."
“You did?”
He nods. “I did.”
He’s very close, the space between you crackling with electricity. You find yourself looking at his lips, which he parts as his gaze meets yours. Your heart is pounding in your throat, the ringing in your ears almost deafening.
“Do you…” he swallows thickly, his palm now fully covering your shoulder. “Do you appreciate anything else?”
The corners of your vision seem to darken as if you are looking at him through a filter. The lights from the Christmas tree shift, bathing the two of you in a warm red glow. Your stomach is tight with anticipation.
“I do,” you speak slowly, softly.
“And what might that be?”
“You,”
“Yeah?”
You can see literally sparkles in his eyes. His voice is light and hopeful, you’re not sure but you think he’s inching closer. You nod as you wet your lips.
“Do you appreciate anything?”
“I appreciate you.”
His fingers touch your cheek, thumb moving to the corner of your lips. The skin he touches tingles, a sharp sensation that has warmth pooling between your legs.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," you breathe out, your eyes locked on his lips.
His fingers tighten around your shoulder, the bite of his nails sharp through the fabric of your shirt. A barely there moan escapes your lips, the anticipation of this moment finally coming to fruition too much to bear.
When his lips meet yours, you feel a wave of heat wash over you. The taste of hot cocoa is on his lips, rich and velvety, and you find yourself moaning even louder as you wrap your arms around his neck. You've been waiting for this moment for so long, and now that it's here, all pretense of self-control leaves you.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam over your body. Fire ignites within you, burning bright and hot, and you can't help but press closer to him. His touch is electric, leaving you dizzy and breathless, and you find yourself clinging to him as the kiss grows more and more intoxicating.
Finally, you pull back, gasping for air. You're left feeling dazed, your lips tingling and your body humming. You curse that you need oxygen to survive, you would much rather lock your lips with Frankie until death comes to claim you.
Frankie isn’t doing any better than you, panting with swollen lips. His pupils eat away the color of his eyes, blown with arousal.
“You really want this?” he asks, blinking as if he’s trying to convince himself this isn’t real.
“Frankie, I’ve been wanting this since the first moment I laid my eyes on you,” you smile, touching the hand that still rests on your cheek. “I thought I was being obvious. I did ask you out, you know,”
Frankie looks taken aback. "You did?"
You nod, still smiling. "Yeah, I asked you out for coffee…then there was the time I tried to hint that I had too many leftovers and that I wished someone would join me…I hinted that I was free when you mentioned you had to go to Benny’s boxing match…"
You watch with delight as all the insistence you just mentioned strings together before his eyes. His mouth falls, his eyebrows lifting as his eyes go wide.
“Oh shit. I’m…I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry, I genuinely had no idea. I– I also thought I was being obvious when I told you to come by if you needed anything. I wanted you to come over.”
“Really?” you chuckle and touch your forehead. “I thought you were just being polite.”
“I guess we both have to get better at this. So how about I take you out for dinner tomorrow when the weather clears up a bit?”
“Does that mean I have to wait until then to kiss you again?” you ask, pouting and attempting at your best version of puppy dog eyes.
Your eyes light up when he laughs. “Absolutely not, querida. Come here,”
He spreads his legs as you move to straddle his lap, his hands drop to the curve of your ass. Squeezing, he guides you to roll your hips. The contact isn’t much, but your eyes still roll back at the drag of his length, already hard underneath his sweats. Your lips meet with desperation, your hands cradling the frame of his face as he forces you down against his lap. You whine into his mouth, nails grazing against his skin. Frankie licks the seam and pushes his tongue between your lips, every movement he makes is led by hunger.
Your skin burns with his touch, hand guiding the sloppy roll of your hips, you grow wetter and wetter by every passing second. The lights turn blue, you notice the sharp lines of his face soften.
“Frankie— Can we— Can you—”
He drags his lips down to your neck, teeth gently nipping the front of your throat. A pleasant shudder overcomes your body, a blissful sigh dropping from your mouth.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs, fingers playing with the waistband of your sweats. “I want to give it all to you. Whatever you need— My mouth, my fingers…my cock,”
Your eyes flutter close, “Oh god,”
He chuckles, tongue tasting the salt of your skin, his fingers dip under your waistband and gently caress the skin. You shiver.
“But I can’t do any of that if you don’t tell me,”
“I—I want it all,”
His grin makes your stomach roll, “Greedy.”
That’s all he says before helping you up and guiding you towards the… bathroom, in which you then guide him to the actual bedroom. You’re still giggling about it as you’re falling to the bed, the weight of Frankie’s body soon following.
“Very suave,” you say, his lips leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “You fuck all your neighbors in the bathroom?”
“It was a mistake,” he growls, but his tone is playful. “But if we’re being honest, I’m not above fucking you in every room of this apartment,”
The series of images your brain provides are downright sinful. You tremble, legs closing around his waist, hs grins is wide when he leans down and nips at your chin.
“You like that?” he coos. “Maybe that can be my gift to you? Would you like that, bebita. Me, fucking you in every corner— Your pussy dripping and making a mess of the hardwood floors—” He cuts himself with a sharp inhale, a moan following. Frankie laughs and shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. “I think I turned myself on too much. You were supposed to be the only one affected,”
“Well, I am definitely affected. If that helps,”
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
You blink with surprise, lips parting with a gasp. Before you can even process his words, or say something in return, Frankie's hands are on your waist, his fingers deftly pulling at your shirt.
You feel a rush of excitement as he undresses you quickly, his hands moving with a sense of purpose. Your clothes fall away from your body, becoming a pile on the floor. You watch as Frankie undresses, his muscles soft but there, his stomach rounded and perfect for kissing.
He slowly moves down from your chest to your stomach, his facial hair tickling you as he moves. He cups and squeezes both your breasts, lips leaving wet kisses across your mound. Your pussy drools with anticipation, the inside of your thighs a glistening mess by the time Frankie drags his tongue between your folds. You clench around nothing at the way he groans, tongue moving up and down your sex. His fingers dig into your thighs, forcing your legs up his broad shoulders.
Frankie latches his lips, tongue flicking over your clit again and again. Your moans come out choked and garbled, your legs trembling as you accidentally dig your heels into his back. You fist his hair, the knots in your stomach tightening when he moves his lips around, and you see a glimpse of a shine coating them. You hold your breath when he looks up, soft brown looking filtered, and he dives back in, swirling and flicking his tongue as he loudly sucks and gulps— you can hear him swallow eagerly, and your head falls back to the pillows.
You lose yourself in the bliss, the sin of it all making you willing to die at the touch of his lips. His tongue, his mouth, the sting of his nails against your skin— It all snowballs and crashes into you, building and building until you can’t contain it anymore. You vaguely hear him whispering between every lick of his tongue, you pull at his hair again, his muffled voice now clearer.
“You taste so good,” he says, words slurring. “So fucking good— You’re gonna feel amazing around my cock, so warm and— fuck— wet,”
“Frankie—” You lift your hips, your body desperately seeking his mouth. “Please, need to come. Please please please,”
“I got you, sweetheart, don’t worry. You’re doing so good, so so good,” You feel his breath on your wet pussy, you squeal and squirm. “Say it. I wanna hear it.”
“Wha—What?”
You’re completely out of it. You manage to lift your head to meet his gaze, your neck feeling strained. He’s looking directly into your eyes, a ghost of a smile cheating at his lips.
“Repeat it,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing on earth. “Say that you’re doing so good for me,”
“I’m…I’m,” you swallow and breathe out from your nose. “I’m doing so good for you, so so good,”
You don’t expect the wave of arousal that washes over you, Frankie hums and presses his lips into you once more and draws your aching clit into his mouth. You repeat it again, a series of ‘so, so good’s coming out slurred. Your head falls back; you are doing good. So good. Frankie’s tongue feels like velvet, heaven between his lips.
You just can’t take it anymore.
You come with a cry, his name coming out sheer from your throat. Without meaning to you press him into you, he doesn’t seem to mind— In fact, it looks like it edges him on because he moves his mouth faster, almost frenzied. Your head spins, cunt gushing and flooding his mouth. Your body becomes rigid, then limp. You fall back to the bed, legs falling and arms feeling lifeless. Frankie kisses your pussy, the sensation of his lips gentle and comforting.
“How was it?” he asks, his face coming into view.
“That was great,” you breathe out a chuckle, still feeling disoriented. “You have quite the mouth on you,”
“Hmmm, I bet yours is better,” Frankie leans in and gives you a quick kiss, nuzzling your neck. “What are your thoughts about part two?”
“I think I need to catch my breath first,”
Frankie chuckles, his breath tickles your skin and you smile.
“I did promise I would fuck you in every room.”
#pedrostoriesgift22#pedrostories#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x you#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fan fiction#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fanfic#pedro pascal character fic#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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So, I’m reading the Triple Frontier screenplay - it looks like this was a million drafts ago, it’s absolutely nothing like the film…
BUT there are some interesting nuggets of detail, like these ones about Benny…
Some of these details still seem to apply to the finished film, but I wonder if the depression / pills / self doubt / despair thing was a note they gave Garrett for the character? I can kind of see it… 🧐🥺
#triple Frontier#benny miller#ben miller#Benjamin miller#garret hedlund#garrett hedlund characters#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fan fic#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fan fiction#triple frontier fanfiction#Charlie hunnam#Charlie hunnam characters#Oscar Isaac#oscar isaac characters#Pedro Pascal#Pedro Pascal characters
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Triple Frontier - Breathe Again
Just a little cute brotherly thing with the Miller Boys!
Posted on AO3 Here!
When Reader / un-named original female character (referred to only as "she" or "her" throughout) has an asthma attack, Will does his best to help her until Benny can get her inhaler. The Millers think about their unhappy childhood and how it's made them who they are today. Happy Ending!
Trigger Warnings: Asthma Attack. Character struggles to breathe. Reference to anxiety attacks, child abuse, domestic abuse, death of parents, alcoholism, drug abuse and a near death experience for both of the Miller boys.
I don't own the Miller boys unfortunately, and as usual my work is un-beta'd so my apologies for any mistakes!
Please don't repost, reproduce, sample, or lay claim to any of my work - I pour my soul into these works (and yes, it's cheaper than therapy!), and it's heartbreaking when people do these things!
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Breathe Again
It’s lucky that Will’s hands are twice the size of hers and he’s still built like a soldier - she’s gripping his hand with surprising strength, and a less robust person would be feeling their bones screeching in protest. His other hand is rubbing large, soothing circles on her shaking back as he crouches in front of her, wishing they’d found somewhere more comfortable for her to sit than the stony concrete they were running on. Will’s clear blue eyes are alert and monitoring constantly, but his smile is soft and encouraging. Somewhere in the haze of panic and oxygen deprivation, a thought drifts into her chaotic mind - no wonder the Miller boys could have their pick of the ladies… and the men.
Will is grateful she’s not wearing lipgloss, or any makeup at all, so he can properly assess the pink creeping from her cheeks into the whites of her eyes, and the grey-blue tinge just barely visible around her mouth and through her lips. Her free hand is clutching at her ribs so tightly he can see the bones of her knuckles shining pearlescent through her skin.
At some point he’ll need to make a judgement call - ambulance or not - and no matter how many brothers he’s held as they bled (his real brother unfortunately included), he never shakes the fear that he’ll make the wrong call or make it too late.
“Hey-“ his soft voice filters in through her ringing ears, her eyes snapping up to meet his. “ - Breathe with me, c’mon.” He manages to loosen her grip on his hand just enough to press her palm flat against his chest with his own hand over the top, and starts to take exaggeratedly slow, deep breaths. He focuses on keeping his heart rate as slow and steady as he can - a skill that he’s finely honed in his years spent behind a rifle.
Their eyes are still locked, his face relaxed despite the tension of the situation, his blue eyes crystal clear. There’s always something almost mischievous in his eyes, a kind of twinkle like he’s about to make a joke or flirt with you.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she starts to register the steady, strong thumpa-thumpa-thumpa of his heart under her palm, the flexing and relaxing of the firm muscles of his chest as he breathes. And he’s so warm. It’s captivating, and for a moment she’s not so focused on the way her lungs are convulsing and seizing inside her or the feeling of a strap being pulled painfully, crushingly tight around her ribs, or the immediate fear of oh God I’m suffocating I’m going to die. No doubt this was Will’s intention, as he notices the tiny change in her and murmurs soft affirmations that fan his breath across her face.
The almost intoxicating spell is broken by Benny’s running footsteps as he approaches from Will’s left, and the next second the younger man is dropping to a crouch beside them. His voice has a barely-detectable frantic edge under the steady exterior that’s been trained into him by the military - Will is better at hiding his emotions, controlling his fear, keeping his voice absolutely calm and even.
“The bag was in the locker like you said, took me a minute to find this though-” he’s holding out a small plastic inhaler, shaped like an “L” and with her name and date of birth identified on the printed label on the side. “- this was the only one in there.”
“Great, can you-” Will begins, but Benny is already yanking the cap off the inhaler and holding it out. “- Thanks. Alright…”
Will’s hand leaves her back and takes the little device, giving it a hearty shake for a few seconds, before holding it out towards her. Her hand shakily releases its grip on her ribs and grabs the inhaler, Will’s long fingers curling around her own to steady it as she forms her lips around the mouthpiece. As she depresses the little canister protruding from the top, both Millers watch her intently. The hiss of the inhaler is somewhat lost in the rasping pull of her breath as struggles draw the medicine into her lungs. Will’s fingers tighten slightly on her own and gently pull the inhaler away from her lips.
“Try and hold it in -” she manages maybe 2 seconds before her breath huffs back out in a rush, immediately replaced by another gasp of air and a round of coughing. “- Ok, let’s give it a few seconds to start working before the next one, ok?” She barely manages to acknowledge his words with a tiny nod of her head, so focused on trying to draw oxygen into her spasming lungs.
Benny’s eyebrows are drawn into the slightest frown of worry as he watches her continue to fight for breath. He’s holding the cap of the inhaler carefully in his large hand, making sure to only touch the outside as his free hand occupies itself by taking up the soothing motions on her back that his brother had been administering moments before. A few more ragged breaths pass before Will is guiding the device back to her mouth again. “Ok, one more time. Breathe as deep as you can-” click, hiss, inhale, “- great, hold it as long as you can.”
This time when Will pulls the inhaler away she manages nearly 5 seconds before her breath is leaving her in a whoosh again. He manages to wriggle the device out of her grasp and drops it into Benny’s waiting palm. The younger Miller drops his hand from her back just long enough to deftly click the cap back on before he returns to his gentle ministrations, inhaler gripped tightly in his other hand. Will still has one hand holding hers to his chest, but the other is now cupping her face as his thumb gently glides back and forth along her cheekbone.
“Great - you’re doing great.” The blonde murmurs encouragingly. Benny’s alarmed by how bloodshot the whites of her eyes are, but his anxious glance at his brother receives the tiniest shake of the head - Will’s silent acknowledgment of Benny’s communication and a response of ‘not now’.
Their unbreakable bond and “strange” silent communication is what had made the brothers the US Military’s most in-demand special ops team. They’d always been able to communicate in an odd, non-verbal way. It was almost a form of telepathy they’d developed as Will had essentially raised his baby brother alone, their father killed in combat when Benny was eight and Will was 13. Their mother had collapsed into a pit of grief that quickly led to violent drink-and-drug fuelled rages.
It had finally claimed her life a few months after Will’s 18th birthday. He’d joined the forces, and it had pushed her into a drugs binge so extreme she’d OD’d. Benny was 15 when he’d found her on the kitchen floor.
Will was legally old enough to be his brother’s legal guardian, and he was lucky his CO saw the potential in him - pulling strings to make sure Will could start his military career and still look after Benny.
But Benny had spiralled - causing trouble at school, fighting, doing illegal shit, getting arrested, fucking, drinking, drugs (both taking and dealing)… anything to quiet the demons in his head.
When Benny was 17 Will had found him unconscious and barely breathing on his bedroom floor after a drink-and-drug-fuelled-bender of his own. His instincts and brand-new training had kicked in and he’d flipped his baby brother onto his side, pounding his back and stopping him choking to death on his own vomit just in time. In the quiet, broken aftermath on the bedroom floor Benny had confessed to feeling relieved when they no longer had to sneak around their mother, lest she fly into a rage and Will take a beating to protect him. Will had softly, achingly admitted he was relieved that he no longer had to fear what she would do to Benny while he was at school or work, but that he would always, always take the hits to protect him, forever. He’d had a new danger to protect his baby brother from, but this time he couldn’t take the bruises in Benny’s place. They talked until the sun rose, and that afternoon Benny cleaned himself up and they went to meet Will’s CO.
They’d rapidly risen through the ranks of the forces together, making it to top-tier special ops in just three years. Will made good on his promise to protect Benny too many times to count, but especially 5 years later when he took 2 bullets that were destined to send Benny to meet their parents again. As Benny quietly cried next to his brother’s hospital bed - a sadly familiar situation in their childhood - he realised it was the first time he’d had cause to do so since their mother died.
Now, with his gaze entirely focused on her face, Benny feels the moment Will starts to relax. A second later there’s an audible change in the sound of her breathing as her chest finally starts to unlock, the strap around her ribs loosening and her lungs falling back into a shallow but steady rhythm. Benny trusts his brother - and his judgement - unquestioningly, and allows himself to start to climb down from high alert.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Will’s hands have moved to her shoulders. With every ragged breath she seems to slump more and more, almost as if bearing her own weight is getting too tiring, and what started as a comforting tactile connection is fast becoming a grip to keep her upright.
Benny shuffles to sit beside her on the stony concrete, his side flush against hers. He’s blessed with a body that works impeccably well, but knows from experience how exhausting an anxiety attack can be and expects that an asthma attack would feel similar. After all, they’re called “attacks” for a reason.
He’s used to them from his own perspective, but to watch someone he loves so much fight not to goddamn suffocate… It’s always prickled at the back of his mind that it must be awful for Will when Benny has his anxiety attacks, but now, with the flayed-raw feeling of terror, adrenaline, and helplessness, he suddenly has a whole new appreciation for his big brother.
She leans into him, and without hesitation Benny lifts his arm and loops it around the back of her shoulders, tucking her securely against his body. Will slides his hands down her arms and grips both of her hands in his own, folding himself to sit cross-legged on the ground in front of her. He finds himself suddenly captured by her surprisingly steady gaze, intent clear in her face. After a few seconds she speaks.
“Thank you. For looking after me.” It’s the first thing she’s been able to say since she came to an abrupt halt halfway through their run together, and her rasping voice is achingly sincere. She holds Will’s gaze for a moment, then twists to catch Benny’s eye too.
Will’s heart squeezes in his chest, and he has to swallow hard around the lump in his throat. He waits to catch her gaze again before he speaks. “Always, sweetheart.”
Benny finds himself unable to speak when she looks up at him again, his insides suddenly crowded with so many feelings that he can’t express them. He’s not entirely sure they’re all his, certain that some of it is the empathetic absorption of what she’s feeling, what she’s projecting. Fear. Relief. The echo of pain.
It occurs to him that this is how it feels to have a younger sibling. The responsibility. The terror when something’s wrong and you don’t know if you can fix it.
Their gaze holds for a long moment before he has to close his burning eyes, and he presses his lips to her forehead until he can push down the tight feeling in his throat. As soon as his lips leave her skin her head droops, coming to rest in the joint of his shoulder with his pec muscle holding her in place. He notices her hands squeezing Will’s in some unheard rhythm, feels the slight tremors that run through her body.
They stay that way for some time, until Benny’s ass has started to go numb and he’s wondering if she’s fallen asleep. He glances up and catches the glint in Will’s eyes - no doubt reading his mind again, and probably sympathising with his own numb ass. After a few seconds of unspoken communication, Will gives her hands a deliberately firm squeeze and Benny feels the weight of her head lift from his chest.
The older Miller sibling tilts his head slightly to see her face better. He can see the exhaustion in her features, the way she seems to struggle to focus on him like her brain keeps zoning in and out. He’s seen it before in so many situations, not least with Benny’s anxiety attacks.
He smiles softly, waits for her eyes to focus on his own, and gently inquires “How’re you feeling?”.
“Yeah, fine.” She answers far too quickly. A conditioned response. Will raises an eyebrow and holds her gaze with his trademark raised-eyebrow-smirk. She relents under his stare with a huff.
“Tired. A bit weird, y’know? My chest and my legs. But I’ll be alright after a shower.”
Will’s nodding, as Benny adds “You should probably eat too, and drink some water.”
She nods jerkily and drops her head again. Will catches his brother’s gaze again, and he hesitates a moment, clearly considering his next words carefully.
“... I know we were going out to eat with the guys tonight, but -”
Her head shoots up from Benny’s chest, almost colliding with his chin. “ - No, no, I’ll be fine. I just need to get myself sorted -”
Will rushes to reassure her “ - no no no, I’m saying that I’m more than happy to have an excuse to stay in.”
She doesn’t immediately shoot him down again, but neither does she agree. Benny can practically hear the cogs whirring in her head as she weighs her options - not wanting to be the one who craps off their night out, but ludicrously tempted by the idea of a more casual evening with their friends.
Will exchanges another look with Benny before giving her another get-out-of-jail-free-card.
“Frankie was making noises about getting take out and watching the new Mission Impossible movie on Sky. To be honest it sounds much better than a crowded, noisy bar.”
Benny jumps on the bandwagon. “Oh man, I was praying someone would take him up on that. I’m in.”
Will smirks, keeping with the easy banter. “Why didn’t you then?”
Benny shrugs just enough to slightly jostle her. “I know you old folk don’t get out much anymore, didn’t wanna get in the way of your retirement-club day trip.” Benny fires right back.
“You’re technically retired too, y’know.”
“Yeah but we all know I had to do that so the military wouldn’t notice I was letting you take all the glory for my genius.”
Will outright laughs, and Benny feels the slight tremor of her giggle through the side of his body as he beams at their success.
His grin softening, Will ducks his head to catch her gaze again.
“You ready to head back?”
When she nods and starts to untangle herself from Benny, he jumps in to assure her.
“Hey now, there’s no rush -“
“-Nah my ass has gone numb.” She murmurs, gratefully accepting the two pairs of hands that help her to her feet and steady her when she sways slightly, her eyes going unfocused for a moment.
“One of us can carry you -“
Benny never gets to finish his sentence. “- no no, I can walk.” She smiles sheepishly. “Thanks though.”
They both nod, but neither completely let go of her as they begin a steady trudge back to the Gym they set out from God only knows how long ago.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Thanks for reading!
There may or may not be an alternative version of this scene in which we learn a lot more about the original female character, but it's currently banging around in my head and my spicy brain takes months to actually work through these things, so please keep checking back!
#triple frontier#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fan fiction#triple frontier fan fic#william ironhead miller#benny miller#charlie hunnam#garrett hedlund#angsty fic#emotional whump#angst#whump fic#whump
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Ash's Masterlist Updated August 13, 2023
AO3
ff.net
wattpad
Original Characters
Spotify
Pinterest
prompt list
country music song fic
moodboards masterlist
pictures prompts
Top Gun Maverick
Elvis- Biopic
The Outsiders
Triple Frontier
Four Brothers
One Chicago
Sons of Anarchy
Harry Potter
Twilight
Fast and Furious Saga
Supernatural
Band of Brothers
WWE
The Mighty Ducks
Game of Thrones
Lord of the Rings
Percy Jackson
Star Wars
Yellowstone
#ash writes#ash's masterlist#top gun maverick imagines#top gun maverick fan fiction#austin butler! elvis presley imagines#austin butler! elvis presley fan fiction#the outsiders fanfiction#the outsiders imagines#triple frontier fan fiction#triple frontier imagines#garrett hedlund fan fiction#harry potter fan fiction#harry potter imagines#twilight fan fiction#twilight imagines#fast and furious imagines#fast and furious fan fiction#supernatural fan fiction#supernatural imagines#wwe imagines#wwe fan fiction#band of brothers fan fiction#game of thrones imagines#game of thrones fan fiction#yellowstone fan fiction#yellowstone imagines#band of brothers imagines#sons of anarchy imagine#sons of anarchy fanfiction
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Pedge-Page MASTERLIST
All fics are explicit content: 18 + ONLY, MINORS DNI
🔸️- indicates new
Joel Miller
Rough Day tags: freeuse, rough to soft Joel
Swim Lessons tags: friends to lovers, teasing, shower sex
There's Only One Joel Miller tags: posessive, dubcon, slight breeding
Mother who Provides tags: sub!Joel, breastfeeding, mommy kink
You Please, My Pleasure tags: Sub!Joel, Mommy Kink
Pregnancy Ft Tommy, Breakfast Bunch tags: pregnancy, sharing, cucking, breastfeeding, breeding
Bloodkink!Joel tags: fear, blood licking, toxic
Discipline tags: sub!Joel, ball torture, hands free orgasm
Live a Little, Give a Little, 🔸️More [part 2]🔸️ public sex, exhibitionist, strangers
lactation tags: preganncy, breastfeeding
belly bump tags: pregnancy, cumplay
featuring Tess tags: pregnancy, forced breeding
Lactation 2 tags: breastfeeding, hands free orgasm, breeding
Sub/Himbo!Joel: Safe, Closer , 🔸️Statement🔸️, Mine is Mine tags: sub!Joel, breeding, Mommy kink
Piss Kink : piss kink 1, piss kink 2, piss kink 3, foot job drabble , Thirsty! , piss kink 4, PlushiesxPK Crossover, Shared Room, Puppy Lessons, PlushiesxPKxPregnant Crossover🔸️ tags: piss kink, occasional sub!Joel
Adventures in "Joel Dealing with his Preggo Wife" masterlist - (updated 4/14)
Plushies Series Masterlist - (updated 3/2)
Best Man Series Masterlist - (updated 4/19)
Other drabbles: horse, reversal, lap, training, slaver, hard to get, little pill, dreams
Extras: babee, soccer mom, Sarah's crush, helper, butter, ring, pickup lines, seahorse
Din Djarin / The Mandalorian
Partners tags: fwb, breeding kink, dub con to non con
Drabbles : riding, feeling, Lothal Cat, hunt
Frankie Morales
Cravings Series
Sharing is Caring Series - (updated 12/12)
Drables: suffocate, tied, patch, taste, Thanksgiving, kiss
Javi Peña
One Last Time
#pedro pascal smut#joel miller fan fiction#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#joel miller x reader#javi pena fanfiction#javi pena smut#narcos smut#din djarin smut#din djarin x reader#mandalorian x reader#mandalorian smut#the mandalorian#frankie morales smut#triple frontier smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader#pedge-page masterlist#masterlist
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Favorite
Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Female Reader
Summary: Santi figures out that Frankie came and saw you last night before he got a chance and makes you pay for it.
Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Mature Content, Exes Reuniting, Favoritism, Jealousy, Revenge Sex, Competition Kink, Praise Kink, Manipulation, Kissing, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Come Eating (Accidental), Female Orgasm, Vaginal Intercourse, Woman On Top, Multiple Orgasms
Word Count: 2.8k+
A follow-up to FIRST
Read more of my stories HERE!
The expected pleasantries with Santi are cut short as you lead him into your living room, the warm glow of the table lamp doing little to hide the mark his best friend had deliberately left on your neck for him to see. You silently watch his handsome features twist into a frown as he begins going through all five stages of grief in a matter of seconds, depression staying just long enough before denial quickly counters it.
“What is that?” He touches you as if he hadn’t stopped doing so for years, as if it were only a matter of days since he last walked through your front door and kissed you goodbye.
“It’s nothing.” You lie in order to keep his hands on you, to relish in that feeling of him physically caring for you like he did so long ago before he up and left. His fingers are warm against your skin, rough and calloused as they press into your cheek, turning your face to get a better look at the mark. It takes every ounce of self control for you not to touch him back, not to fall into the muscle memory of your intimate relationship that you never really had the chance to get over.
“Nothing, huh?” He rotates your face from side to side, placing his opposite hand on your shoulder to keep you steady as he carefully inspects your new bruise. “It sure as hell doesn’t look like nothing.” He loosens his grip on your chin.
“It’s just…” You wrack your brain for some kind of story to feed him, one that you might even believe enough to properly convince him of as well. Maybe you got distracted while you were curling your hair? Or maybe your massage therapist got a little carried away when they tried to do the new cupping technique? Or maybe…?
“Did Frankie drop by here last night?” He interrupts your thoughts with a slightly worried tambre. “Because he joked about coming over here after he dropped me off, but I didn’t think he was fucking serious.”
He looks up at you with those eyes, those eyes that could easily make you spill your guts within seconds of staring into your soul with their deep mahogany hue. Eyes that could lull you into a false sense of security, pulling you in just close enough for you to forget everything else around you. Eyes that could soften your heart at its hardest, change your mind, or make you agree to do things you normally wouldn’t want to do. Those eyes of his were much more powerful than you ever really gave them credit for.
“Did he come to see you?” He asks again, barely blinking.
Only you don’t answer; purposefully averting your gaze from his hypnotic stare. Maybe if you don’t look at him he won’t be able to see the truth that’s undoubtedly painted all over your face.
Silence.
He laughs to himself and brushes his palm over his face. “Aye pendejo,” he whispers under his breath. “I should’ve fucking known.”
“Santi, look, I…” you start without knowing where you could possibly finish.
“What? You think I’m fucking stupid?” Anger rears its ugly head as the tone in his voice starts to escalate. “You let him in here just like last time, huh?” He snaps his fingers before pointing in the direction of your bedroom. “Just like that? You let him slip in here even when you knew I was coming over here tonight?”
God, he looks so fucking good when he’s angry. There’s something about him getting all hot and bothered over another man beating him to the punch to get into your bed, even if it was his best friend; even if it had happened before. That territorial look in his eyes brings his face that much closer to yours, his full lips parting as they quickly fill with blood.
“You and I aren’t together anymore,” you remind him as his palm remains on your shoulder, his thumb gently brushing against your clavicle. “And how the hell was I supposed to know if you would actually come over tonight instead of just disappearing like you did last time?” You match his volume and intensity. “Huh?!”
More silence.
“I deserve that.” He hangs his head so you can clearly see the silver streaks as they weave into the rest of his charcoal curls. “Look, I know we’re not together anymore. I do. Of course I know that, but I just thought…” he sighs, pausing for what seems like an eternity. “But Frankie? Again? Really? No wonder he was asking who I was texting!”
“You can leave if you want to,” you goad him, bringing your face in closer with a tone you know will challenge him just enough to stay.
“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head and takes a second to chase away the disappointment by pushing you back up against the wall, keeping his grip tight on your shoulder. “He’d like that, wouldn’t he? Have his way with you without any repercussions?” He licks his lips as he stares at your hickey, running his thumb across your discolored skin. “Marking you like that.”
You can’t help but let a triumphant grin cross your face as you watch that seed of competition begin to grow within him, pounding through the veins in his temples as he stares at you intently.
“It doesn’t matter, anyways,” you say as his lips draw closer to yours. “He may have gotten here first, but that’s only because he knows that you’re my favorite.” You slide your knee up between his thighs, gently nudging his growing bulge as his lips part mere centimeters away from your own.
“Your favorite, huh?” His whisper dampens your lips as he smooths his palm across your shoulder until it reaches your neck, squeezing just affectionately enough to excite your senses.
Now we’re talking.
“He doesn’t know my body like you do, Santi.” You cup his face and stroke the stubble along his cheek as he continues holding onto your throat. “He doesn’t take his time with me like you always do, or put in the work to make my body crave you the very second that I see you...”
“Shut up.” His kiss cuts your words short, that all too familiar taste of cheap beer fresh on his tongue as it parts your lips with a hunger that rivals that of your early years together.
You find yourself nodding into his lips without uttering another word, bringing both hands up to cradle his face as he slides his other hand beneath your shirt. You moan into him as he palms the muscles in your lower back, pulling you in close to warm your core against his. You can feel his heart beating in rhythm with yours, thumping in his chest as the heat between you begins to rise.
“How many times did he fuck you, last night, huh?” He lets go of your throat and pulls your shirt off, dropping it at your feet before quickly kissing you again.
“Just once,” you answer breathlessly, the shade of your lipstick now tinting his lips as he kisses your chin and jaw.
“Mmm, so fucking lazy,” he mumbles into your neck with a slight chuckle. He suddenly shifts his weight and turns around with you, pushing you backward onto the couch. Forcing you to sit down in front of him, he digs his hooks into you one more time by locking onto you with those blackened, lustful eyes. He smirks and slowly starts unfastening his belt, pushing his pants down his thighs at an agonizing pace while you carefully watch him with bated breath. “Show me the rest of your body, baby.”
Chills run down your spine as you nod again in response, watching him free himself from his clothes, his girth always a sudden shock to your system no matter how many times you’ve seen it before. You can feel the moisture begin to pool between your thighs as you find yourself instinctively doing as you’re told, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. You still can’t believe how lucky you are to have spun his jealousy around, unable to look away as he spits on his palm without breaking eye contact, stroking himself in such a languid, gratuitous manner.
“Let’s see how wet you get for your favorite, aye cariño?” He steps out of his shoes and pants before kneeling down in front of you.
The sight of his face between your thighs is almost more intoxicating than watching him stroke himself, his hooded lids adorned with lashes that brush your delicate skin as he presses kisses into your knees all the way up your inner thighs. Those eyes of his finally close as his mouth reaches your needy center, a muffled moan leaving his lips as he eagerly tastes your arousal. A ripple of pleasure moves its way up your body, pulsing through your core and up into your spine as he licks a slow, torturous stripe up your soaking wet length.
“Just what I thought.” He runs two fingers up and down your puffy lips before spreading them apart, focusing solely on the dew that clings between them. “You get this wet for Frankie last night?”
“No,” you can barely breathe your answer as he dips his fingertips into your entrance to collect the evidence, spreading it up and over your clit.
It isn’t until just now that you remember Frankie’s words from before: ‘I want him to taste my come when he goes down on you tomorrow night’; a promise that sounded more like a threat at the time. Was it possible that Frankie could still be oozing out of you even now? Changing the way you taste to your former lover? Or had your own juices been enough to disguise the remnants of his release as Santi painstakingly splays you open?
Guess you’ll never know.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” He raises an eyebrow as he runs his fingers back down, delving them deep inside your walls without warning.
“Never,” you admit with a gasp, holding your breath as the ridges of his calloused fingers glide over that special spot inside, pushing and pulling against it as his thumb rubs slow, tantalizing circles into your swollen bud.
“Good.” His tongue quickly takes over again, greedily lapping up your slick in a perfectly blissful pattern, his spit now mixing with your sex and Santi’s release as it drips out of you and down the crevices between your cheeks.
His unmatched oral skills nearly send you into a dreamlike state as that ripple from before spreads throughout your entire body. It wades through your nervous system, expanding in diameter as it reaches new heights and widths, washing over you in varying waves of delight. The rhythm of his fingers speeds up as your hips roll into them, instinctively moving with the rush of ecstasy he sucks into your clit by eventually pulling it into his mouth and past his teeth.
Without even stopping to take a breath, his mouth massages that last bit of pleasure into your deliciously sensitive bud without an ounce of mercy. His groans vibrate against your skin as your body trembles beneath him, succumbing to his expert ministrations as you find yourself drowning in the euphoria that only he could deliver in such a skilled, efficient manner. You cry out his name as that delectable feeling rips through you in a matter of seconds, bursting through every vein and artery in your body until the waters inside you eventually ebb to a calm, still state.
“I almost forgot how beautiful you look when I make you come.” He finally says, looking up at you with a satisfied grin as your moisture glistens across his face.
“Jesus,” you huff, nearly jolting away as he pulls his fingers out, grazing them over your clit one more time before rising to his feet. “I almost forgot how good you are at that.”
“Better than our boy Frankie?” He sits down next to you on the couch and grabs onto your hips, pulling you onto his lap in one fluid motion.
“Are you kidding?” You try to catch your breath as you settle onto the tops of his thighs, not yet ready for his cock as it stands at full attention against his stomach. “He didn’t even do that for me.”
“Amateur,” Santi whispers before kissing you, taking the time to spread your flavor into every corner of your mouth as his hands delicately venture up your backside and into your hairline.
You could almost convince yourself that things were how they used to be when you’re facing him like this, kissing each other as if you’re dying to know what each other tastes like for the very first time. You could get lost in the smell of his sweat and cologne that haven’t changed in all these years, relish in the warmth of his hands as they caress your shaking muscles, and delight in the distinct taste of his kiss. If you tried hard enough, you could almost convince yourself that you still slept together in the same bed, lived in the same house and ate your meals at the same time together; but all that had come and gone. All you have now is this.
“Mmm, you taste so good,” you mumble to bring yourself out of that unhelpful line of thinking, playfully running your fingers through his hair.
“Of course I do, I taste like your pussy.” He nips at your bottom lip before kissing you again, giving you another opportunity to savor that tartness between your legs before suddenly pulling away. “Now why don’t you hop on and prove to me that I’m your favorite.”
Wow.
Trying your best not to act too shocked at his words, you nod and lift your hips off his thighs as he grabs hold of himself at the base, stroking the few droplets of precum over his shaft as he takes you in. He looks up as you move your pelvis forward, grinning from ear to ear as you attempt to line yourself up with him, only he keeps moving against you.
“You wanna act like a little slut, huh?” He glides his cock across your overstimulated bud before lining up with your entrance, watching your mouth fall slack with each pass as every neuron in your body ignites again. “Well, you’re my little slut.” He brushes over it another time, forcing your eyes to roll back into your head as bright stars start flashing in the background of your vision. “Right?”
“Right!” You moan as he finally guides himself into your entrance, pulling you down with his other hand on your hip.
He groans as you slowly envelop him, your freshly lubricated walls already contracting around his girth as it stretches you out more than Frankie ever could. With a whisper of your name, his breath quickens as you take him in completely, your thighs now flush against his before you gather the strength to sit up again. He smooths both hands up and down your spine as you begin to ride him, mewling his name against his forehead as those stars become brighter behind closed lids.
He squeezes the base of your neck as he bottoms out again, thrusting up into you with a sort of frantic desperation you’ve never seen in him before. Every buck of his hips forces those stars in your eyes to become brighter, to shine in blinding shades of different colors as they spin around on their axes. You hear him grunt something in Spanish, the last of his sounds becoming more breathy as he sends pulse after pulse of heated pleasure shooting up through your nervous system until his thrusts force your body to convulse around him.
“Fuck, I love you so much,” he lets slip as he pulls you down one last time, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing against the walls of your living room as he spasms and twitches inside you with a pathetic growl.
“I love you, too,” your innate reaction to his words comes without thinking, your current state hijacking any common sense that might make you respond differently.
Instead of correcting himself or apologizing, he leaves his words hanging in the air, just as naked and bare as he is now as he finishes spilling himself inside of you. He kisses you even deeper, pulling you further into him as if to merge the two of your bodies into one until his thrusts eventually slow to a complete stop.
Continuing to ignore his sudden confession, he rests his head against your chin and guides his palms over the curves of your body as the aftershock of your shared orgasm phases through you both. He hums the tune of your favorite song as he continues smoothing out all the gooseflesh that had formed on your skin until both of your breathing has steadied.
“I’m sorry I left.”
#santiago pope garcia#santiago garcia#oscar isaac#triple frontier#santiago garcia x reader#triple frontier fan fiction#frankie morales#frankie catfish morales#pedro pascal#santiago pope garcia fan fiction
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*looks around and slides money on the table* 💵
Frankie Morales and number 10
I apologize to Frankie because he’s a sweet polite broad bean who’s respectful and always asks. I…would like him not to. 👀
Reader: plus size female (because I’m in full self-indulgent delulu mode)
Also I’m kinda not sorry because side why else would you have the title of the p**** eating king Morales? Huh? Huh? 😵 Sir. 👀
Anyway. I’m gonna stop rambling now. Thank you. 🥰
*Snatches money and stuffs it into pocket*
Yeah, alright. I got the goods. (I fucking love this.)
Hope you enjoy your face sitting with the p**** eating king! 😉
Rating: Explicit
W/C: 1.2k
Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!plus size!reader
A Real Man
“What the fuck do you mean you’ve never sat on someone’s face before?”
You wince at the words coming out of Frankie’s mouth. Was it really that big of a deal?
The two of you are sitting in bed, facing the TV that Frankie just paused. Well, it’s not like the two of you were really watching it anyway. You’d started talking halfway through the movie, and you’re not really sure how you got to this point in the conversation, but here you are.
“I-I don’t know. I just…haven’t.” You avoid his gaze as your cheeks heat, unsure of why you feel so ashamed to have admitted that. Maybe it was more of a common thing than you had thought.
“But you’ve been in relationships before?” Frankie says it like a question, but he knows that you have.
“Well, yeah, but. I don’t know, we just didn’t do it!” You don’t know why you’re getting frustrated with this.
Frankie huffs a laugh and shakes his head.
“What kind of an idiot wouldn’t offer themselves up to a goddess like you?”
“You haven’t!” you point out. It’s a bit unfair of you since the two of you have only been officially dating for a couple of weeks and haven’t done too much sexual exploration yet. You’ve known him for much longer though, having grown up with him, and you’re not going to deny hearing…rumors of his skills.
He gives you a pointed look, knowing that you know that’s an unfair accusation. You groan and put your hands over your face.
“My last boyfriend offered, but he seemed like he didn’t really want to. So I told him I would suffocate him, and he agreed with me.” It’s muffled through your hands, and the last part is near incomprehensible with how quietly you say it.
“He what?” Frankie sits up a bit, and you peek at him through your fingers. “Honey, I hate to tell you, but that boy was a fucking idiot.”
You sigh and shake your head. Like you didn’t know that already.
“Take your clothes off.”
Your hands fall from your face as you jolt up.
“What? No!”
“Yes. You’re going to sit on my face so I can show you what it’s like to be with a real man.”
“Frankie, no, I–”
“Clothes. Off. Now.”
You gulp at the way his eyes darken and his voice deepens. Deciding it’s better just to listen to what he says, you slide down off the bed and start to tug off your clothes with shaky hands. You glance at Frankie as you push your pants down, watching the way he hungrily licks his bottom lip as you unveil more and more skin.
You stop once you’re down to your bra and panties, another protest on the tip of your tongue. But Frankie’s quick, and he knows your antics.
“Keep going. I don’t want to hear it.”
You purse your lips but undo your bra all the same, tossing it to the side and revealing your breasts to your boyfriend. You can feel the wetness between your legs as you peel your panties off, making your face flush again.
“C’mere.”
It’s not a request, and your body responds to it before you can think about it. You stop in front of him, his hands coming to settle on your plush hips. His eyes drag up the length of you, slowing as they pass your heavy breasts.
“Fucking gorgeos, amor.”
He starts to pull you back onto the bed with him, leading you to climb over him as he lays down. You stop at his waist, feeling the way his bulge presses up against the fabric of his sweats.
“C’mon, baby. All the way up.”
You swallow but follow his instruction, trying and failing to avoid his lust fueled gaze. You stop again right at his chest, and he suddenly wraps his arms around your thick thighs to pull you to his face, making you fall over him and plant your hands on the bed above his head.
“Frankie, be careful!” you scold, sitting back up on your knees. You look down at him, seeing his pupils completely blown.
“Take a seat hermosa,” he instructs, completely ignoring your outburst.
You start to lower yourself down, hovering just over his mouth. You’re about to ask him one more time if he’s sure, and then he pulls you all the way down, making you yelp as your pussy comes into contact with his unrelenting mouth.
He immediately gets to work on licking stripes up and down your cunt, and you scream out his name. He’s eaten you before while you were on your back, but holy fuck. It didn’t feel like this.
He groans into you as he slips his tongue inside your weeping hole, licking up all that he can. Your hand threads through his curls as your hips jolt involuntarily at the feeling. Your head is already starting to go blank as a pressure builds in your abdomen.
His tongue fucks in and out of you as he simultaneously slurps up your juices. You moan obscenely, tugging on his hair as you ride his face. He whimpers at the pull, and you already know his hips are bucking up into nothing.
He’s fucking feral, licking and fucking and groaning and whimpering. After a moment, he pulls his tongue back and shifts to take your clit between his full lips, sucking harshly. Your legs begin to tremble as your orgasm gets closer, and Frankie holds you even closer, his fingers leaving indents on your thighs as he squeezes your flesh. His tongue flicks over the swollen bud, and you’re done for.
“Oh, fuck, Frankie!” you cry out as you come on him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You’re vaguely aware of the way you’re clenching his hair in a way that has got to be painful, but you don’t have enough control to release your grip.
He keeps moving through your orgasm, letting go of your clit to trail back to your hole, drinking everything up as he moans. Your body tenses and shakes violently as you focus solely on the pleasure of it.
You’re panting as you come down, your body leaning back over his, weak from the force of the orgasm he just gave you. You feel his grip loosen on your thighs, and you take the opportunity to roll off of him and lay down on your back beside him.
You’re both covered in a thin sheen of sweat, breathing heavy as you look at eachother. You trade a shaky laugh, completely blissed out from whatever the fuck that was.
“Thank you baby,” you say, unsure if you can find the words to explain to him how mind-blowing that was.
“Shit, thank you,” Frankie responds.
“It wasn’t too much then?” you ask, doubt creeping back into your mind despite what just transpired.
“It was fucking perfect baby. I can prove how much I liked it if you really need.” He sounds almost bashful at this admission, and you’re confused for a second before you look down and see the dark stain in his pants.
You laugh at him, almost impressed that he managed to come untouched.
“No, I believe you.”
*****
Here’s the link to the prompt list if anyone else would like to request 🫶
#pedro pascal#fan fiction#ao3#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal characters#smut#fluff#frankie morales x you#frankie morales#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales smut#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x reader#francisco catfish morales#frankie morales fluff#francisco morales#triple frontier fic#pedro pascal fan fiction#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfic#plus size reader#pedro pascal x plus size reader#frankie morales x plus size reader
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The Wiener of My Heart - Benjamin "Benny" Miller x Reader
Pairing: Benny x Reader (1st POV, no descriptions)
Rating: T (blog is 18+)
Summary: You and Benny are brought together by your mutual love of dogs.
Word Count: 1.4k+
Warnings: Some cringe-worthy puns and innuendos, but it’s Benny so are you really surprised? Language.
A/N: I saw a decal on a car in a grocery store parking lot that read “Sometimes I trip over my wiener.” I immediately thought “Benny would 100% have that on his car.” This is pure chaos, and I’m not sorry.
Hopefully this doesn’t get lost in translation for anyone, but wiener = wiener dog = dachshund.
{Masterlist}
I fucking hate grocery shopping. It’s one of those things I can’t seem to bring myself to do until I absolutely have to. There’s something about wandering through the endless aisles, searching for the things I need, finding the best price of those things, all while avoiding small talk that I find frustrating. It’s just not worth the hassle, the time, or the stress.
Today’s trip has been a nightmare; there are people everywhere, obstructing every turn and moving in all directions, and the shelves are being emptied as if the end of the world has just been announced. I will not be surprised if I immediately hear the national alert system going off when I turn on my car.
God, please, if the world is ending let them be The Walking Dead zombies and not the fucking infected from The Last of Us.
I am on edge until I step out the doors and take a deep breath, the heavy, muggy air of Tampa somehow easier to breathe in than the air inside the stuffy store. I made it out alive, and so far, there aren’t any signs of any impending doom. I mean, no more than usual, considering Florida is a dumpster fire on a normal day.
I push the cart to my car, unlock the trunk, and rapidly load the groceries, eager to get home and pour myself a glass of much-deserved wine. I’m only halfway through when I turn and happen to catch sight of the most striking man walk out of the store, several grocery bags in each hand. He is tall, with broad shoulders and strong arms that seem to effortlessly carry the weight of the groceries. The sleeves of his jacket are rolled up enough to see his forearms flex with each step he takes. Something about him oozes rugged charm, and it’s impossible to not be captivated by him.
Fuck, he’s cute.
The man moves in my direction, and I quickly shift my focus and get back to loading my car. I watch out of the corner of my eye as the man approaches the Jeep parked beside me, shifting his bags to unlock it and and lift up the back window. My heart beats a million miles a minute, but I try to ignore it, figuring he’s too far out of my league.
He’s probably a douche anyway, I tell myself, trying to keep from being disappointed when he doesn’t even acknowledge my existence.
Unexpectedly, I hear a deep, quiet laugh, then a smooth, sultry voice speaks, “I’d rather be playing with my wiener too.”
My stomach twists, making me feel sick. The fuck did he just say?
“Excuse me?” I question, whipping toward the stranger faster than I thought humanly possible. My nose scrunches with disgust. The fucking audacity of this man. He’s not just a douche, but a fucking creep - which is a shame because up close this man is gorgeous. His blue eyes are like two pools of sapphire, glistening in the sunlight. A pair of sunglasses hang on the neck of his shirt, pulling it down just enough to reveal hair on his chest. Strands of blond hair peek out from underneath his hat, which he’s sporting backwards – a telltale sign of being a total douche.
I should’ve known.
However, the man seems to immediately regret what he said, his growing wide, cheeks as red as a traffic light.
“Oh shit! I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he exclaims, tripping over every word. “I meant…” He gestures toward my rear passenger window, which I know has a decal featuring the words “I’d rather be playing with my wiener” along with the silhouette of a dachshund. “I have one too,” he clarifies, pointing to his bumper, a sticker with a similar picture and the words “I trip over my wiener.”
My cheeks warm as realization settles over me. “Oh!” I exclaim, a nervous laugh escaping my lips. “I am so sorry! I thought you were-”
“An asshole?” he finishes for me, to which I breath out a “Yeah” with a small giggle. He chuckles awkwardly, reaching to grab the bill of his hat and pulling it off his head. While running his fingers through his tussled hair, he flips his hat around then puts it back on. “Yeah… Sorry. I didn’t exactly think that one through. Not my finest conversation starter.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him, offering him a genuine smile. “Don’t worry about it, uh-” I suddenly remember that I don’t know his name.
“Benny,” he replies, offering his hand to me.
“Benny,” I reply, repeating his name aloud once while it plays in my head like a beautiful song. I give him my own name, and as I shake his large hand, my mind immediately drifts to how his touch would feel on other parts of my skin. The thought of his hands exploring every inch of my body sends shivers down my spine. As I reluctantly release his hand, I can’t help but long for a moment when his touch could be more than just a fleeting gesture.
“Do you think maybe I could see your wiener?” Though my voice sounds meet, the sly smile spreading across my face shows that I’m well aware of what I’m doing.
“Right here? Right now?” Benny questions, pretending to be appalled by the notion, clearly playing along.
“Right now,” you demand. “Show me see your wiener.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a smile.
Fuck, the things those two words make me feel.
After reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he whips out his phone and swipes across the screen with his thumb. Within seconds, he’s showing me a picture of a beautiful black and brown dog, sporting short legs and a long torso.
“This is Beanie.”
My eyes flick up to him. “Beanie the Weenie?”
“Sir Beanie the Weenie of House Teenie, actually,” he clarifies, trying to sound so matter-of-fact.
“Oh,” I gasp, trying to sound impressed. “I had no idea you know the star of Game of Bones.”
Benny lets out a boisterous laugh, sparkles in his eyes, seeming both shocked and thrilled by my parody. “Fuck! Yes! That’s exactly what I was going for!”
Smiling, I look back at his screen, watching as he swipes to another picture, then another.
“You know, I don’t show just anyone my wiener,” Benny admits after several moments of silence. “I hope he doesn’t disappoint.”
I snort. “Not at all. He’s very cute.”
Chuckling, he tucks his phone back into his pocket, then gestures to me. “I showed you mine, so why don’t you show me yours?”
“It’s only fair,” I reply, reaching for my phone. Happily, I show him a photo of my brown long-haired dachshund. “Her name is Leia”
“Like from Star Wars?” he questions, a hint of excitement in his tone.
“Well, actually…” I pull my phone back and quickly find a photo from last Halloween. I show him the picture of my dog in a Leia costume, fake buns and all, which causes Benny to bust out in a fit of laughter.
“Okay. You win! Your wiener is way cooler than mine.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “A princess does outrank a knight, so…”
He chuckles, and a giggle escapes my lips.
“Maybe we can set up a playdate?” I suggest.
“Yeah, absolutely,” Benny replies. “Maybe we can set one up for the dogs too?” He looks up from my screen to meet my gaze, the corner of his lips rising into a small smile. Fuck, his eyes are mesmerizing. They’re the kind that make you feel like you’re the only person in the room, as if he’s seeing into my soul and understanding me without even uttering a word. I could stare into them for hours, lost in their piercing blue beauty.
I smile, feeling my cheeks warm once again. “I’d like that.”
We exchange numbers and part with the promise that we’ll be in touch soon. While walking toward my car door, I feel a sense of anticipation for what the future might hold. Grabbing a hold of the handle, I pause, then look over at Benny as he climbs into his seat. Looking at him makes me feel calm, as if all my worries melt away in his presence. I almost don’t want to let him leave.
“Hey,” I call, grabbing his attention before he can close the door of his Jeep. “Make sure you play with your wiener for me when you get home.” Casting him a wink, I climb into my seat, satisfied by the pink that’s rising in his cheeks as he casts a shy smile.
I’m pretty sure a stranger just stole my heart in a Publix parking lot. But what can I say? Benny has one incredible-looking wiener, and that makes me weak.
#benny miller#benny miller x you#benny miller fanfic#benny miller x reader#benny miller fanfiction#benjamin miller#triple frontier#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fan fiction#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fanfiction#garrett hedlund#garrett hedlund x you#garrett hedlund x reader#garrett hedlund fanfiction#garrett hedlund characters#catie writes
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Goodnight, Princess
Yandere Dad's Best Friend - Santiago Garcia X f!Reader
Not Beta Read - For @romana-after-dark's Dead Dove December event!
PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!
Summary
Your dad's best friend accidentally discovers that you're a sex worker. He tries to let it go, but it eats away at him until things go way too far.
This fic was written in first person from Santiago's perspective. I know that's not normally something I do, but if you give it a chance I think you'll like it hehe <3
Tags/Warnings
NSFW, non-con, dubious consent, rape, sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, masturbation, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, porn with some plot, smut, creampie, breeding kink if you squint, non-consensual somnophilia, intoxication, implied murder, dad's best friend, age gap, voyeurism, hidden cameras. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (that means that what you see in the tags WILL be in the fic, don't act surprised when you get exactly what you were warned about.)
Word Count: 5.7k
I should’ve put a stop to it the second I realized it was you on the other side of that wall.
Don’t ask me how I knew. A good guess? A hunch? Maybe I’d known you so long that I could tell, based on some deep ingrained instinct, exactly what your lips would feel like wrapped around my cock. You sucked on it like you knew what you were doing, like it wasn’t a challenge for you to take something so big in that pretty little mouth.
I recognized the sound of your moans almost right away. The hum of your voice when you started sucking my dick was the same sound you made at dinner the other night when you popped a spoonful of mashed potatoes in your mouth. Does your dad know you’re doing this? Do you care? Do you ever worry about what he might say if he finds out?
Don’t worry princess, I'll keep your secret.
Our secret.
I bet you never thought I would find out about your slutty little side job. To be entirely honest, I didn’t think I’d find you working at a place like this. If you know me at all, and I know for a fact that you do, then you’d know I’m a lonely man. Years of serving in the military and the endless night terrors have made it difficult to find any sort of real relationship, so I’ve given up. That doesn’t mean I don’t still have needs, sweetheart.
Everybody jerks off, and I’m no exception. I don’t even know how many nights I’ve been in my room, cock in hand while I watch some crappy porno to get myself off. Every once in a while though, I like to treat myself to a little something more. Most people treat themselves to some kind of dessert, or a nice bottle of wine, but I like to treat myself to a night at Club BJ where all the dirty men go to get their rocks off.
I never thought I’d find you there.
Not a chance in hell did I think for even a second that you would be sucking random cocks on the other side of a gloryhole to earn a few extra bucks. You’re so good at it though, princess. How did you learn to swirl your tongue like that? Hm? Was it all the boys at college who taught you how to do that? Did they tell you what a pretty little girl you are while your lips were stretched around them?
They better have. They better have said thank you when they finished all over that beautiful face too.
I couldn’t speak to you. I couldn’t let you know it was me on the other side of that wall, so I hope the $200 tip I left you gets the point across.
When I got home tonight, you were running through my mind like a fucking hamster on a wheel. I’m not sure what to do now, but I can’t shake how bad I want to go back to the club for another round. I’d pay thousands, probably even tens of thousands, just to have more…
But I can’t do that. Not to you, and not to your dad.
That was the first and only time I’m going to know what it’s like to feel you sucking my cock.
—
There’s no possible way for you to know what you do to me, well, for you to know that it was me on the other side of the hole that you were making feel so fucking good. I’m coming back again, despite promising I wouldn’t. I’ve been trying so hard to let it go, but I fucking can’t. You’re like a goddamn siren luring me back to that shithole, and I can’t resist your call.
I’ll be back on Friday, because that’s the night they set the girls up with their asses sticking out through the wall. I would assume the club has you bent over some kind of table on the other side of that wall? I’m not sure, but Friday can’t come soon enough. I feel like I need you.
Maybe if you hadn’t looked at me the way you did when I saw you today at your dad’s for dinner. Were you looking at me like that on purpose, sweetheart? I mean, you must be…right? Or have I completely lost my shit?
I probably lost my shit, let’s be honest.
I’ve known your dad since high school. I even helped him beat up a guy that was hitting on your mom back when she and your dad had just started dating. I’m really not a bad guy, and I’ve never looked at you like this. I mean it. But how can I look at you any differently now? How can I look at you any differently after what you did to me? What you did for me.
“Santi, can you pass the butter?” You asked, looking at me, probably no different than usual but I couldn’t think of anything other than those pouty lips wrapped around my dick again.
Did you notice the way my hand shook when I handed you the butter dish? Maybe not, but they were trembling and to be honest it was fucking annoying. I’m a man in his late thirties and I can’t get a grip on the feelings I’m developing for my best friend's goddamn kid. It’s wrong, disgusting, hell I’d kill someone if you were my kid.
But you’re not, and I can’t fucking help it, even though I tried.
Maybe someday, if you ever find out about any of this, I’ll tell you about how much I hated myself (hell, I still hate myself sometimes), when I came home with that post nut clarity. That might’ve been the best blowjob of my life, but I stood in front of my mirror for a good ten minutes trying to tell myself that I’d never go back to that hellhole, Club BJs. I meant it with all my heart when I said it over and over like a mantra.
Now I’m stuck though. I’m stuck thinking about you bent over with a wall separating the top half of your body from the bottom with countless men fucking you until you’re so full of cum you looked like a damn overstuffed pastry. You deserve to feel good. You deserve to have at least one of those men be someone that cares about you.
I guess I’ll have to be the one to do it. I guess this is how I’ll justify doing something I know I shouldn’t.
I’ll see you on Friday, princess.
—
It makes me feel a little bit better to know that every man in there is at least checked for STDs before he gets to fuck you. Surely you wouldn’t have signed up to work at a place like this if they weren’t. You’re smart, you’ve always been so smart. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.
Still not clever enough to know that I was one of those men who stood behind you that night. In fact, I was your last customer of the night. Your pussy was so puffy and swollen, those guys really stretched you out and fucked you good didn’t they? Don’t worry, princess, I took good care of you and gave your little hole a break. I won’t lie, it took everything in me not to use you the way they did, but I’ll do that another time.
Tonight I was on my knees for you, grabbing onto both of your asscheeks and spreading you out so I could clean up the mess those filthy men made of my little princess. You sounded so surprised, I heard you gasp, when I started eating you out. Did you like that? It sounded like you did. I could feel your thighs shaking and at some point you even started rocking back and forth like you wanted more.
Maybe you wanted me to fuck you. Were you hoping that the mystery man on the other side of the wall would clean you up and then fuck his own cum into you too? Or maybe you were happy to have the break. Either way, I licked your swollen clit until I could hear your pretty moans on the other side and feel your cunt throbbing against my tongue. Your slick tastes so good sweetheart, can’t believe you made something so delicious all by yourself.
“You’re not going to fuck me?” You asked me. I could almost hear the desperation in your voice, like you were begging me to come back and take you.
“No.” I said firmly, faking a deeper voice than my own.
Next time I will though, don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll fuck you so good you won’t want anyone else.
—
The same night I ate you out I rushed home to jerk off. It sounds crude to say, but fuck I couldn’t help it. The taste of your pussy was still on my lips. I could still smell you soaked into the stubble on my chin and upper lip. I’m making a mental note to snag a pair of your panties when I come over for the barbecue at your dad’s tomorrow night. Maybe that will help get me through this mess I’m in. Maybe it will help me stop this shit.
I know I can’t keep doing this, but the feeling I get when I’m scrolling through your instagram photos from last summer in your bikini with my cock squeezed in my hand is incredible. I’m looking at those perfect tits hidden beneath such a thin layer of fabric, and your pretty rear is barely covered at all.
When I came it’s like I was possessed, blowing up a picture of your face just so I could imagine myself coating it in all of me. I don’t even really want to talk about how hard it was to clean that mess off my phone.
I feel like I’m losing myself in the depraved thoughts and fantasies I’m having of you. I woke up with soaked sheets and I thought I fucking pissed myself, but I didn’t, it was…something else. I’d dreamt of you. I can’t remember exactly what was happening in that dream, but it must’ve been good, and I’m annoyed that I still can’t remember what it was about.
—
A small part of me, the part of me that still had some morals left, was hoping you’d be working your day job. (honestly I can’t even remember what your day job is, aren’t you a housekeeper? Or a waitress or something?) At least if you were working I wouldn’t have to see you. I wouldn’t have to think about you more than I already was. Not to mention, I wouldn’t have had to sit there and watch you laugh with your ‘friend’ that you’d invited over.
You told your dad when you introduced him, “we’re just friends dad.”
You said it with such an attitude that both your dad and I knew better. You might’ve thought you were just friends, but that guy wanted more, and I knew you were going to give it to him. I could tell by the way you looked at him when you thought no one was paying attention.
I bet you didn’t think I’d hear you both making out in your room that night, but your moans call me now like a moth to a flame. The other barbecue guests had gone home, and your dad was drunk and passed out in his recliner, and I heard you faintly over the hum of the crappy reality show on tv. I didn’t pause the show, I didn’t want to wake up your dad, so I went upstairs silently, masked by the sound on the tv.
Initially, I wanted to walk in there and rip this kid off of you, giving him a few vicious but empty threats before sending him on his way with his tail between his legs. Your voice stopped me in my tracks though.
“Shh, I don’t want my dad to hear us,” you whispered, followed by a sweet giggle.
He won’t, princess. I thought, as though it were me you were talking to and not this loser.
You’d left your bedroom door open, per your dad’s request, such a good little girl. Despite being a grown woman, you still did what your daddy told you, and that’s the only reason I was able to hide in the bathroom and hear you get fucked while I jerked off and imagined I was with you instead of…whatever the fuck his name is.
“Oh god!” You whined, making my body shudder.
That guy doesn’t talk much, and that made it all the easier for me to imagine myself in his place.
When you said, “mm, harder, please…”
I was right there to say, “anything you want, sweetheart.”
I tried to move my hand in time with the light thump of your bed against the wall. It helped. What didn’t help was the fact that I could tell how little you were enjoying yourself. You were making the same sounds you made when you were ass out at the gloryhole. I knew I could do better, I knew I could make your body shake with pleasure like when I was kneeling down behind you with my tongue working overtime on your sensitive clit.
You were pretty good at faking it though, good enough that I was a leaking mess, precum dripping all down my shaft while I worked myself behind the wall your bedroom shared with the bathroom. I really wanted to go in there, tell that guy to get lost and give you the night of your life, but I didn’t. Instead I stood there, spilling a few globs of cum into some toilet paper and calling it good enough.
I was quick to head back downstairs before you even knew I was up there in the first place. That guy had the audacity to say goodnight to me in the kitchen on his way out the door. I let that go pretty quickly because then it was just you and me alone in the kitchen while your dad slept soundly in the living room.
You have no idea how badly I wanted to ask you for the pleasure of taking care of you, of making sure that you got off too, but I bit my tongue. Instead we made small talk about how your college was going and you asked me about Benny, Frankie and Will.
For a moment I had forgotten about all the things that transpired between us, or that I’d done while thinking about you, and you were just my best friend’s kid again. We were just two people who had known each other for a long time, catching up and making small talk. Then you had to bend over in your shorts, and my cock ignored its usual refractory period to spring alive and nag for attention again.
“You okay, Santi?” You’d asked so innocently, as if I didn’t know what that mouth was capable of, or what that body could take.
“I’m fine, sweetheart.”
I’m not fucking fine, but that doesn’t matter.
—
You slept like a rock that night, not even stirring in the slightest when I grabbed your panties out of your hamper by the closet. They didn’t look particularly fancy, so I assume you won’t miss them, will you? Doesn’t matter anyway, you’d never expect that I’m the one who took them.
I can’t even begin to tell you how disgusting I felt when I got home the next morning and I had placed your panties on my bed in front of me like a prize I’d won. I think I stared at them for at least a full ten minutes before I picked them up again and put them in my nightstand. I’ve never been a “panty sniffer” and I tried to convince myself that just knowing I had them in my possession was enough.
Have you ever read The Tell-Tale Heart? I remember when I was in high school I had to, and it stuck with me for some reason. Your underwear in my nightstand reminded me of that story in some ways. It’s like all I could hear were your moans in my ears and no matter where I went in the house the temptation to smell the remnants of your cunt on that fabric was following me.
So finally, here I am, two weeks after you first sucked my cock, and I can shamefully admit that I did it. I smelled them, and sweetheart, you smell so much better without all that cum inside of you. Of course the panties can’t compare to the real thing, which I don’t know if I’ll ever smell without six loads of spend inside, but god I hope I get the privilege one day.
Or maybe I hope I don’t.
I’m still so torn between the fact that you’re my best friend’s kid, and the way I want to bury my dick so far in that pretty little cunt that you’re seeing stars.
—
I was first in line tonight. It’s Friday night so your ass was out again and untouched this time. You weren’t wet yet which excited me for some reason. It meant I got to have the honors of making you nice and slick.
My hand looks so big against your ass, princess. I wish I could show you. That was me who rubbed your clit, making you shake and whine for more on the other side of the wall. I’m the one who slipped my thick middle finger in that greedy little hole, and then my index finger, and then the ring finger.
I’m guessing you liked it based on how slippery you got, and how much you moaned on the other side. Do you know how dedicated your customers are? One of them got pissed at me for taking too long with you. I can’t say I blame them, your pussy is perfect sweetheart.
God the feeling of sliding my dick between those pretty pussy lips is like nothing I’ve ever felt. As I bottomed out, I felt your walls were squeezing around me like you wanted me deeper, so of course I pushed in more, all the way until I couldn’t go further. You gasped like you hadn’t felt a hundred dicks inside you before mine.
I slid back again and slammed into you. I heard you begging me to keeping going, and saying, “fuck you’re good, holy shit!”
It was so hard not to say all the filthy things I wanted to when I fucked you, princess. I wanted to tell you how good you looked like that, pussy lips split around my cock like it wanted to swallow me whole. I wanted to ask you if you would like me to stick my thumb in your ass but decided to just try it anyway and see how you reacted.
You liked it.
At least it seemed like you did, your cunt clamped down around my dick like a damn vice grip the moment my thumb popped through your tight little hole. Did you like having something in your ass sweetheart? It’s shocking how tight you are, given how often I know you’re getting fucked. Some of the guys coming in behind me were big, some even bigger than me, but you don’t like them as much as you do when I fuck you, right? Of course not, because you don’t sound like that when you’re with them.
I caught a small glimpse of your eye through the hole. There was a small gap between the wall and your hips and you were looking at the same time I was. Did you see me? Did you have time to realize who I was? Did you come right then and there because you liked the idea of your dad’s best friend fucking you until you were too spent for anyone else?
Your orgasm forced me to come at the same time you did. I can’t even begin to tell you what it felt like to spill my load inside of you like I’d wanted to for so long. I remember so clearly being pushed up against your ass, pulling my thumb out of your hole so I could squeeze your hips and pull you over my dick further. It’s like I was willing every ounce of it to fill you up so full that no one else could. It’s like I was trying to make sure that when you look in the mirror a few months from now, you’ll remember the feeling of the man who fucked a baby into you.
I’m not an idiot. Well, I am, but I know that you’re on birth control. I know that no matter how many times I fuck you, the chances of you actually getting pregant are slim, not that I’d want to get you pregnant anyway. That would be too much, and I don’t want to go too far.
I’m not going to go too far.
—
I went to your house today.
I already had an excuse planned if I somehow got caught while you and your dad were out. If you or your father saw me, I’d say I came back for my hat. It’s not a total lie, I did leave my hat behind, but neither of you needed to know it was on purpose.
Do you realize how much dust has collected on the little stuffed bear you have on the shelf facing directly across from your bed, sweetheart? I doubt it, but it does make for the perfect place to put the small camera I bought.
I feel so fucking gross I can hardly stand to look at myself. But I can’t stand not to watch you touch yourself either. The glory hole is great, but I want to see that pretty face when you’re coming so hard you can’t breathe right, and I can’t do that when I’m on the other side of a fucking wall can I?
Seeing you later that night while I was at my own house, fist closed around my cock and watching you play with yourself is worth all the self loathing in the world. I had the camera feed pulled up on my laptop, and I could see you walking over to your dresser. God, what an array of toys you have. Do you have all those toys because you like them? Or is it because you haven’t found someone who knows their way around your body yet?
If it’s the latter, I promise you won’t need those things once I’m done with you.
Fuck, princess. The one you picked out is so damn big. I’ve seen you fit some pretty big cocks in that little hole, but I was shocked to see you squeezing lube around the head of that thing and gliding it over your pussy lips. You took a deep breath. Does it hurt to take such a fat silicone dick like that?
Fuck, I’m glad I put the camera where I did. Who had you so wet like that? Hm? Were you thinking about anyone in particular? Can you even get that entire dildo in there? I hated to admit how much I liked watching you struggle. My cock leaked so fucking much I thought I was going to come too fast, but I kept it together.
You finally pushed it in, and I’m so damn proud of you princess. You had a really hard time going all the way though, didn’t you? That tight little pussy of yours was stretched to its limit and you were only halfway in there. Why do you even have a dildo that size if you can’t get it all the way in your cunt? Are you trying to stretch yourself out for someone? You don’t have to stretch yourself for me, I’d be happy to take care of that for you myself.
I watched you push it in even more, I was so focused on the furrow of your turned up brow and the way you bit your lip while I stared. We both exhaled the moment you managed to fit the entire thing in. Your eyes rolled back like it was the best thing you’d ever felt. You really do enjoy being stuffed full, don’t you, sweetheart?
You started fucking yourself with it, the sounds of your wet cunt hit my ears like the sweetest music I’d ever heard. I stroked myself in time with your movements, my eyes focused right on your face, and my cock throbbed every time you moaned. Wasn’t your dad home tonight? Shouldn’t you be a bit quieter when you’re doing stuff like that? Maybe you just don’t care if he hears you.
You started fucking yourself faster so of course I was jerking myself harder, trying to keep up with you without losing it too quickly. It didn’t take long for you to come though. Did you like the feeling of that toy that much? You gushed around it, you choked back some moans but several other soft whimpers escaped, filling your room and hitting my ears through the camera feed. I came too, coating my knuckles and my stomach with so much cum I didn’t know I was even capable of producing that much.
Why’d you have to ruin it? Huh?
It was such a good fucking orgasm for both of us, and then I heard you say a name. It wasn’t my name though, was it, princess? I don’t know why that bothers me so fucking much. Maybe it’s because in some twisted way I’ve managed to convince myself that you were putting on that private show just for me. So if you did do it for me, then I don’t want to hear you saying some other guy’s name while you’re fucking your self like that sweetheart.
I just don’t.
—
I lost it today.
I really fucking lost it today, princess.
I found that guy. You know the one who fucked you the other night while I jerked off in the bathroom? That ‘friend’ of yours? The one whose name you called out instead of mine?
I found him.
I…
—
Did you miss me, sweetheart? I’m sorry, but I had to leave for a while, at least until things quieted down, and until you weren’t sad anymore. I know I should feel bad, but I don’t. I would probably do it again a thousand times if I had to.
You seemed fine during dinner at your dad’s tonight. I don’t really think you were that upset over the guy anyway, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear his name come out of that pretty mouth again. Ever.
After too much wine during (and after) dinner, I carried you upstairs. You never could handle your liquor. Remember when you were only eighteen and I would let you sneak a few shots under your old man’s nose when he wasn’t looking? Your dad was sleeping when I put you down gently in your bed. Your skin is so fucking soft it killed me to step away from you.
Your eyes opened for a moment meeting with mine. I felt my gut stir at the sight of you biting your lip. Why were you doing that to me? Didn’t you know how that would affect me? I couldn’t resist the way you looked at me that night. No one would’ve been able to. It’s not fair for you to put me in that position and expect that I’m just going to walk away. When I think back to it, this was all your fault, princess.
“Santi,” you said sweetly.
I almost climbed on top of you right then when you grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer. I almost grabbed your throat and fucked you through your shorts, but I held back.
“What, princess?” I asked you, putting a caring hand on your shoulder, trying to fight back my more primal urges screaming in my head.
You shivered, “I-mm-need something towearto mm-bed,” you slurred out.
I could see the curve of your hip disappear into your too-short shorts. I really don’t want you going out in public wearing things like that. I gave you my shirt to keep you warm. I hope it’s comfortable, sweetheart, I can’t let you go cold, can I? When I leaned down to put it over your head, I felt such a fucking ache in my chest when your face appeared again through the hole. Such a pretty babygirl.
“Thank you,” you smiled contentedly and snuggled into your pillows.
I gulped, “princess,” I whispered, slowly creeping my fingers toward the hem of your shorts where they rested on your waist.
“Hm?” You hummed, but you weren’t really awake anymore, from what I could tell.
When I touched your soft, exposed hip you didn’t stir at all, and when I slipped my fingers underneath your panties, then your shorts, you didn’t make a sound. When I pushed both down to your ankles and dropped them on the floor, you didn’t open your eyes. You didn’t have any fucking clue what I was going to do to you, did you?
Did you feel my fingers when I slipped them between your thighs and felt your little wet cunt? I bet you did, even if you didn’t realize you were feeling it. I thought I would wake you up for sure when I pushed you onto your back and climbed over you. And when that didn’t wake you up, I thought, without a doubt, that when I pulled my cock out and touched it against your slick pussy lips your eyes would shoot open and you’d catch me in the act.
You didn’t though, you stayed deep in your drunken sleep, and I could get away with doing anything I wanted to you.
I’m still wondering what I would’ve done if you’d caught me. What would I say? How would I justify this feeling I craved that only you could satisfy? Would I even need to say anything? Surely you would recognize the feeling of the cock that made you come so good in that glory hole. Surely you’d be desperate for me to keep going.
Being able to look at your face, even if you were asleep, while I slid my dick into your wet heat made my brain stop fucking working. I couldn’t even think. It was like my body just took over, hips rocking into you over and over without a care in the world for how loud the bed was creaking.
You still didn’t feel anything when I dipped down and kissed you, my hips still thrusting slowly against you. This isn’t a Disney movie, and I’m no prince charming, but you’re still my little princess, aren’t you? You’re like my personal sleeping beauty, except my soft kisses didn’t wake you from your drunken slumber.
Thank god.
I kissed all the way down your jawbone until I got to your neck. You’re so soft, and you smell so nice. I kinda wish you’d been awake so I could’ve heard you whimper and whine in my ear. I want to hear you tell me how good it feels to have my cock slamming into your pussy, sweetheart. I want to feel your lips on my neck, my chest, all over my body.
“You take me so well, princess.” I whispered in your ear, hoping that somewhere deep in your dreams you’d hear my words and know I was inside you. “You feel so good, I can’t stop. Never felt anything-so-fucking-g-good-I-f-fuck…”
I came so much that when I pulled back my cum poured out of you as if my cock was a dam holding back a river. I still wonder if I should’ve cleaned you up, but I didn’t. Maybe you’d remember that I was the one who brought you upstairs and you’d put the pieces together.
I can imagine it now, you waking up in the morning with a dried up substance between your thighs. You might not know what it is right away, but I’m sure when you go to the bathroom and notice the hickeys peppered all over your neck, you’ll know that something must’ve happened to you the night before.
I’m not sure what to do now.
I need to have you for myself, that much is clear. The thought of someone else touching you ever again is killing me, so I have to take you. I’ll take you away from all this shit, and I’ll take good care of you. You won’t have to work at that nasty place anymore, I’ll be sure of that. And please don’t worry, princess. When your dad is looking for you, and he needs a friend to help him through the tough times, and the times he’s missing you, I’ll be that friend. He will only be sad for a little while.
If things go wrong, and someone finds this…well I guess it’s a journal isn’t it? I won’t be able to deny the things I’ve done. I should burn it, but I can’t bring myself to do that. When I read it back, it’s almost like I can relive our time together. Someday I might show you this so you can understand why I did what I had to do, why I have to keep you.
Until then, I hope you sleep well tonight, your final night in your childhood home. I hope you enjoy your last breakfast with your loving dad, and that the two of you don’t argue before he leaves for work. Make sure you give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him you love him, because I’ll be over before he gets home from work.
Goodnight, princess.
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#santiago garcia#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier#santiago garcia x reader#santiago pope garcia#santi x reader#santiago#garcia#santiago garcia x you#santi garcia x reader#santi garcia x you#santi garcia fanficiton#santi garcia fan fiction#santi garcia fanfic#santi garcia fan fic#santiago garcia fanfiction#santiago garcia fan fiction
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Blowing Bubbles
Title: Blowing Bubbles | AO3 | Rating: T | Masterlist
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader
Summary: Your stay-cation isn't exactly going as planned...
Warnings: Kissing. Mildly spicy thoughts/behaviors.
A/N: This is the second fic I've written for Hawk and Frankie. Here is the first. If people show interest and the muse sticks with me, I might continue writing little drabbles for them. :o)
“Hawk, what are you doing?”
Frankie’s sudden appearance just inside the living room threshold prompts you to glance up so fast that your neck crackles and pops like dried wood. You let out a hissed curse – not only at the pain, but also because you know you’ve just been caught.
The oversized mug at your elbow is steaming with your third (maybe fourth?) serving and the table in front of you is covered corner-to-corner with tools and supplies of various kinds. There’s really no hiding what you’re getting up to – especially not when it’s zero-two-hundred, and you’re so damn jittery from too much dark roast and exhaustion that you’re practically tap dancing in your seat. You really should’ve eaten the toast you made for yourself, but you just got so wrapped up in it…
“Por favor, cariño,” he rasps. “Come to bed.”
“Five more minutes,” you counter, refocusing on the remaining bits and pieces spread out in front of you. “I’ve almost got it this time.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I know, but--”
“And the day before.”
Your absentminded grunt. His put-out sigh. The refrigerator hums lightly and the floorboards creak with every other step he takes toward the kitchen. Bare feet patter along the tile, and then, he’s standing over you – the broad, muscular form of him distorted by the headlamp magnifier you’re wearing. A blurry cutout of sinew, Frankie is lit up by a tiny row of LEDs, and his eyes morph, all comically large, before his visage starts to become clearer.
“You look like a mad scientist,” he remarks, deft fingers working to remove your headgear and scoot your mug of black-one-sugar aside. “Even your hair is wild.”
“I think the term you’re looking for is sex hair,” you quip back, unable to hide the smirk crawling its way up the left side of your face. “And I lay the blame at your feet for that.”
A flicker of pride, and then, a furrowed brow. Frankie crosses his arms over his chest and props his cute ass up against the table, but it’s not until his expression morphs into what you’ve dubbed his “frowny, grumpy face” that you know he’s no longer thinking happy thoughts. A man of careful consideration, he weighs his words, practically rolling them around in his mind and mouth before finally speaking.
“We had plans,” he says, succinct, but not unkind.
You rub the back of your neck and stare at your lap, “And I’m ruining them.”
“No, baby, not that – never that. It’s just…A whole week together. Just you and me. That’s what we agreed to. Remember?”
You fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt and nod, your mind recalling the hours-long conversations the two of you had, going over the pros and cons, weighing up the mutual fears and excitement. The serious lack of alone time and the desperate, mutual need for a break – that’s what ultimately clinched it. You and Frankie would have your own, private staycation, while at the same time, a very excited Isabella would be with her grandparents for a getaway at an out-of-town water park/resort.
You and Frankie never have the house to yourselves, and the two of you had plans to celebrate via unabashed orgasms, eating pizza naked in front of the TV, and taking prolonged showers together. No chores. No projects. No plans to go out or catch up with friends or even grocery shop…
But instead of a distraction-free, sexed-up weekend, full of takeout food and Netflix shows without singing cartoons, you’ve been tinkering with Isabella’s damn bubble blaster. You’ve allowed an easily replaceable, three-dollar toy to take up entirely too much of the infrequent, precious alone time you get with the man you otherwise can’t ever seem to get enough of.
You repair helicopters, for crying out loud. And you’re good at your job. In fact, you’re so good at it, the exorbitant salary you pull isn’t just for your mechanical skills – people also hire you on a contractual basis just for your opinions. Shit, you could buy Isabella a plethora of brand-new bubble blasters. Hell, you could upgrade to one of those fancy machines they use at clubs and in movies, but there’s something about fixing this particular butterfly-themed bubble blaster that you simply can’t let go of…
“The replacement parts you’re putting in this thing are more expensive than the toy itself,” he says, voice gruff with sleep and perhaps a hint of agitation. “And with how she plays with her toys… You know it’s not gonna last long.”
Frankie’s remarks prompt you to glance at the table’s surface again. Every inch is covered with a mess of trial-and-error, and the presence of all that’s accumulated – like the multimeter, soldering iron, repair kit, and empty supply packages – simply makes you shrug.
A deep inhale. A long exhale. Frankie closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose – the picture of an exasperated partner who really wanted to get laid without fear of interruption and maybe – just maybe – eat first and sleep in late for a change. You feel terrible for getting caught up, for allowing your obsessive, one-track mind to take over, and you would apologize for it if not for him speaking first.
“I love the way you love her,” Frankie says, tone now warmer, more understanding. “I may not get why you’re doing this, but… I love you. And I love you more for loving her.”
You find it difficult to keep the tears at bay – especially when he looks at you, all soft, soulful eyes full of adoration and even deeper admiration. Frankie has always had the uncanny ability to see you, to get you right down to the marrow, and it would terrify the hell out if you weren’t so in love with him.
“It’s her favorite,” you say, hoping that somehow explains the reasoning behind the sudden madness that’s gripped you. “And I just… I should be able to fix this for her.”
He scratches at the hairs along the column of his throat, “I know, cariño. I know.”
A long pause, and then, you press your luck. “Does that mean I can have five more minutes?” you wonder, sticking out your lower lip and batting your eyelashes for good measure.
The sound that escapes his throat is a combination of a bemused groan and a warning growl. You know you haven’t exactly won, but you haven’t lost, either. Frankie is a man of compromise who always has a caveat, and you know it’s coming when he leans forward, cups your face in his hands, and stares at you in such a way that you’re powerless not to meet his gaze.
“Last chance,” he says sternly. “Then, it goes in the trash. That’s an order.”
You lick your lips and nod slightly, “Yes, sir.”
Frankie’s pupils expand, and his smile wide enough to reveal his dimple, then, he’s kissing you – a relentless, frantic demand of your mouth that’s all possessive and purposeful. Then, he’s slow as syrup when he pulls away, the epitome of stark contrast when he drops a chaste peck to the middle of your forehead and calmly sets a timer on his wristwatch. He doesn’t hover – he simply hands you the headlamp magnifier, wishes you luck, and leaves you to it.
With your heart racing and the clock ticking, you set about reassembling, working off your own drawings of internal components and how the toy had been put together before you started tinkering with it. You slide the battery into place and close the compartment. With a flick of your thumb, the power button slides from off to on, and the colorful lights built into the handle come to life.
The bottle of bubble refill twists neatly into place. You slowly press down on the trigger, and the enclosed blower fan comes to life with a high-pitched, mechanical whir.
“Alright, come on,” you murmur, watching as the soap dribbles pathetically down your wrist and along your forearm. “Come on, baby, come on…”
A strange gurgle. A death-rattle-type wheeze. Then, one, big bubble gives way to dozens more, and you don’t realize you’re on your feet or that you’ve even left the kitchen. Suddenly, you’re jumping on the bed, practically screaming your victory at the top of your lungs, jostling the hell out of Frankie and covering him, the blanket, sheets, and pillows with glittery bubbles.
When you eventually stop your crowing, you’re panting, and your mouth tastes like soap. Frankie’s laughter has slowed, and he’s trying (and failing) to brush the glitter out of his hair and mustache. There’s no denying you’re still giddy and wound up as all hell, but still, you’re careful when you step down from the bed and even more mindful of where you place your prized work, opting for the top dresser drawer and nestling it safely in a pile of socks.
“I did it,” you exhale, mind settling in its relief. “I actually did it.”
“M'proud of you,” Frankie grins sleepily.
You sigh and happily crawl into strong arms covered in soapy sparkles. You let yourself bask in for a moment, permit yourself to soak up Frankie’s sincere compliments, revel in your achievement, and think of how happy Isabella will be. It feels good – good in a way that’s entirely unexpected because the motivation was different.
“I do love her,” you whisper, the words tumbling out like a confession against the soft cotton t-shirt covering his chest.
A beat of silence. Then, you feel warm fingertips beneath your chin, coaxing your eyes up until his gaze meets yours. Frankie cups your cheek and his smile – the one reserved just for you – fills you with such warmth, such comfort, that you can’t help but smile at him in return. His kiss is brief, but tender, and then, he rests his cheek against the crown of your head and holds you just a little bit tighter.
You nuzzle his chest and sigh, “You think she knows?”
He chuckles and nods slightly, “Yeah, cariño. She knows.”
#frankie catfish morales x reader#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales fanfic#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fan fiction#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales fanfiction#wordywarriorwrites
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4.5k?!?? darling, that is so, so incredible - sending you huge congratulations! you're such a wonderfully warm and kind presence here, and we thank you for the constant time, love and energy you devote to your amazing fics ❤️
i may be being greedy but you've had me by the throat for months, so - only if you're up for it, my sweet - maybe just a little something spicy with my bois dave and frankie? the prompt “Think you can handle that much?" really came out and slapped me across the face lmao, but please disregard if it's not feeling right.
forever loving you! congratulations again, angel!
THANK YOU SO MUCH LOVE!!! It means so much that you say this, and I'm happy to indulge in any kind of frankie x reader x dave goodness because honestly, I've been thinking about them a lot lately ❤️ (I think I got carried away a bit with this one. this is def not a drabble anymore svfdd)
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞
pairing: frankie morales x fem!reader x dave york
genre: smut, absolute filth, minors dni
word count: 2,4k (this is just filth y'all, start from finish. It's been a while since I wrote this long of a smut piece, the horny possessed me)
summary: you've been having a stressful time, Dave and Frankie provide an excellent way to comfort you.
warnings: dom/sub dynamics, mention of safe words, brattamer!dave, bratty!frankie & reader, double penetration, dirty talking, mlm dynamics, oral (giving), mild daddy kink, frankie has a big dick because why not, vaginal/anal fingering, bit of cum play, little bit emotion at the end, oh and reader doesn't understand Spanish
a/n: this can be seen as a part of the fic I wrote way before called wonderful tonight and this one does have very mild references to it (the nicknames mostly) but you can read this without reading that
𝑺𝑰𝑳'𝑺 4.5𝑲 𝑭𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑰 𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑻 (open)
“Come on sweetheart, you can suck cock better than that—Can’t you?”
You have tears in your eyes. Frankie’s hand a constant presence at the back of your head, nails gently scratching your scalp. Your chin aches, spit, and precum dripping from the sides as you attempt to take more of him. Your nostrils flare, your eyes squeezed tight when you feel the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat.
Frankie moans at the way you gag around him, fingers sliding down to your neck, he squeezes.
“She’s doing just fine,” he says, the harsh snap of his words directed at Dave. “Her mouth is heaven on earth,”
“How can it be heaven when she can barely take it?”
A soft whine rattles your throat, your gaze flicking to meet his. He clicks his tongue and rubs your neck, shushing you. “You’re doing amazing, querida. Don’t mind him. He’s just jealous because he wants a taste for himself,”
“I’m trying to help,”
“Just sit there and enjoy the show,”
You hear Dave scoff, he had positioned himself right across from the bed where he has a side view of both you and Frankie. He has fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking himself leisurely, watching you both with a critical eye. He swipes his palm over the fat head of his cock, coating his length with precum.
Some childish part of you wants to turn and stick your tongue out at him, but despite your simmering annoyance, his words make you feel embarrassingly hot. Each time he opens his mouth, speaks to you in with that deep voice of his, you feel it resonating in your core.
Frankie’s words pull you out of your thoughts, “You take it so well, don’t stop. Please.”
And those words send a different kind of wave of pleasure over your worn-out body. You’re getting whiplash between the praise and the degradation. You’re starting to think that this has been their plan from the start. You have been stressed lately, not enjoying things like you used to. They must’ve noticed. Between the lovely dinner and now this, surely they had. Of course, they did. They were both observant as fuck, both a blessing and a curse.
Frankie’s moans become louder, the most sinful noises you ever heard. It’s loud, deep, and it prompts you to take more of him. A tear escapes your eye when the tip of his cock slides down your throat, you continually swallow, hallowing out your cheeks as you desperately try to suppress your gag reflex.
“Oh god baby, you’re going to make me come like that—” he trails off in Spanish, words quickly whispered into the air. He looks down at you with eager eyes and you answer him with a confused gaze. It takes him a moment to realize you didn’t understand him.
You hear soft steps approaching. A sound that is made deliberately to excite you more, which works. Dave grabs Frankie’s chin, lifting the other man’s gaze to meet his own. A whine slips from Frankie’s swollen lips, Drave grins, his next words directed at you.
“He wants you to use your tongue more sweetheart, swirl it around,”
You make a gurgled sound that is supposed to mean oh. Pulling your mouth up, you swirl your tongue, wrapping your lips tighter. Frankie’s groan echoes, lips parted wide as his eyes roll back with Dave still holding his chin up. Your pussy clenches, slick dripping down your thighs.
“Sweet boy,” Dave hums. “Where’s that attitude now, huh? Now, who was it that wanted a taste?”
You notice Dave’s hips thrusting into his fist, and your mouth waters. Distracted, you pull your mouth away, starting to adorn the side of Frankie’s cock with wet kisses. Dave’s smile widens into a grin when he notices Frankie’s eyes dropping to his lips.
“Tell me what you want,” he coos, fisting his cock faster. “Does my sweet boy want a kiss from daddy?”
“Can I have a kiss from daddy?” you chime in, lips brushing the tip of Frankie’s cock. You smile when you hear him whimper.
“Oh,” Dave answers, looking down at you but fingers still hooked under Frankie’s chin. “You’ll be receiving more than kisses as soon as daddy number two relents, princess.”
He chuckles at your pout, Frankie groans, cock twitching against your wet lips. Dave’s hand moves to the base of his cock and squeezes, a soft grunt escaping his throat.
“Think of it like this,” he continues. “The sooner he begs for release—and a kiss— the sooner you’ll have us both filling you up.”
Your gaze moves to Franke who is nowhere near gazing at you back. His focus is slowly fixated on Dave, his jaw tense and eyes narrowed. Without pulling away your gaze, you blow a puff of air across his cock and watch him wince, his chest heaves.
“Promise me first,” you say to Dave.
He grins, “Promise.”
You’re pretty sure you shock them both with the way you dive back in, tongue and mouth moving with fervor as you attempt to push Frankie to the brink of orgasm. His cock throbs heavily on your tongue, he bites back his mouth, teeth clenched tight together. Dave touches Frankie’s hand that was still nestled at the back of your head and pulls the pilot’s hand to his own cock. You moan around Frankie’s length when he starts to stroke Dave’s cock, his movements hesitant and a bit shaky. You like to think it’s because of you.
“Come on,” Dave teases, his jaw slack with the corner of his lips tilted up. “All you have to say is ‘please kiss me Dave’ and that’s all, and I will. Just say the words,”
“P-Please,” Frankie swallows, his cock twitching. You flatten your tongue, pressing it snugly underneath. His eyes momentarily drops to you and he swallows again, a loud gulp heard between the three bodies.
He mutters in Spanish again and Dave shakes his head, clicking his tongue with annoyance.
“English,” he warns. “She’s been working hard, she deserves to understand your begging,”
“Fine,” Frankie growls, voice raising. “Please kiss me, Dave.”
“Good boy,”
“Shut up.”
Dave lets out a huff but he’s smiling, “Such a sour loser,”
You start to stroke Frankie’s cock, the mixture of spit and precum providing a smooth glide. You watch the two with intrigue; Dave leans down, capturing Frankie’s lips in a heated kiss. Dave thrusts into Frankie’s still hand, soft groans filling the empty space in between. A fat bead of precum appears at the tip of Frankie’s cock, you swipe it almost immediately with your tongue.
Much to your surprise, Frankie is the one to part away first, a string of saliva still connecting them both. Dave’s lips are red and kiss swollen, it takes you everything not to pull him down, your lips left tingling. Frankie gestures towards you with a tilt of his head, Dave’s eyes following.
“I think our princess also deserves her reward,” Frankie smiles, he swipes a drop of Dave’s precum and brings it to your mouth. You wrap your lips around his finger hungrily, swirling your tongue around the digit. He purrs, “Always so eager to have us.”
“Please…” you beg, rubbing your legs together. “I’ve been good haven’t I?”
“You have been sweetheart,” Dave helps you up the bed, his wet lips chasing yours. “We’re going to take good care of you.”
Frankie positions himself underneath you while Dave pushes himself to sit on his heels right behind you. His hands follow the curve of your ass, pinching it playfully.
“Such a great view.”
Frankie cradles your face, thumbs moving in unison around your cheekbones. You spot the bullseye tattoo on his hand and give it a soft kiss. He smiles. Frankie knows where this is going and is always eager to provide comfort, even if it means denying himself.
“Think you can handle that much?" he chokes out, his voice cracking.
“Of course, she can,” Dave tuts. “She'll do ever what she can to make her daddies happy, isn't that right sweetheart?”
You nod, head falling into the warmth of Frankie’s neck. You feel his hands rubbing soothing lines up and down your back.
“Please,” you mutter into his skin.
Dave briefly leaves you both to get the lube that was left forgotten in the bathroom. Frankie takes this opportunity to kiss you, his lips moving lazily, licking the inside of your mouth. He slips two fingers into your fluttering cunt. He spreads his fingers, thrusting them to see if you can actually take him.
“Good,” he breathes into your mouth, staring at you with dilated pupils. “You’re so wet, bonita. Did you touch yourself with my dick in your mouth?”
You shake your head, which prompts him to suck a deep, sharp breath. “Fuck, that’s even hotter. You’re going to give me a heart attack,”
“No heart attacks!” Dave calls out, stepping into the room. “Not before we satisfy our lady.”
Frankie snorts, head falling back, “I wouldn’t have dreamed of it.”
You hear the squeeze of a bottle and soon after you feel Dave’s wet, cold, sticky fingers breach your asshole. You jerk away with your breath caught in your throat. Frankie’s lips brush your forehead.
“We don’t have to,” Dave says, his voice briefly returning to normal. “Color?”
“Green— I want to. I was just surprised by the cold,”
“It’ll be warm soon enough.”
The soft sound of Dave’s chuckle eases your rigid body, you feel your muscles relax with his touch. While Dave works you open —the feeling not completely unfamiliar but still foreign— Frankie distracts you by claiming your mouth again and again. He licks the seam of your lips, his hands squeezing every inch of you as he sucks your tongue into his mouth. The moans you make are obscene.
Soon you’re grinding yourself down on Frankie’s length, soaking him as you feel Dave curling his fingers, knuckle deep. You gasp away from Frankie, back arching beautifully. Your brain struggled to think of where to seek pleasure first, Frankie’s cock or Dave’s fingers. The uncertainty makes you cry out.
“Shhh, It’s okay. We got you,” Frankie soothes you. “I’m going to push in now, okay?”
You nod tearfully, crying out once more when you feel his cock pressing into you inch by inch. Dave’s fingers are still inside. Frankie whispers praise until sinks his cock fully into you. The air is punched from your lungs, your breathing uneven and heart beating fast.
“So warm,” he chokes out, nipping your chin. He stares at Dave from above your shoulder. “Is she good?”
“Very,” Dave replies with a smirk.
You hiss when the tip of Dave’s cock breaches the tight muscle, pushing in slowly, delicately. His blunt nails bite into your skin, his breathing coming out forced as he makes his way in. You feel the press of his lips on your spine, then to your nape. You shudder. Both of them combined overwhelm all your senses.
“I can feel you through her,” Dave grits out, cock throbbing. “God, so perfect, our perfect girl.”
You keen at the praise, your cunt squeezes around Frankie’s cock, a moan rips from his throat.
“I need to move, can I? Please—”
Frankie desperately nudges his face between your chin and neck, laying eager kisses all over your skin. You moan out your approval, both men twitching deep inside you.
Frankie, being edged for a while now, fucks into you with an indescribable need. He knows what he wants, and he wants it now. He bites wherever his lips can reach, he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, licks the inside of your mouth. Meanwhile, Dave takes his time, leisurely thrusting his hips, watching you both collectively tumble down the edge of pleasure.
The corners of your vision go dark and you close your eyes, the contrast of the two men burning you from the inside out. You cry out both of their names, completely surrendering yourself to them both. Franki snaps his hips upward, urging you to open your eyes. When you do you see him moaning with an open mouth, Dave’s hand tugging on his hair (when did that happen?) with a comforting smile you lean and press your mouth into the corner of his lips.
“I’m gonna come,” Frankie slurs, squeezing at your hips. “Oh fuck—Fuckfuckfuck—”
“Not yet,” Dave growls, his own movements losing their stability. “You two come together, ‘want to feel it,”
“Daveee,” you whine, your inside pulsing. “Can’t we just—”
“No,” he snaps as he grazes his nails down your back. “Together.”
Frankie looks up at you with wide, desperate eyes. He moans before he starts to beg, he knows what gets you going, he knows you can’t say no to him.
“Please baby, please please please—” he whispers frantically. “I’m so close. You feel me, don’t you? Feel the way my cock is throbbing? I need you to come too. Tell me you’re close. We don’t want to disappoint him,”
“N–No,” you answer, voice and thighs shaking. “I don’t want to disappoint him,”
“Are you close?”
“Yes.”
It all happens so fast. You feel Frankie spilling into you, your own orgasm crashing into you a second later. Dave’s moans echo behind you, slamming his hips into you as he chants both your names. You collapse into Frankie’s chest, breathing heavily, he continues to come. He kisses your head, cheeks, nose, and lastly lips. No hunger under the soft gesture, only love, and adoration.
Dave pulls out, fucking his fist over your ass while letting out lewd groans of his own. You tremble at the feeling of something warm splashing against your back, your ass raising into the air of its own accord. His fingers delve in, spreading himself over your skin.
“You two are ridiculously good,” he says. “God, I’m lucky,”
He’s sad. You hear it in his voice. Thankfully you’re not the only one because Frankie pulls him down, placing Dave in the middle of the two you. Frankie somehow manages to wrap his arms around you both.
“We’re the lucky ones,” you whisper into his skin. “You always take such good care of us.”
He lets out a content sigh.
Content for now, your mind nastily whispers. You ignore it.
You all carry a hint of sadness, that was what made these moments even more special.
Frankie’s lips find Dave’s forehead, and you, the top of his spine.
#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x you#dave york x reader#dave york x you#dave york x f!reader#frankie x reader x dave#dave york imagine#frankie catfish morales#dave york x female reader#triple frontier fan fiction#triple frontier fic#the equalizer 2 fic#4.5k baby#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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