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#whiskey x Frankie x f!reader
magpiepills · 1 month
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I know it’s been a hell of a morning. I know. We all need a cigarette regardless of if we smoke or not. We are all a bit on edge, yes? NOT TO WORRY. Your Bat has some smut here that will make it all better.
Please like, reblog, and follow the writers who make you twitch!
⚠️charge your vibrators and lock the door ⚠️
Bat’s Recs Masterlist
Sometime Around Midnight by @for-a-longlongtime
A continuation of the very complicated relationship featuring Frankie, Marcus, Tim, and…well, could be anybody, couldn’t it?? But this short one is kinda sweet and hot and you really get sucked into the relationship they have. There’s so much chemistry! Pity!
A Strange Fate by @youandmeand5bucks
The first in a multi-part Silva story. It’s hot off the presses and already one of my favorites. It’s a faithful western story, lots of historical research was done, you’re going to love reader. Might get a little heartbroken.
Brand New Baby Girl by @tieronecrush
Ohhhh Frankie. You dirty, dirty dog. This fic was on my mind all day and I’m not ashamed to tell you it was wank material. Frankie gets to know a cam girl and the dirty talk is superb. Gonna read this again later.
Endurance A Frankie Morales Story by @schnarfer
Two parts that will tear your insides all to pieces and an epilogue. This is so beautifully written and I was so in love with reader and the whole AU. Did you like Downton Abbey but wished it was smutty? This is what you’re after.
Ruthless by @whatsnewalycat
I think I blacked out reading this. The smut was just that good. Not quite stepdad Joel?? Sign me the fuck up. I don’t want to give anything away, but uh. Read it.
Adrift With You by @morallyinept
I look forward to this every Sunday like it’s the only news I get from the mainland. We are up to part 6 of this slow burn that reads like a movie. “Bat, since when do you read OC?” Since now. Me and Jude forever. Does Jett even sleep?
This Charming Man by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin
Me and Frankie this week, huh?? Ok this one’s not new, but I re-read it and loved it just as much as the first time. This is dark Frankie, but he’s charming indeed. You may very well decide to start leaving your windows open and your doors unlocked at night…don’t do it.
Every Man Gets His Wish by @joelsmochi
Joel finds his neighbor on pornhub and goes to pay her a visit. It’s porn. It’s delightful. It’s pure, filthy fantasy. Even some daddy in there!
Old Chocolate & Old Habits by @jksprincess10
This is short, but it packs a punch. Joel uses a toy in reader and in my opinion, there’s just not enough of that in fic. As a little treat at the end, DP is alluded to. Chef’s kiss!
Cowboys Like Us by @kedsandtubesocks
What is better than one cowboy? Two cowboys! Din and Jack in a bull riding au? MM/MMF dynamics? Dry humping? Is it my birthday?
Stupid Cupid by @covetyou
This may have been the highlight of my Valentine’s Day. Remember Balldo Joel? From Christmas? Yeah, he’s back. And he’s got more toys. This time it’s DP. Be still, dumb heart.
125 notes · View notes
modernperplexity · 24 days
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Chapter Rating: E (18+) Minors DNI, mention of alcohol consumption and substance abuse, fluff, angst, sexual tension.
Word Count: 5,634
Pairing: Frankie x f!reader
Chapter summary: A glimpse into Francisco's past, You meet the guys, and Santiago (that meddling little shit) gets his way you'll see ;). This time we'll see soft and sexy Frankie, that's all I'll say for now.
A/N: Hey y'all! Chapter 4 is finally here! As always, my inbox is always open to chat/suggestions/ questions etc. Please feel free to comment/reblog. I love hearing from you! Also, please excuse any typos you may encounter.
If you'd like to join the tag list click here :) or let me know in the comments.
Happy reading loves!💜
Series Masterlist
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Chapter 3 / Chapter 5
Chapter 4: Whiskey Sours & Sweet Confessions
“Are you shitting me!?” Ashley's eyes glazed over with pain and rage, “Are you fucking shitting me, Francisco!?” She slammed the mini zip lock bag on the dining table, her rage hung heavily in the air between them. 
Frankie’s silence was deafening as he stared at the bag in defeat unable to tear away his gaze from the evidence Ashley had discovered. His mouth went dry, his voice caught somewhere between self-loathing and guilt of the choices that led him to that very moment.
“OH!.. So you have nothing to say?!” Again, there were no words in response to her confrontation, “God, you are so.. so-” She stammered, her voice quivering with indignation.
“Just say it.” Frankie surrendered, one hand covering his eyes, seeking brief solace from the heat of her anger. 
“-Pathetic! I don’t know why I am even surprised anymore! This is so like you!”
The words stung as they reached Frankie who was sitting at the small dining table. Ashley’s yelling had prompted a sharp cry from Camilla who was only 8 months old. The guilt of losing Tom, the money, and the casualties of that mission haunted Francisco. He hated who he became but couldn’t fight the shadow that loomed over him. Ben had his boxing gig, Will went into overdrive at the VA, Santiago up and left for months at a time, and Frankie, well, he’d come back and dove head first into his only escape; the only thing that kept his body from feeling heavy.
“Ash, I’m s-” He could barely get a word out.
Ashley raised her finger to his face, the anger burned brighter in her eyes, her words laced with pain. "You promised!! Frankie!! You promised that things would be different. That we’d have a better life! But instead, you left me alone, responsible for everything, to care after your fucking kid..”
“Look, you can insult me all you want. I know I’m a piece of shit and I deserve it, okay!?” Frankie’s hands raised in defeat, “I deserve it, but don’t talk about Camila like that ..she’s your daughter too!”
“Well!” A slow clap accompanied her judgemental scoff, “look who finally decide to act like a father that actually gives a damn!”
"I... I never meant for it to come to this, Ash," he finally managed to say, his voice trembling. "I know I've fucked up- repeatedly. But please, believe me when I say that I never stopped caring about you or Camila."
Ashley turned away, her tears flowing freely now. "You have a shit way of showing you care, Frank. Time and time again you prove me right, I can't trust you. I can't keep playing this game."
She ran her fingers through her hair as she stared out the kitchen window “This isn’t what I wanted, Frank. I didn’t want this life, You left me alone in this, meanwhile you’re out there spendng the little money we have just to feel whatever the fuck it is you need” she paused, no longer being able to hold back tears, before she let out what she had wanted to say for the past few months, “I’m done... I’m done with you! We both know none of this is gonna change.”
“Ash, I’m sorry..I’ll get help this time, I promise.”He reached out a hand, desperate to bridge the evergrowing chasm between them.
“Don’t. touch. me.” she pinched the bridge of her nose, and drew a sharp breath “Get the fuck out”
Frankie’s eyes went wide, his words failing him once more.
“GET OUT!!” Ashley managed through her anger, tears now streaming down her face as she threw out a bag of his things and slammed the door. 
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Frankie dusted off the steel green amo box he had stored on his top closet shelf. His hands hesitated to reach the latch. It wasn’t often that the box saw the light of day. In it, Frankie held pictures he didn’t want around the house but that he knew someday Camila would ask for. Pictures of him and Ashley from the night they met, of Ashley’s pregnancy which Frankie begged to take- Ashley who always begrudgingly complied. 
He looked through the old mementos and photos as his hands began to shake. One of Ashley and Cami at the hospital, Camilla’s newborn hat, and the tiny plastic medical ID bracelet among other things. He hesitated knowing what lay at the very bottom of the box. A dainty silver ring that he had bought a few weeks after he found out Ashley was pregnant but could never bring himself to give to her. It seemed like the obvious next step after having a baby.
Frankie always wanted to be a father. When he found out about Ashley’s pregnancy he was terrified but excited nonetheless. Reality hit him hard when the hospital bills came in, one after another. Money was tight and tensions were high between them before he lost his license and only became worse afterwards. Pope’s offer for the Lorea mission was insane but it offered him a chance to provide for his struggling family. A way to prove that all that time in the army and special ops wasn’t wasted. It was a weapon to fight back the voice inside his head that deemed him useless.
It had been a couple of days since Ashley had reached out. Should he respond? Did he even want to? The memories of seeing Camila for the first time, wrapped in a hospital blanket, so tiny and fragile, flooded his mind. The promise he made to himself to protect his little girl at all costs lingered. Now, he faced the difficult question: should he allow the woman who had abandoned him, who had heartlessly left Cami, back into their lives? Would he be selfish as a father if he refused to let Cami see her mom? Ashley had the potential to trigger him, but perhaps she had changed... or had she? His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door, breaking the cycle of contemplation that had consumed him since he opened the box.
“Texted the boys, they’ll meet us at the bar in an hour” Pope pried the door open a bit more when he saw the pictures scattered on Frankie's bed, giving Frankie a knowing glance while he leaned on the door frame, “You good?”
Frankie paused, that period of his life brought on a plague of complicated emotions, “Yeah...I uh- I’m fine”
“What are you going to do?” Santiago glanced over to the phone beside the box on Frankie’s bed.
Frankie dragged his hands over his patchy beard, “I.. don’t want to think about that right now”
“Good. Drinks on me, we’re celebrating tonight!” 
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“We got our pilot back boys!” Ben cheered from the corner of the bar. The “unhappy hour” neon sign provided a dim blue light over the booth where they sat.
“It’s been a long winding road, man. We’re proud of you, Fish!” Will clapped Frankie on the shoulder and handed him a glass
“Never met anyone more deserving..You belong in the sky” Ben added with a genuine smile, glad to see his brother happy again.
Frankie chuckled, “I still can’t fucking believe it. I get to have my wings back!” He sighed with deep relief “In all seriousness, I can’t thank y’all enough. You all had my back when I lost sight of everything that mattered”
“Hey, that’s in the past. You’re our brother, we’d do it all over again- no questions asked” Santiago replied.
Ben nodded in agreement and took a sip of his beer, “So, how does it feel to be back up there?”  
“It's like nothing else, the freedom, the rush, the sense of control... It's fucking indescribable” He grinned, “I’ll take ya next time” I don’t mind the extra flight hours.
“Sign me up, but please, Fish, no more near-death experiences, alright? I had enough of that last time.” 
The men all burst into laughter and clink their glasses together, “to Catfish!”
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Michele practically dragged you out of your apartment. She had agreed to meet a few of her coworkers at a divey bar in town and insisted that you meet them. The night was slightly cooler than most Florida nights but not drastically colder- it is Florida after all, prompting you to wear a thin green cardigan paired with a black mini skirt that highlighted your curves, sheer black tights, and your comfy black combat boots.
She gently clasped your hand, leading you through the bustling crowd, the melody of The Smiths' "This Charming Man" filling the air around you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat as your eyes locked onto Frankie, a beer in hand, making his way towards the illuminated jukebox.
The sight of him left you momentarily breathless. "Everything alright?" Michele's concerned voice breaking through to you.
You blinked, forcing yourself to focus on the present moment. "Yeah, umm... Frankie's here," you managed to reply, your voice tinged with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
Michele's eyes widened in surprise. "He's here?" she echoed, her gaze darting around the bar.
"Over at the jukebox," you informed her with a subtle nod in Frankie's direction.
Her eyebrows raised in approval “Damn, he is fine, but you better go over there before blondie wins him over.”
“Wait, what?” Heat surged in your chest, a stark reminder of the truth you could no longer hide. The thought of someone else with him sent a pang of jealousy coursing through you. Oh no, is that the barista from the coffee shop?
Your eyes were locked in, unable tear away from the scene unfolding before your eyes. When it dawned on you, Frankie was no longer looking at her, he was now looking at you. A subtle spark of recognition and excitement flashed across his eyes, fleeting but unmistakable. Frankie briefly introduced her to Ben, who immediately wore a bright smile, before heading toward you.
“Talk to him!” Michele urged with encouragement, “Have some fun.. And PLEASE have something good to tell me afterward!” She squeezed you tight and handed you her shot of whiskey, “I’ll find you later... if you want me to find you.” She added with a wink before disappearing into the crowd.
As Frankie drew nearer, a surge of anticipation swept over you. With Michele's words echoing in your mind, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. With a quick flick of your wrist, you downed the whiskey Michele had given you, its fiery warmth spreading through your veins, emboldening you for the encounter ahead. You turned around and nearly collided with Frankie, “Oh, Jesus!” You blurted, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumbled back a step, caught off guard by the sudden proximity.
Frankie smiled, appearing amused and slightly concerned, ”Everything alright?” the genuine concern in his voice already putting you at ease.
“Just needed a little liquid courage, I guess” A nervous laugh escaped you.
Frankie chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Well it looks like you can’t go a week without running into me” He teased, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“I seem to have that effect on people” You chuckled, grasping the silver chain of the clutch you selected for the evening, “What are you doing here?”
“The boys brought me out to celebrate” He paused and leaned in closer, taking in the warm cherry scent of your perfume on the crook of your neck, his voice a hushed whisper, “I passed my pilot exam.”
“You passed the exam!!” Your eyes widened with excitement as you cheered, unable to contain the joy bubbling up within you. Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around Frankie's neck, drawing him into a tight embrace. “Frankie, this is such great news! I’m so proud of you!” 
Frankie’s grin widened his arms wrapping around you in return, the warmth of your body against his causing his heart to race even faster. “Thank you” he said, his voice tinged with sincere gratitude, “It’s been a long time coming” His eyes lingered over you as he pulled away, your face mere inches away, "You know, I couldn't have done it without your encouragement. Our conversation at the coffee shop meant a lot to me"
Your cheeks flushed pink at Frankie's heartfelt words, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Well, I'm glad I could help in some way," you replied, your heart swelling with pride and admiration for the man in front of you.
"What are you drinking?" Frankie asked, his eyes sparkling.
"You're here to celebrate you, but you want to buy me a drink?" you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.
"Just think of it as another coffee," he winked, his playful demeanor displaying no signs of surrender.
"A whiskey sour, please," you smiled, unable to resist his charm as you watched him effortlessly command the attention of the bartender. His presence seemed to fill the room, making everything else fade into the background.
As you observed him, a smile emerged from the corner of your lips, his hands made your glass seem three times smaller. "He buys me coffee and my drinks," you remarked with a playful sigh, adding a hint of dramatic flair. "A true American hero."
The widest grin spread across Frankie's face. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this at ease. Despite the complexities that could arise in whatever was happening between you both, he pushed those thoughts aside, not wanting to dwell on them, not tonight at least.
"Here," he said, handing you your drink, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. Without hesitation, he casually took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours "Come on, I want you to meet the guys." 
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“Well, well, well- would you look what the cat dragged back in” Pope revealed a mischievous grin after taking a sip of his beer, his gaze shifting between you and Frankie.
You smiled, “Nice to see you again too, Santiago” 
“I’m just messing, Hermosa” Santiago chuckled, getting up to hug you. “That was meant for Fish.”
“So this is Peech!” Ben exclaimed with a grin, pulling you into a strong and warm embrace, “I know the speech sessions are for our lil Camcam but I can tell you’re great! Fish hasn’t shut up about you since day one!” 
Your cheeks flushed pink, Frankie too smitten by your nervous laughter to pay Ben any mind, aside from a brief sidelong glance in his direction.
“You’re kind of a celebrity ‘round these parts, darlin” Will added sweetly, “It’s good to put a face to the name finally.” 
“Likewise!” you agreed, “Well since we’re all here to celebrate our pilot,” you lightly nudged Frankie, “Why don’t I get us the next round?
 Ben sipped the last of his beer, and set down his glass, “OH I like her!” 
The atmosphere was filled with laughter and positive energy. The men bantered and shared stories of their early days in the military with you. It came to you as a surprise to feel so effortlessly at home with the group. You would have never pictured feeling so at ease while surrounded by men. Your quick wit and charm drew them in. As the night wore on and drinks flowed, Frankie found himself becoming even more infatuated with you, displaying the palpable string of tension that existed between you both. It hung in the air, creating an undercurrent of anticipation and curiosity. The subtle stolen glances, lingering touches, traces of smiles. It all prompted knowing looks from those around the table. Santiago who of course, was the first to notice, wore a mischievous grin, earning him a swift kick under the table. 
“So” Santiago interrupted Ben who had been bragging to you about all the fights he’d won recently, “has Catfish ever told you about Truth or Spare?” Santiago’s eyes eager for your response.
Ben whistled, “oh, here we fucking go”
“Oh come on..its just a game” Santiago hissed.
“What is this? Highschool?” Ben shook his head 
“WhAt Is tHiS HiGhScHoOl?” Santiago mocked in return.
A hesitant look flashed across Frankie’s face,“I don’t know Pope” 
“It’s okay, I want to hear about this.” You chimed.
“He’s trying to get you to play this drinking game we all played when we enlisted in the army.” Will explained, directing a knowing look in Santiago’s direction, “But there’s no pressure.” 
“We all played when we joined the squad” Ben said with a reassuring smile “some supposed way to build trust but really it was our excuse to get drunk on our days off” 
You nodded, curious to learn more, "Hmm.. How do you play?" you looked at Santiago waiting for an explanation. 
"You have to choose between answering a personal question with complete honesty or taking a shot. It's all about testing your limits."
Frankie's hesitant expression didn't ease, but he spoke up nonetheless. "Yeah, but it can get intense. Some questions really push your boundaries, and the drinks add up quickly."
Will half smiled "Shit’s about to get real, but seeing that your drink of choice is whiskey, I take it you can hold your own" He added with a wink.
A mix of excitement and apprehension settled in your chest. "Alright, I’m in."
“Atta girl!” Santiago nodded approvingly. "Welcome to our circle of trust. Just remember, once you start playing, there's no turning back."
You nodded, and met Frankie’s eyes with a playful smirk, "Okay, but Frankie goes first."
As the game kicked off, the group went easy on you. They couldn't help but laugh as you shared stories of your younger self sneaking out on summer nights and the satisfying moment when you finally stood up to your childhood bully after being pushed off your bike countless times. They absolutely loved that one. But as the game progressed, things got more intense. The questions became more personal, pushing boundaries and leading to more serious unearthing. You spilled the beans about that time you accidentally sent a sext to your grandma consequently making her blood pressure drop, sending her to the hospital earning “oohs” and laughs from the group. Pope begrungingly admitted to having a crush on one of Ben's exes. Ben got caught in the act during a threesome by one of the girl's ex-boyfriends, Will confessed to hooking up with the same flight attendant multiple times on different flights, and then there was Frankie, who got stuck in a janitor's closet for four and a half hours after hooking up with a girl at a concert and had to resort to peeing in a bucket (Yep, that was the last time he ever saw her). 
Then Santiago’s question changed the air around you, “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No” Your response quick and easy, too easy to satisfy Santiago’s agenda.
“Do you currently have feelings for someone?” He prodded.
A fiery warmth spread across your chest at his second question, rendering you to an absolute halt. His words seemed to pierce through the din of the crowded bar, leaving you momentarily speechless.
"Um, well, I... I mean, you know, it's complicated," you stammered, your words slurring slightly as you struggled to form a coherent response. Frankie's presence heighten your flustered state, making you feel more unsettled than usual. The alcohol coursing through your veins seemed to amplify your nerves, leaving you feeling jittery and out of sorts.
Desperate for a moment of reprieve, you took another sip of your water, hoping it would help to calm your frazzled nerves. But instead, it only seemed to exacerbate your unease. "I, uh, I just...I do," you blurted out, your eyes widening in alarm as the words escaped your lips. With a sudden rush of embarrassment, you instinctively covered your mouth, as if trying to snatch back the breath you had just spoken.
Ben whistled in response, “Whoever he is, he is a godamn lucky guy” his eyes flickering briefly towards Frankie who held back a smile and preferred to fidget with the corner of his napkin than to look up at you.
You stole a quick glance at Frankie, hoping to gauge his reaction, but he kept his eyes fixed on the table, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. Despite his attempts to appear nonchalant, you couldn't shake the feeling that he could see right through you. Before the awkward silence could stretch any further, a buzzing at your hip provided a welcome interruption, breaking the tension that had settled over the table. Grateful for the distraction, you quickly reached for your phone, hoping to find solace in the familiar glow of the screen.
"S-sorry, I gotta take this," you stammered, your voice trembling slightly as you hurriedly scooted out of the booth and made your way to the patio area.
Once outside, you fumbled for your phone, your heart racing with anxiety. With trembling fingers, you answered the call. "Michele... Jesus Christ, I-I've never loved you more," you breathed into the phone.
“Hey, I just wanted to check in, you doing alright?” Her voice tinged with genuine concern.
You breathed in, composing yourself, “Yeah, I’ve been having a great time.” The alcohol coursing through your veins making you increasingly aware of your intoxicated state
“Of course you are chica! you’ve been surrounded by four smoking hot guys practically all night!” she quipped with a sassy tone, “That’s right, I saw them!” 
You couldn't help but giggle at her playful remark as you swayed your way to the balcony.“Where are youu?” You asked, struggling to keep your balance.
“I’m out by the exit, heading out in a few but I wanted to make sure you’re good.” She giggled but not at anything you said. You thought you heard a male voice in the background, murmuring something and calling her "baby."
“Call me if you need anything, yeah? Except for condoms, I only have one of those in my purse” You could practically hear her mischievous smile over the phone.
“OH MY GOD!” You burst into laughter, “love you, I’ll text you when I get home”.
“Love you, bye!” Michele responded, her voice warm with affection before the line went silent. You ended the call and tucked your phone back into your purse, not yet ready to return to the company of your friends inside.
Just as you were about to gather your thoughts, a gentle hand landed on your shoulder, causing you to startle.You spun around faster than you realized you could handle in your current state, only to find Frankie standing there, his hands held out in a gesture of apology.
 “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you”. He said softly, his eyes filled with concern as he steadied you with his touch.
You responded with a shy smile, mesmerized by the way his deep brown eyes sparked, even in the dim twinkling lights of the patio. “It’s okay” 
“I, uh, I wanted apologize about Pope.” His hands lingered on your arms, and you couldn't help but notice the way your heart fluttered at his proximity. “He can get intense”.
“Oh F-frankie, you don’t have to do that, itss all fun and games”. Despite your attempt to remain composed, you found yourself increasingly aware of the effect the game had on you, the warm, fuzzy effect of the drinks settling over your body. So much so that you nearly tripped on your own feet. "Oops!" you giggled, feeling the edges of your cheeks flush with embarrassment. 
“I think it’s time to get you home” Frankie smiled sweetly at your clumsiness before realizing the implication of his own words, “I uh, I mean, not like that. I just–”.
You placed a finger on his lips “Shhh..” quickly stealing a glance of his eyes and back to your finger, your voice soft but insistent “Jussst take me home”, Frankie’s gaze made you nervous “....there’s no way I can drive like this” 
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The bar pulsed with excitement, even though it was well past midnight. Frankie's touch was like a gentle yet firm anchor as he guided you through the sea of people, his presence stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you. You'd often fantasized about what it would be like to spend a night out with him, but never did you think of a moment like this. Frankie opened the car door for you, his eyes filled with a subtle tenderness as he helped you settle into the passenger seat. His caring nature was warm and reassuring. As you glanced around the interior of his car, you couldn't help but notice how spotless it was. Of course, you thought. He did have a military background afterall.
The engine roared to life, the sound blending seamlessly with the melody of Gerry Rafferty's "Right Down the Line" playing softly in the foreground. It was a song you knew well, its familiar notes adding to the magic of the moment. Frankie loved night drives, particularly on nights like tonight when the air carried a hint of coolness. He couldn't help but steal glances at you, as the wind played with your hair, brushing it across your cheeks. He watched with a smile as you sang along to every word of the song without a care in the world. It was as though each lyric held a piece of your soul, released into the air with each heartfelt note. In that moment, under the starlit sky, Frankie found himself captivated by the raw beauty of your uninhibited joy, feeling a warmth spread through him at the sight of your carefree spirit. It was a moment he wished he could freeze in time, etching it into his memory as a reminder of the magic that existed in the simplest of moments spent with you.
Your hand reached for his, reminding him that this, whatever this was, was actually happening. There was this air of trust between you.
"Still feeling okay?" Frankie asked, his voice soft as he glanced at you, his eyes reflecting the dim glow of the streetlights nearby as the car came to a stop.
You nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. “I'm okay. Thank you for driving me home"
Frankie squeezed your hand gently. "Anytime. I want to make sure you’re safe, Hermosa."
A soft blush tinted your cheeks at his words, and you looked out the window, trying to hide your smile. 
Frankie stepped out of the car, and opened the door for you. He offered his hand, assisting you up the stairs that led to your front door. The yellow glow of the overhead bulb cast a warm hue over his features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the curls in his hair.
As you climbed the steps, lost in thought of his features, you stumbled, your foot catching on the edge. With a surprised yelp, you began to fall forward, but Frankie was quick to react, reaching out to steady you, once again.
"Whoa there clumsy," he chuckled, a smile playing on his lips. "wouldn't want you taking a tumble."
You both couldn't help but laugh at your own tipsy clumsiness, the tension of the moment dissolving into shared amusement. "Thanks," you said, flashing him a grateful smile. "Guess drinks and stairs don’t mix."
Frankie grinned, his eyes sparkling with humor. "No problem, but you know, I've never seen anyone trip going up stairs before. You've got talent!” He chuckled
Your laughter only grew louder at his quip, and after a moment of catching your breath, his eyes met yours and you decided to take a chance. 
You paused, liquid courage spurring you on. "Can I tell you somethin?" you asked, your voice tentative.
"Of course, Hermosa," Frankie replied, his expression curious.
You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before confessing, "I really should have kissed you that first night we met."
For a moment, there was silence between you, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then, Frankie's smile widened, a warmth filling his gaze as he reached out to gently cup your cheek.
"Then why don't you?" he murmured softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek.
Your heart skipped a beat as Frankie's words hung in the air, sending a thrill coursing through your veins. His touch was electrifying, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.
You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as you drowned in the intensity of his gaze.
"Maybe… I will," your voice barely above a whisper, hardly audible over the pounding of your heart.
Frankie's smile widened, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "I dare you."
With a surge of boldness, you closed the remaining distance between you, your lips meeting his in a sweet, exhilarating kiss. It was everything you had imagined and more, a perfect fusion of passion and tenderness that left you breathless and craving more.
As you pulled away, a grin spread across Frankie's face, his eyes sparkling with joy and affection."Looks like dreams really do come true," he murmured, his voice filled with desire.
Your heart raced as he leaned in for another kiss, his lips crashing into yours. This time with an intensity that sent sparks flying, fueled by hunger and desire.
You melted into him, tangling your fingers in his curls as his kiss deepened, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. Frankie's hands reached for your thighs, wrapping you around him, as he carried you up the stairs and into your apartment with ease.
“Bedroom” you managed to breath out in between kisses “Mmm…to the…left”
You collapsed onto the cool sheets of your duvet when Frankie paused “Wait..” his chest rising and falling as he leveled his breath, his tone suddenly serious “let's…let’s slow down a bit”
“Yeah” you responded, a confused look flickered across your face, “Okay, you’re right. We probably should”.
"I like you, a lot," Frankie admitted, his gaze softening as he looked into your eyes. "But I want to do this the right way and–“ He stopped mid thought glancing over at your open bathroom door  “I also couldn’t help but notice that annoying leaky faucet!” 
A laugh bubbled up from your chest, you breathed in still catching your breath “I’ve been bugging the landlord about that for months!”
Frankie grinned, his eyes lighting up. "That's an easy fix! I can come by sometime and help you out with that."
A warmth spread through your chest at his offer, and you couldn't help but smile. "Oh really?” Your voice offering a tone of mischief ,”I'd like that," you replied, feeling a sense of anticipation building between you “I’d like that a lot actually”
Without hesitation Frankie leaned in and planted a quick tender kiss on your forehead before settling beside you. The warmth of his presence beside you filled you with a sense of comfort and contentment, and you couldn't help but snuggle closer, savoring the closeness between you as a comfortable silence enveloped you both. But soon, conversation resumed, flowing effortlessly between you as you discussed your favorite movies, swapping recommendations and sharing anecdotes about awkward date experiences.
Frankie's laughter filled the room as he recounted a particularly embarrassing moment from his past, and you couldn't help but join in, sharing your own humorous stories in return. The more you talked, the more you realized just how much you had in common, and each revelation brought you closer together.
At one point, Frankie leaned in close, his voice low with mock solemnity. "Well, now that we've shared all our embarrassing stories and secrets, what are we going to talk about on our first date?"
A blush crept up your cheeks at his teasing remark, but you couldn't help but laugh. "Guess we'll just have to come up with some new material," you replied playfully.
As the conversation lulled, Frankie glanced at the clock and sighed. "I should probably head home," he said reluctantly.
But before he could move, you reached out and gently grasped his hand, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please stay," you pleaded quietly, "For me."
For a moment, Frankie's expression softened, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and tenderness. And without another word, he nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he settled back into bed beside you. 
But before sleep claimed you, Frankie's quiet voice broke the silence. "You know, you're half right about that first night we met."
"What do you mean?" you responded, now propping yourself up to look at him.
"I should've kissed you," he admitted, a hint of regret in his tone. "I should've made you put your number in my phone or something." He chuckled softly, his fingers gently playing with strands of your hair.
Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, "Well, lucky for you, it's not too late," you replied, reaching for his phone on the nightstand, a smile tugging at your lips.
And as you melted into each other's embrace, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you wrapped up in the quiet stillness of the night. With the gentle patter of rain as your lullaby, you drifted off to sleep. 
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Chapter 3 / Chapter 5
Taglist:
@aquanatalie @spookyjamie333 @casa-boiardi @gaypoetsblog @jitterbugs927 @leed-bbg @kittenlittle24 @your-voice-is-mellifluous @jedi-in-crocs @bitchwitch1981 @pastelnap @pimosworld @76bookworm76 @littlemisspascal @southernbe @missladym1981 @anoverwhelmingdin @inept-the-magnificent @harriedandharassed @brilliantopposite187 @partyofone3413 @bunniboo0015
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umadosedepascal · 3 months
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OMG SO HAAAAARD not to pay attention on this “fuck” sync… 🫢
Ft @ithedevilsbaby
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misspearly1 · 1 year
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Miss Pearls Kinktober 2022
This is my first Kinktober ya'll and let me tell ya, I am very excited. I'd like to give a very special thanks to Keri, (@absurdthirst - kinktober list), Lua (@starsandskies - kinktober list) and LeeAnn (@the-purity-pen - kinktober list) for providing these prompts. I really appreciate the work you put into creating these for us ❤️
Pre-Warnings (Please Read): There are three fandoms in this Kinktober. (Joel Miller/ Arthur Morgan/Pedro Pascal Characters). All are completed with Female readers (you, Y/N). And lastly, some fics are big with plot, others are small with very little plot. The first fic will be automatically posted tomorrow morning at 7am 🥰
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Day One: Size Difference - Joel Miller
Day Two: Thigh Riding - Arthur Morgan
Day Three: Threesome - Joel Miller & Arthur Morgan
Day Four: Breast Worship/Nipple Play - Marcus Pike
Day Five: Window/Balcony Sex - Javier Pena
Day Six: Sleepy Sex - Frankie Morales
Day Seven: Anal - Pero Tovar
Day Eight: Cockwarming - Ezra
Day Nine: Anonymous Sex - Din D'jarin
Day Ten: Creampie - Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels
Day Eleven: Orgasm Denial/Edging - Joel Miller
Day Twelve: Face Sitting - Joel Miller
Day Thirteen: Spanking - Joel Miller
Day Fourteen: Rough Sex + Aftercare - Arthur Morgan
Day Fifteen: Monster Fucking - Max Phillips
Day Sixteen: Restraints - Marcus Pike
Day Seventeen: Rough Sex - Frankie Morales
Day Eighteen: Accidental Stimulation - Din D'jarin
Day Nineteen: Titty Fucking - Pero Tovar
Day Twenty: Double Penetration - Max Phillips
Day Twenty-One: Daddy/Mommy Kink - Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels
Day Twenty-Two: Lingerie - Joel Miller
Day Twenty-Three: Sex Pollen - Joel Miller
Day Twenty-Four: Sex Pollen - Arthur Morgan
Day Twenty-Five: Lactation/Breeding Kink - Arthur Morgan
Day Twenty-Six: Bath/Shower Sex - Din D'jarin
Day Twenty-Seven: Mirror Sex - Frankie Morales
Day Twenty-Eight: Hate Fucking - Pero Tovar
Day Twenty-Nine: Public Sex - Joel Miller
Day Thirty: Hunter/Prey - Werewolf!Joel Miller
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boliv-jenta · 1 year
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For @movievillainess721
Dave York x f!reader Frankie Morales x f!reader Jack Daniels x f!reader
Warnings:All kinds of smut. Unprotected P in V sex.(This fiction wrap it in real life.) Rough sex. Degradation. Cream pie. M&F!receiving oral. Vaginal fingering. Rimming. I think that's it, but if you've made it this far, you're probably up for it all.
Summary: After a mission, you find yourself hold up with your three temporary teammates. How will you pass the time?
Interagency Cooperation
This takes interagency cooperation to a whole new level. The thought almost made you giggle around Dave's hard length. He moaned at the vibration keeping the laughter at bay brought to your throat. Jack felt the tension in your body where he was joined to it. As both men groaned, Frankie felt a little left out. Feeling the self conscious shift in his posture you pumped him a little harder.
Three weeks earlier….
"So I'm just stuck here?!"
"Who is denying extraction? Who gave that order?!"
"We're damn Statesman! We can fix bullet wounds in people's head but we can't get me the fuck out of here?!"
"Fuck, Santi. I'll fly myself out of here!"
The open plan villa echoed with the sound of disgruntled conversation with your handlers. The decision had been made that the four of you needed to go to ground for a while. Any type of extraction was too risky. 
The private villa was out of the way, one of the first few completed builds as part of gentrification of a poor coastal town. It was well stocked with food, and whiskey, thanks to Stateman. After the initial irritation wore off, you realised there were worse places to be stuck. As well as worse people to be stuck with. 
Jack was every inch the charming Southern gentleman, you could listen to that accent calling you Sugar for hours. Dave was reserved but had a dry wit that you found amusing. 
Frankie had been quiet, focus, diligent during the mission. The way he kept his cool was admirable. He also let a softer side of him slip now and then. Engaging you in light conversation now and then. When you'd joked with him the chuckle that left him was cute as anything. 
A week or two with them wouldn't be so bad.
Not bad at all. You thought on the second day when they had to change into the clothing left at the villa. They were supposed to be on vacation so the wardrobe consisted of shorts and t-shirts that were too small for their broad frames. 
The three of them had not so subtly eyed you, in your bikini, lounging by the pool. Dave was the first one to come and join you. Tossing his towel then his shirt on the lounger next to you, he dove into the water to swim a few lengths. When he emerged poolside, water ran down every dip of every muscle. His shorts stuck to the curve of his ass. You could imagine digging your nails into it as he pounded into you. Not that you would, with his wedding ring and all.
"The water is perfect. You're not going in?" He sat on the sunlounger opposite you. 
"Maybe later. It's not often I get to just do nothing." Your book was now on the table beside you. With your eyes closed, you wiggled down the sunlounger to enjoy the warmth of the sun blanketing you. With your eyes closed, you didn't see the way 
Dave's eyes raked up your body. You did open them in time to see them blatantly fixed on your chest. "So you're in no rush to get home? No one waiting?"
"Nope. You must be eager to get home to your family."
"My kids, yeah. Not my wife."
With the not so subtle formalities out of the way. The two of you made your way to the small guest house that you'd moved into to give the boys their own rooms. You were barely through the door before Dave was taking his frustrations out on you from behind. He kept you pinned to the small desk beneath you as your legs gave way. It was rough and fast but fuck, was it good. Afterwards, you both left with the same amount of nonchalance you had entered with. Dave went to take a shower. You returned to your book. 
The same book you were reading the next night when Jack came over with a bottle of whiskey in hand. It took less than half of it and a cheeky comment about saving a horse to have you riding him out in the open. That voice loudly praising you without a care in the world as to who was listening. "Fuck, that's it. Darlin'. Take what you need. So fucking pretty riding my dick."
The same sunlounger that Frankie found you stargazing on, when you couldn't sleep. He appeared, his curls tousled from a restless night. The curls that were soon between your fingers as his head was between your legs. His talented tongue making you cum twice before yours returned the favour. Sending him back to bed, ready to sleep.
This was the odd routine you found yourself in for the next two weeks. Random liaisons with each of them. Not a word spoken about it afterwards. It wasn't the first time you'd used casual sex to unwind after a mission. It was the first time you had three incredibly hot men making you cum multiple times a day. It was like the filthy 'romance' novel you'd been reading. You should be shocked at the turn of events but your whole life, you'd lived outside of what people would consider normal. Your childhood, your career choice. Being railed by three different guys was probably the least out there event in your life. And by far the most fun.
"So it's agreed? Terminator marathon?" You settled into the sofa, tucked under a blanket. Frankie on one side, Whiskey on the other. Dave sat on a plush armchair to the left. 
About half way through T2 Jack's hand found your knee under the blanket, his thumb tracing circles on it. Your breath hitched when he suddenly ran his fingers right up your thigh to your core. Frankie shot you a look before returning his attention to the movie. 
Jack's fingertips edged up the leg of your shorts and into your panties. You managed to keep your breathing steady as his fingers swirled across your clit. Your breathing did hitch again when Frankie's warm hand cupped your breast. This time he didn't even look at you. Like Jack he kept his attention on the screen as his fingers brought you pleasure, exciting your nipples. 
T2 suddenly turned into the longest movie in the world. Time was suspended, like you were by the pleasure shooting through your body between the two men's fingertips. Giving yourself over to them completely, you closed your eyes. 
Until Dave cleared his throat. "You were the one that suggested this movie but you're not even watching it. You need to keep your eyes open. Here, let me show you." He stood from his chair. "Come here."
Frankie and Jack's hands withdrew, allowing you to move. Then both looked on with approval. As soon as you stood before Dave he shoved you down to your knees. Taking a fistful of your hair, he held your head in place. Pulling his already hard cock out, he pumped it a few times before pressing it to your lips. "Eyes on me. Ah, that's it." He hissed as his length entered your mouth. His dark eyes fixed you in place. "You are going to get us all good and….uh…hard. Then w-we are going to take turns fuckin-g you."
Pulling out he jerked his head at Frankie and Jack. Jack graciously let Frankie go next. Cupping your cheek tenderly he asked "¿Estas bien cariño?"
In reply you took him as far into your mouth as you could. 
His head rolled back along with his eyes. "Oh, fuuuck."
By the time Jack made his way over, your jaw pleasantly ached. "It's okay, Sugar. You just keep those lips nice and tight and I'll do the rest. Oh, just like that." His hips moved slowly as he worked himself with your mouth.
Tucking himself away, he helped you to your feet. "Come on, Sugar." 
Guiding you to the sofa he situated you so your knees were on the seats and your forearms rested on the back. "We thought we'd let Frankie warm you up. We've heard how much you enjoy your time with him."
Frankie looked torn between being proud and embarrassed. Still, he didn't hesitate to rip your shorts down to eat you out from behind. In record time, he had you cumming on his tongue.
"Credit where it's due. You are really good at that." Jack slapped Frankie on the back as he wiped your slick from his moustache.
Dave stepped up behind you to take your shorts from around your ankles. "We're gonna have a little health competition. We gonna keep taking turns to fuck you. First one to cum gets one point, second two points, third three points. Every time you cum on one of our dicks we get a point. Since we know you are just as competitive as we are. If you outlast us all you win."
"What do I get if I win?"
"We'll do whatever you want." He whispered in your ear as he spread your legs wider. 
"Frankie can eat you out, like you're his last meal." Dave could see you getting wetter as he spoke. The sight of the three of them stripping down didn't hurt either.
"Jack can make you squirt 'til you soak through your sheets." Jack had been the only man to get you to soak him like that. He was so proud of himself. Clearly proud enough to brag to the others.
"And I…" A solid crack reverberated around the room as he hand connected with your ass. "...I will treat you like my dirty little whore. What do you say?"
Lining himself up the tip of his cock nudged at your entrance. "You wanna play?"
Showing him that you were all in you pushed back until he was all in. Gripping your waist and shoulder he drove into you at an angle that had you screaming. It was so overwhelming that you rushed to the edge of an orgasm only for him to pull out. 
"Fuck." He grunted moving aside to let Jack take his place. 
"I feel like I'm about to get my first point." He smirked at Dave, who had dropped breathlessly beside you.
"I handed it to you." He snapped back.
Jack was right, only a few minutes of him splitting you open had you bucking beneath him as he kissed the back of your neck. 
"Mmm, feels like I won already." His moustache tickled your skin as he spoke. He worked you through your orgasm before calling to Frankie. "You're up, Flyboy."
"Already? See how good you feel? Ah." He shuddered as he slipped inside of you. "So warm and wet. Feels like paradise." Frankie may be quiet on missions but he was a talker in the bedroom. Out of the three Frankie was the most gentle. Jack a close second, his movements were soft but with a knowing strength behind them. Dave was just rough all over. The only softness you got from him was his spent dick. Frankie gently rolled his hips, coaxing an orgasm out of you. 
The gentle build up coupled with his murmurings of how beautiful you were, how good you made him feel, had you fluttering around him in no time. "God, Frankie. I'm coming." Reaching back, your hand covered his at your waist. He held it gently as waves of pleasure ebbed through you.
"Fuck." Dave gritted his teeth next to you. The second Frankie moved away Dave was there, one hand pulling a fist full of your hair and the other grabbing the flesh of your tit, digging his blunt fingernails into your skin. "Your disrespectful little whore. You gonna cum on every other cock apart from mine? Are you keeping count? That's three bare cocks you've had in that greedy little cunt. You've creamed on two of them. This is what I mean when I called you a whore. Three dicks fucking you and you love it." 
Your legs gave way as the hand at you chest released you only to abruptly shove two fingers into your sopping channel. The same two finger were shoved in your face a second later. 
"See how wet?" Prising your mouth open with his other hand he shoved the glistening fingers against your tongue. "Suck them clean. See how good you taste? No wonder Morales is addicted."
Dave smirked with pride as you nearly choked on his fingers when he slammed into you again. Every inch of his impressive cock penetrating you in one go. 
"Such a good little slut. Taking such big cocks with not resistance. Given how tight this little hole is, you must really want them. Do you?"
While he'd been speaking he'd resumed his hard and fast pounding. You had no idea how he was evil villain monologuing while ramming his dick into you. You could barely breathe, let alone speak. All that came out of your mouth when you opened it was involuntary noises. 
A sharp sting bloomed on your ass. "I said 'Do you really want to be railed by three hard, long, fat cocks?' Hmmm?" 
Gripping the sofa to try and steady yourself, you summoned all your strength to get out a 'yes'. 
"Good girl. I know what you want even more though. Those three cocks to cum in that pussy. Imagine it all dripping out of you. You cum on my dick enough then I can fill you first. It'll even out the points."
Dave was now fucking you so hard and fast that you were bent over the back of the sofa. You silently thanked whoever decorated it for not skimping on the quality of the furniture. The well made heavy wooden frame was the only thing keeping you upright. Dave was now slamming so deep inside you, your brain couldn't function on any higher level. All it heard was 'man fill you with seed' and it was gone. 
"Oh, fuck, Dave. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." The world shifted on its head. Until strong hands pulled at you. They held your boneless form as your brain tried to restart. 
Not only had you cum hard, you'd squirted all over Dave, and the well made sofa. Your cunt and clamped down on Dave so hard that he pulled out to choke his cock in an effort not to cum. Without him gripping you, your lax body had nearly toppled over the back of the sofa until Jack had grabbed you. You were now in his lap. 
"Pass me that water." Jack ordered Frankie. "Here, Sugar. Sip this." A bottle met your lips. Drinking greedily you slowly came back into your body. "Easy, now. You need to tap out?"
Both Jack and Frankie looked at you with concern. 
"No. I'm good. Saddle up, Cowboy." Your eyes never left Dave's as you spoke. He might be competitive but you were even more so.
"Well then, let's at least get you into a safer position." With you in his arms, he stood. The high quality sofa was also built up. He set your ass on one of the arms before gently reclining you back to lay on it. Thankful, Frankie had wiped the seats down. At this angle he was able to spread your legs wide over his forearms before entering you. 
"Goddamn. You feel even…" he wasn't even able to finish his sentence as he filled you with his release. "Fuck." He panted as he kept his softening length inside you.
"That's only two points, Cowboy." Dave taunted. 
"Right now, I couldn't give a fuck." Jack replied. He groaned as thumbed your clit causing your still sensitive pussy to spasm around him.
"That's cheating." Dave reminded him.
"Hey, I already lost. Let a man bow out gracefully." Reluctantly he pulled out of you. "Besides, with just you two fellas playing, don't you wanna make things interesting?"
Dave knew that Jack was just trying to goad him. It was clear he'd rather Frankie win their game. Still, he was never one to back down from a challenge. "Fine. You can use your fingers on her. No eating her pussy." Dave thought back to watching Frankie eat you out on the edge of the hot tube. He didn't care that he was sitting on the balcony he shared with Jack, he immediately had to relieve his rock hard dick at the sound of your moans. From the sounds coming from Jack's room, he had too. He wasn't handing a win to Morales.  "You only get points for her coming on your dick."
"Fine." Frankie agreed as he stepped between your legs. His fingers glided over your slick flesh with ease. He'd barely given you the tip of his cock before a soft orgasm washed over you. Not wanting to give Dave an advantage he pulled out and made room for him. 
"I should have been more specific about the rules." He grunted as he bottomed out. 
Fuck, you felt good around him. He was so tempted to to just fuck his release into you but he didn't want the pilots to win. His thick fingers worked your sensitive bundle much like Frankie's had, he could feel the effect it was having on you. Your walls tightened around him with each thrust. He was getting closer to his own climax while yours seemed frozen.
"I can feel it. Just let go." Ragging your vest and bra up he swotted at your exposed breast. 
"I can't. I can't." You almost sobbed. Overstimulation had settled in. Dave thought he could force you over the edge. His fingers working as fast as he cock only brought him close to the edge, not you. "Damn it!" He withdrew, panting and willing his orgasm to subside before he spilled onto the beautiful tile floor. 
Frankie shot a smug look your way as he stepped between your legs before dropping to his knees. 
"Hey!" Dave barked.
"I heard you. Don't eat her pussy." Frankie's breath flowed over the soft skin of your ass before his fingers parted your cheeks. His tongue slipped into the tight ring of muscle bringing a whole new sensation. It fired up your nerves anew. As his tongue lapped at your back entrance his fingers gently teased your folds until you were ready to be touched again. Once you were begging for his touch again, he entered you sparking an orgasm from your g-spot then he rolled that energy into one from your clit. 
"He's good at that too." Jack commented as he lazily pumped his newly hard cock in his hand. 
Frankie had a death grip on his own cock. He'd come so close to losing himself in you. The thought of that smug bastard York winning staved off his climax. 
Dave wasn't looking so smug now. He was doing the math in his head. Even if Frankie came before he did, he would only have four points. Frankie would have six. He needed to get the three points from cumming in you last. Which took him to four points. Then another two orgasms out of you to draw and another one to win. That's three on top of the six they'd already gotten from you. And that was if The Pussy Eater didn't make you cum again. At least all this math was helping to kill the buzz in his balls. He needed a plan.
"Move." He ordered Jack who was sat next to your head. He looked down at you ruefully before moving to the armchair. 
"Come on, Baby." Dave moved you up the sofa before climbing being you. This was new. The way he gently spooned you. The way he softly kissed the bare skin of your shoulders. He entered you with such care, gently rocking the tip of his cock against the front of your walls. 
"That's it, Sweetheart. You need it right there? You take it. Come on, make my cock wet. Just a little more and I'll fill you nice and full." His deep voice took on a honeyed tone. His body was warm and soft cocooning you between him and the back of the sofa. It was like your own little private world. 
"I'll fill my girl with all of my cum. You know I always have so much for you. All for for…you." His last word was choked off as you came around him. "Good girl. That's my good girl."
Rolling onto his back he took you with him, still speared on his cock. Now you were spread open for his hands to explore. They played with your tits, rolled and pinched your nipples, stimulated your clit until you came again. Dave was so close to cumming but he was so close to winning. If he could just get one more then hope Frankie lost it then next time he entered your heat like Jack had. 
The way your name fell from his lips he didn't want to stop. It was as soft as a pray. He'd made you scream it, cry it, sob it, in all sorts of ways and tones. This was new and he loved it. Holding you close, he planted his feet to thrust up into you. His thrusts were strong and steady. That was usually Jack's M.O. Slow and steady, building your pleasure. Kissing your neck, he gave you more of his sweet words. "Feel so good around me. You're fucking spoiling us with this pussy. So giving. Pulling us in so deep. Such a perfect little cunt. A man could get lost in it. Oh, my…"
He threw his head back into the cushions as he let out a long moan. He began to fill you. The arching of his back meant that he slipped out halfway through, spraying the last drops over your mound with a satisfying heaviness. When he finally finished all he could do was lie there. 
"You lost." You shot at him with no real malice. 
Your words barely registered, he was too far out. He lay there as he watched Frankie carry you to the other chair. Jack still sat in the one opposite. His strokes of his cock were more purposeful now. Frankie sat down and eased you onto his length. The competition was really between you two now. You just had to take Frankie until he came. Dave knew you could, so he just lay and watched in his blissed out stupor. Frankie's face contorted in pleasure as you proved your will to win by bouncing up and down on him. Moans in English and Spanish flew from him. Dave's attention flickered to Jack for a moment as he shot his load impressively far over himself. He had a sneaking feeling the agent had bowed out early to enjoy the rest of the show. Frankie near whining and griping the arms of the chair drew him back to you. You were still slowly rolling your hips as Frankie filled you. Chants of 'oh god' leaving his lips.
The three men lay boneless in post orgasm haze as you stood, somewhat shakily but triumphant. "I win. I may need a few days before I can collect my prize." You added hobbling away for a much needed soak in the bath.
A couple of night's rest later you collected your prize. "I want all of you. At the same time."
"How do you propose we do that, Sugar?"
"I'm not touching the pilots."
"Whatever you want, Cariño."
"Boys. Boys. I'm sure we can figure it out, we just have to cooperate."
Tags @kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @graciexmarvel @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass
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psychedelic-ink · 1 year
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𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐧
series summary: Two years had passed since your break up with Jack, a fellow Statesmen agent. But everything re-ignites again when Champ asks you to go San Francisco to investigate the disappearance of multiple women across the country and, sadly enough, agent Malibu. While doing anything with Jack is chaos enough, you also run in to another ex, a man that actually showed you kindness and someone you thought you could spend the rest of your days with that is until he started asking too many questions about your job, Frankie Morales.
pairing(s): jack daniels x fem!reader, past frankie morales x fem!reader, eventual (+endgame pairing) jack daniels x fem!reader x frankie morales
chapter summary: The story of how you and Frankie met. In present day Jack brings his car to the garage Frankie works at.
word count: 7.1k
chapter warnings: use of weed, alcohol consumption, getting high with frankie morales, high sex, piv sex, reader talking about her break up with jack, self-destructive tendencies (reader), mild exhibitionism, dirty talking, creampie, mention of reader being on the pill, statesmen agent!reader, brief mention of frankie's cocain addiction, reader heavily relying on weed and alcohol for comfort frankie trying to help
a/n: and here we are once again! thank you to all those who were patient with me and supported this series despite it being months, I love you all and enjoy! xx
Masterlist  | Series Masterlist | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4
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It was a hot day when he met you. 
After his license was taken away, and after the… unfortunate events Santi had dragged him into, Frankie had decided to dedicate himself to volunteer work—volunteer work that specifically included animals. He knew someone, someone way back, named Maria and Maria worked at the local animal shelter. Frankie gave her a call and the next day he was learning the ropes of what they did. 
Initially, Frankie thought he would be visiting once a week—but there was a lot that needed to be done and he wasn’t above getting his hands dirty for the sake of the poor animals who were abandoned. Every morning he had a habit of greeting all the dogs. It was a bittersweet experience. He loved seeing how excited they got, but he also became heartbroken when he saw the dogs that had lost all hope. They would just sit in their cages, head bowed down, only their eyes moving when Frankie came in to clean their living spaces. He felt a special bond between him and them. 
He fixed all the cages the first week, he asked for pillows, for new water bowls. Frankie became a loud protestor of mistreated animals. In the end it made him feel selfish. He wasn’t doing much, but even that little bit of effort made his heart feel lighter after all the shit he’d done. It made him feel good. 
Frankie practically begged Will and Benny to adopt a dog, a black old terrier that deserved a happy home. Frankie would be the first to admit that the small dog wasn’t really Will and Benny’s style, but he asked them anyway. Much to his gratitude, the brothers said yes. 
He thought of Pope, but he was still traveling way too frequently, meaning that he wasn’t the best person to adopt an animal. 
That’s how his days went. Most of his time was spent at the shelter, the rest of his time was dedicated to getting his license back. And of course, he had to work, which he did at the neighborhood car repair shop. The pay wasn’t much but it was decent. Enough for him to buy food. 
He was filling the water bowls when you came in. His shirt stuck to his skin, his back damp and dark in color with sweat. You looked around nervously. 
“Hello there, you looking to adopt?” 
You looked away, biting your bottom lip. Frankie noticed your swollen eyes, your running nose. Raising an eyebrow, he cocked his head to the side—you were crying. 
“Hi,” you chirped, albeit anxiously. “Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. My friend told me to get out and I didn’t really wanna see anyone so I ended up coming here.” 
“That’s okay,” he answered with a sudden sense to comfort you. His fingers twitched, the need to place a hand over your shoulder overwhelming. He pushed those thoughts aside. “We can look around. I have time, and the dogs always get excited to see new people,” 
“That makes me sad since I can’t take any of them home,” you mutter, finally lifting your gaze and looking at him for the first time. “Can I help with anything? You have volunteers right?” 
“We sure do,” he nodded, smiling. “And we never say no to some extra spare hands. I don’t really have anything specific in mind so let me show you around first. Does that sound good?” 
“Sure. Sounds great.” 
Frankie led the way, walking slowly to give you a chance to take in everything around you. You seemed to be trying your best to stay calm by wrapping your arms around your frame. Again, his need to offer comfort overwhelmed him. He’s not one to place his nose into things that didn’t concern him, but in a way, he could relate to your need to both go out and heal—but also wanting to stay away from people. He understood that. 
"Here are the dog kennels," Frankie said, pointing to a row of cages that housed dogs of all sizes and breeds. "We try to make them as comfortable as possible, but they're still waiting for their forever homes."
“Do people often adopt?” 
“It’s more common now, thankfully,” he grumbles, anger twisting in his stomach. “But  people still want “pure breeds” which is a load of shit if you ask me. There are also the people who adopt but can’t handle the responsibility and bring them back which is—” bitter laughter dropped from his lips. “I wouldn’t really describe myself as a temperamental person but some people I swear to god,” 
“Must be frustrating.” 
“It is.” 
His answer had come from a place of slight shock. Frankie was used to people being more…emphatic. He was used to the “awwws” and the sad “ohhhs” coming from the people who visited. But instead of that, or remarking on how cruel humanity was (which was another answer he frequently got), you just stated a fact. You just pointed out the obvious. Which was slightly unnerving since that obvious thing was what he was feeling. 
The dogs barked and jumped up at the sound of voices, wagging their tails. Frankie stopped to pat a few of them on the head, and he watched you smile as you got closer to the cages, patting a mix between a greyhound and a husky. 
“So loving,” you murmured, fascinated. “One of his eyes is blue.” 
“He’s a husky mix, his name is Thor—well, I call him Thor.” 
“Marvel fan?” 
“Nah, it just felt fitting.” 
Moving on, Frankie continued to talk about the shelter and its operations. He told you about how they rely on donations and volunteers to keep running, and how they work to rehabilitate animals who have been abused or neglected. He hoped to keep his voice gentle and soothing, and he was pleased that you slowly started to open up.
"Are you here full time?” you asked suddenly, taking him by surprise. 
“I wish but no.”
“Work?”
He nodded, “Work.” 
It was odd talking to you. It almost felt like you couldn’t speak in full sentences. It was clear to him that you were in some kind of emotional turmoil—something he noticed not because of his killer observation skills but due to the fact the whites of your eyes were red. He wondered what kind of person you were without whatever it was that was weighing you down. 
He wondered what your smile might look like. 
Frankie didn't ask what you did in your spare time, which would be a natural way to continue the conversation, instead, he showed you the rest of the shelter. He showed you the cats lounging in their cages, the birds chirping in their aviary, and even some rabbits hopping around in a pen. You lean forward, observing the tiny bodies of cuteness through the dirty glass. Frankie almost sees the twitch of your lip, but before it transforms into an expression you straighten up and roll your shoulders. 
“What can I help with?” 
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Frankie asked you out on a date two weeks later. He liked to think it was due to the peer pressure coming from Pope and Benny rather than his undeniable infatuation with you. 
You were hardworking, emotional, and quick to point out stupidity. After learning more about the shelter and its issues, which was impressively quick, you started to constantly butt heads with Frankie. He knew your intentions were good, which is why he didn’t mind your passion coming out as impatience. You wanted to help. You wanted to see results. He understood quickly that according to you, the other volunteers were weak-handed, and didn’t want to get their hands dirty—but Frankie found that you were a little too eager to get your hands dirty. 
But he never said anything. He kept his observations to himself and asked you out for dinner at his place, he didn’t really have the budget to take you out, and his cooking was way better compared to Burger King or any other fast food chain. 
You showed up half an hour late with an apologetic smile and a bottle of red wine. 
“Sorry,” you said before hello. “Traffic was insane,” 
“Don’t worry about it,” he answers with a soft smile. “Come on in.” 
He took the bottle from you and waited until you’d completely passed the threshold, he noticed that you had a slight limp to your step. He closed the door and followed you inside. 
“Are you okay? You’re limping,” 
You were visibly surprised by the question, shoulders raising. Frankie understood then that you were attempting to hide it, and he flustered at the thought, he hadn’t meant to call you out or anything. 
“An asshole kid kicked me,” you sighed, clearly exasperated. “I was just waiting for the light to turn green and this little demon spawn kicked me while holding his mother’s hand. It hurt as hell, but surprise surprise mama satan said nothing!” 
Frankie placed the wine on the table and wiped his palms on his jeans, he was sweating. “Parents tend to be worse than the children they’re rising,” he cleared his throat. “Is it sprained? I can wrap it up for you if you want.” 
He held his breath when you walked up to him, placing a flat hand over his chest. 
“Eager to lick my wounds already,” you hummed, a faint glimmer in your eyes. “How chivalrous.” 
“Force of habit,” he grinned, which was followed up by a loud swallow. “I have a lot of friends that tend to get into trouble.” 
“Are these the soldier buddies I heard so much about?” you pull back your hand. 
He watched as you head for the couch, shrugging your jacket off before taking a seat. With practiced ease, he grabbed two crystal wine glasses and a sleek wine opener from the kitchen. He uncorked a bottle of red wine, letting the rich aroma fill the room, and poured it carefully into the glasses.
Frankie had made a somewhat decent charcuterie board. He raided his local grocery store the day before and picked up some basic items: a block of cheddar cheese, a package of sliced salami, a jar of olives, and a sleeve of crackers. He also added some grapes and cherry tomatoes for color.
He arranged everything on a wooden cutting board and placed it on the coffee table prior to your arrival. He was pleased to see that you’d already made yourself comfortable by crossing your legs, nibbling on a cracker topped with cheese and salami. 
“Thank you,” you said with a mouthful when Frankie placed the glass in front of you. Swallowing, you took the glass by the stem and brought it to your lips, swallowing the ruby liquid. “This is great. I really needed this,” 
“You do know that this isn’t the main course right?” he chuckled, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “My budget isn’t that tight. We have pasta.” 
“Ohh pasta,” you sighed, licking your lips. Frankie’s eyes followed the bath of your tongue. “And that’s not what I meant. I’m just…I was trying to express gratitude I guess. It’s been a while since I felt good and I’m pretty sure it’s all thanks to you.” 
“Well, I’m sure that’s not true,” he couldn’t help but draw slow patterns across the back of your bare neck. He felt like a man possessed with the need to touch you, no matter how minimal. “You’re quite competent. I don’t think you need to give credit to me for your own healing.” 
“I can’t exactly discredit you either,” you smiled, shaking your head. “I’m sorry for being—” you swallowed, words seemingly failing you. “—for being not myself.” 
“Would it be okay if I ask what happened?” his, voice a beat above a whisper. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t seem like the type to talk about your feelings a lot.” 
“You’re too observant for comfort,” the fact that you smiled when saying it relieved him. “But I don’t mind talking about it. I feel like you deserve some kind of explanation—” 
“You don’t owe me anything.” 
“Even so…I would…like to talk about it,” you took another sip of your wine before turning to him completely, fingers nervously moving up and down the glass stem. “This is going to be cliche.” 
“I have no issues with cliches,” he smiled, the pads of his fingers pressing firmer into your skin. “Cliches are cliche for a reason.” 
“That’s a nice thought.” 
A moment of silence. You took another sip, lips shimmering with the residue left from the wine. 
“I was somewhat recently broken up with. I want to say it was a nasty breakup but it actually wasn’t—which shouldn’t bother me but it does.” 
Frankie remained quiet, waiting for you to continue. He didn’t dare to move or even breathe, in the passing silent seconds. Your chest raised as you took a deep breath, remembering made you wince. 
“We’re coworkers so I see him quite often. He’s also not the easiest person to get along with—and that’s not just me saying that. He kept a lot of things to himself, and it made me think ‘why be in a relationship if we’re not going to comfort and be honest with each other’ he took it well, actually. A week later I heard him being with someone else. I—I took it pretty bad.” 
“That’s okay,” Frankie said without waiting a beat. “He sounds like an asshole. And no one should expect you to take it with a smile.” 
“I guess not.” you sighed and leaned over to place the glass on the table. “I’m not being a very good date am I?” 
It wasn’t difficult to see that you were deflecting. However, being a man of his word, Frankie didn’t press for more details. He would learn more about the man that broke your heart with time, and even if he didn’t, that was alright, as long as he was able to make you smile, it didn’t matter to him what happened in your past. 
Considering his own mistakes and misfortunes, he hoped that you would spare him the same consideration. 
“You’re being a lovely date,” he answered, leaning closer. He noticed the way your eyes dropped to his lips, a soft exhale escaping them.
“That’s an awfully generous statement.” 
It was the way your lashes fluttered when he fully cradled your nape, squeezing softly, he allowed his lips to brush yours. Your eyes closed in a sort of surrender. Maybe he should’ve thought about it more before allowing himself to be a distraction. That was he was; a distraction—a balm to soothe your heart. He didn’t mind being the cure. Maybe that was fucked up of him. 
In that moment he liked to think that some part of him was using you too, for his own comfort. You treated him like he was a pure man, excluded from all sin. It’s far from the truth but it was nice for someone to look at him with admiration instead of ‘you fucked up’. 
He kissed you. Wine stained lips molding together, tongues intertwining, leaving no room to breathe. He inhaled your scent, smoke, and something sweet he couldn’t quite place his finger on. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, teeth gently digging into the soft flesh. Your hands skimmed his waist, goosebumps pebbling under the fabric of his shirt as he felt your fingers moving up and down. 
Frankie was the one to part away, but again, he kept you close, his forehead against yours. Your eyes remained closed, lips looking tender and swollen under the dim lights. 
“Frankie, can I ask you something?” 
“Anything.” 
“I don't mean to be presumptuous or anything, but I didn't just bring wine with me. I actually brought some weed, if that's something you'd be interested in smoking," you opened your eyes, staring directly into Frankie’s. “I know it's not for everyone, but it might be a nice way to unwind a bit."
In hindsight, Frankie probably should say no. He didn’t have any issues with you smoking it, but he just wasn’t sure if he should. It had been a while. He remembered using it a lot when he wanted to forget, or before inhaling a shit ton of coke, which he hasn’t done—at least not to that amount—since his license got taken away. 
His cock twitched when you dragged your lips down the column of his neck, pressing a kiss into his shoulder. He exhaled slowly, something that could be easily confused with a sigh. Your grip on his waist tightened. He didn’t want you to feel like he didn’t understand, or that he was against it. He wasn’t. 
While you laid another kiss above his collarbone, he placed one on your temple. 
“Sounds great.” 
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They were on the floor. Smoke lingered deep in their lungs, a cloud of cannabis entrailing and curling around them both. Frankie had no idea how they ended up there; backs pressed against the couch cushions, coffee table pushed ahead, empty charcuterie board on your side. Their limbs were tangled with each other, your legs propped over Frankie’s thighs. 
His fingers curled around the meat of your thigh, stroking and squeezing the muscle affectionately. 
“What does it mean to be a bad person?” you asked suddenly. 
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He slid his hand forward, following the peak of your knee and moving to your calf, there he drummed his thumb against the bone. “What do you think it means?” 
“I don’t know that’s why I’m asking,” you chuckled, you shimmied closer until the curve of your bottom touched the outside of his thigh. “Everything is so gray. I want to be a good person, always have. But then why am I suffering? Why am I having these thoughts that convince me I’m a waste? I thought being good meant sacrificing parts of yourself, to do good no matter what—being good means not thinking about yourself, that is what I was told. And I think I do that. With my job—” 
Your sentence came to an abrupt halt, you shook your head and Frankie could feel the tremors of the movement mirroring in his lap. He dragged his nails up and down your leg, imagining that a shudder would settle over your spine from it. 
“If being good means making sacrifices for it, why is it that the people who don’t are happier than me?” 
“You don’t know if they’re happy or not.” 
“That might be true but I do know that they’re not struggling like I am. They’re not lonely. They’re not afraid of it. Me on the other hand, I cry myself to sleep almost every night,” you shook your head, legs slowly starting to recoil. “Sorry, I—I can’t think, that was such a childish thing to complain about. You’re right. I don’t know what people think, maybe they’re just as tortured as I am.” 
Frankie kept your legs over his lap, forcefully so. “I don’t think it’s childish,” he exhaled one breath and inhaled two. His fingers slid down to your ankle, and there he felt your beating pulse. Your breath hitched. “I just think you’re hurt. We’re all afraid of something. You’re not alone in that.” 
“What are you afraid of?” 
“Losing myself.” 
The air around them stilled. Frankie’s mind threatened to spiral, he took heavy breaths, trying to focus on something, anything. He felt his heart beating in his throat and he swallowed—again and again. Your veins throbbed under the pads of his fingers, he focused on that, he thought that he could hear the blood rushing in your veins. 
“I think you’re too stubborn to lose yourself,” you whispered, hooking a finger under his chin and lifting his gaze back to you. “But I’ll tell you something, if you do, I’ll pull you out of it.” 
He smiled, his heartbeat finally slowing, “And I’ll always be there for you. You won’t have to worry about being alone. No matter what, I’ll be there. Deal?” 
“Deal.” 
He blinked and when he opened his eyes again you were straddling his lap. Frankie’s hands moved on instinct, large palms securing you by resting on your back. His lips found yours, he licked himself into your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip maybe a bit too hard. You moaned into his mouth and he swallowed every noise, he sucked the air from your lungs, urging the sway of your hips. Before he knew it, your shirt was off, and so was his. Naked bodies came together, the softness of your breasts against his chest. You kissed him like it was your last day on earth—like you needed it to survive. 
He cradled your breasts with both hands, pushing them towards his mouth. He flattened his tongue over the pebbled nipples, sucking them between his lips as much as he could. His cock strained against the zipper of his jeans, painfully so. But he didn’t care about that. How could he when you were grinding down on him, head thrown back and mewling as his teeth nipped the sensitive flesh?
More, you kept on begging, more. 
Frankie was eager to give you what you wanted. A fog settled over his mind, his common sense heavily guided by his need to fuck. Within the haze, the ungrounded whispered promises, they both managed to strip themselves. He couldn’t help himself. He squeezed, pinched, and bit. You returned it in kind. Nails raked over his back, teeth marks formed dents in his skin. 
His cock ached to be buried in you. It dripped heavily, precum smeared the inside of your thighs and stomach. Your chest heaving, placing both hands on his shoulders you lifted yourself up. His head fell back, his hands kneading your ass indulgingly as you sank into him. 
Frankie’s eyes rolled back. You were so fucking wet—wet and incredibly warm. He cursed into your skin, buried his face between your breasts, and kissed wherever his lips touched. You shuddered around him, walls clenched tightly around his cock. A stuttered breath left you both, his nails bit into your skin, the skin above his stomach taut as your arm slowly coiled around his neck. 
“Need you to move, querida,” he groaned, teeth grazing the swell of your breast. 
You relied on him to be able to move, it felt more poetic than it actually was. His muscles strained as you moved, your planted feet doing little work to lift your weight. Instead, you used him like an overhead bar, trusting him enough that he wouldn’t let you fall. It was beautiful, in a way. You trusted him even when he didn’t trust himself. 
“You feel so good,” he whispered, nipping your chin. “This pretty pussy feels like it was made for me to fuck.” 
He felt you shudder through his cock, his balls tight when your movements began to falter, legs shaking. “It was,” you gasped, clamping around him. “Frankie—I’m close. P-Please just—” your words cut off with a moan, head falling over his. He heard you sniffling. 
Frankie’s hands drew soothing patters over your back, feeling every dip and curve of your body. 
“Do you want me to make you come?” he asked. 
“Please.” 
With his feet firmly planted on the floor, he pushed up into you, burying himself as deep as he could. Your arms curled around his head like spiderwebs, the scent of sex and cannabis clung to your skin, breasts heavy as they swayed with his thrusts. 
He couldn’t help himself. You felt tight, warm—just aching for him to fill up. His entire body clenched as he shoved you down, his cock fully engulfed by your heat. He spilled into you, it’s so overwhelming that it’s borderline painful. He could fuck you until the end of time. 
A sudden worry consumed him. Frankie was quick to smooth your back with open palms, looking up at you with soft and pleading eyes. 
“S-Shit, I’m sorry—” 
But on the contrary, you seemed glad. You seemed satisfied and happy. 
“Don’t worry,” you let out a shaky breath. “I’m on the pill.” 
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He found you half unconscious sprawled upon the couch. It wasn’t the first time Frankie found you like this, like a picture of his past, showcasing his worst moments and forcing him to re-live them. You groaned as he lifted you up, pushing you into a sitting position. He parted your fingers and shoved a glass of cool water into your hand. You smileed in a daze. 
“Thanks,” you muttered, your voice scratchy and dry. “How was your day?” 
Frankie didn’t answer. He scoffed and continued to clean up, when that was done he guided you to the bathroom. He placed you into the warm water, scrubbing the sweat off your skin. You started crying then. Shaking and muttering apologies, that he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t really think that way. Was it sad to see you like this, yes, no doubt about it. But he didn’t blame you. He didn’t think you were being evil or malevolent. You needed help. 
He needed help once too. And you weren’t anything that he couldn’t handle. Just a shit ton of weed and alcohol. He just needed to be here and it would be okay. He wanted to keep his promise.
Frankie told you as such. Not that you believed him. But he said it anyway. Reminding you that he was here, that it was okay. He would talk about himself, what he’d gone through without going into much detail. He didn’t think you were ready to hear that part of him yet. 
He smoothly guided the loofa over your skin, suds moving up and down. He noticed the bruises on your arms, your ribs. 
“What are these?” he asked. 
You looked down, shaking your head. “From work,” you quickly said. “I fell. Nothing important.” 
Frankie nodded and didn’t press any further. 
But the bruises didn’t stop. 
Every night when you came back from work, you had bruises, cuts, it almost looked like you were fighting but with who he had no idea. It became a problem. Him asking. It agitated you, made you lash out. And you lashing out made him lash out. He never wanted to break up, the opposite, he wanted to be with you. 
The words just slipped. 
“You need to tell me what’s going on so I can help. Do you want me to leave, is that it?” 
“Maybe you should.” Frankie made a face and you sighed. “Maybe it’s better for the both of us if we spend some time apart. Honestly, it’s probably better for you. I’m not…I’m not well, Frankie. You deserve someone better.” 
“What does that even mean?” Should he be angry? Should he put weight on these words that you were saying? 
“It means that my…my feelings aren’t enough to make this work.” 
“I think they’re plenty.” 
“They’re not, Frankie. You know that. This isn’t fair to you. You deserve someone who’s whole, someone who isn’t broken.” 
“Stop calling yourself that,” he snapped. “you’re not broken. I never thought that you were.” 
You walked up to him, a single tear trickling down your cheek as you placed a hand to his rough, stubbled cheek. "Goodbye, Frankie. Thank you," you whispered, before leaning in and kissing him softly on the lips.
Frankie's eyes widened in surprise, his body tensing for a moment before he relaxed into the kiss. It was brief, but it spoke volumes - of regret, of love, of loss.
When he left Frankie heard the sound of glass shattering against a hard surface.
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Frankie regretted everything. He regretted Benny talking him into flying to San Francisco and he regretted saying yes to coming to this shitshow of a club just because Benny went on and on about how it was the hottest new thing. 
And typical of Benny, he was nowhere to be found. 
The air around him was suffocating. It smelled of alcohol and sweet perfume that was strong enough that he felt his nose might fall off at any given moment. People around him danced and laughed. He never felt more out of place in his life. He lifted his ballcap and ran his fingers through his hair. He should definitely go back to his hotel room. He’s sure Benny would understand. Besides what was the alternative? Find a random person to fuck? He wasn’t really in the mood to make pleasantries and act like he was fine when in reality he wasn't. 
Needless to say, the breakup had affected him more than he cared to admit. 
A group of girls shoved him around and his eyes went over the many drunk people in the club. He was desperately hoping Benny would miraculously appear in the midst of the people. Wouldn’t that be amazing?
His eyes caught glimpse of a couple sitting in one of the booths. It was hard to see due to the red light but still, he could never truly forget what you looked like, no matter how dimly lit it was. The man you were sitting with somewhat resembled him, he was clean-shaven, his mustache trimmed and neat. His eyes traced the curve of his nose, the dip of his eyebrows, the flat line of his lips. Frankie found the cowboy hat to be comical but he couldn’t really judge anyone when he wore a baseball cap 24/7. 
The cowboy leaned into your ear and murmured something but you were heavily distracted, your gaze glued to Frankie. It truly must’ve been a shock seeing him here. Not wanting to be rude, Frankie smiled, it was forced, it was broad but it was the best he could do as he headed in your direction. It just happened. He hadn’t really thought about it. 
“Hey.” he said. 
You looked up, a forced smile slowly spreading across your face. Frankie was somewhat pleased he wasn’t the only one feeling awkward. But despite it all, it was good to see you. 
“Hey,” you answered, a slight tremble in your voice. “How are you, Frankie?” 
“I’m good, you?” 
“Doing better,” this time, he noticed, your smile was a sincere one. “What are you doing here? This place doesn’t exactly scream ‘this is a hangout place for Frankie Morales’.” 
He chuckled and scratched the back of his head. For a second, he’d forgotten there was someone else with you. His heart sank when he heard the deep voice cut through the greetings from the past. 
“Aren’t you going to introduce us, buttercup?” 
Both you and Frankie turned to Jack, Frankie’s eyes scanned the other man with a hint of curiosity. He followed the way the other’s arm was tightly wrapped around your waist. Jealousy rolled in his stomach, he was glad that you were happy, of course. Still, he couldn’t deny the loud blood rush in his ears. 
“Frankie this is Ja– Bruce. This is Bruce,” you said, Frankie raised an eyebrow at the mixup. He wasn’t stupid. “He’s my–” 
Bruce (Frankie didn’t believe that was the man’s name but he’d play along for now) cut in, his voice dripping with amusement. 
“Boyfriend,” he leaned forward with an extended hand. With a kind, yet emotionless smile, Frankie squeezed the aforementioned limb. “Nice to meet you, Frankie.” 
“Nice to meet you too.” 
It wasn’t. 
The air was thick with tension. You moved uncomfortably in your seat, as Frankie held “Bruce”’s gaze. He’s not sure what it was but the other man managed to rail him up by simply just sitting. It was an odd feeling, usually, Frankie was known to be level-headed in these kinds of situations. After everything he’s seen, he just assumed stuff like this wouldn’t bother him anymore. He pinched his brows together. It was uncomfortable to think that he was just faking not being bothered. Acting above it all.  
His jaw tensed, his skin incredibly warm. Suddenly the music and the loud chatter faded into the background, all he could focus on was the other man—even you had become a blurred image to a degree. The man smiled, his hand on your waist gradually sliding up your body while answering Frankie’s gaze. The latter swallowed. 
You gasped when the same hand cupped your breast and began to knead it. 
“What are you doing?” 
Frankie’s mouth went dry. 
“Don’t fret, I’m just giving our friend a little show,” 
Frankie vaguely noticed you staring at him, he was frozen still. His gaze was glued to the hand lazily squeezing your breast. Bruce nuzzled the dip of your jawline, lips gently grazing the line of your neck, and he breathed you in. Frankie licked his lips, his fingers twitching against the denim of his pants. Something primal stirred in him when your breath hitched. The red light gave the two of them a vibrant, erotic hue. The front of his jeans suddenly felt tight, uncomfortable. 
The cowboy’s other hand traveled down to the wetness that Frankie’s sure had grown substantially between your legs. He noted the way your eyes rolled back, his finger underneath your dress, he imagined the other tracing your clothed folds.
“Do you enjoy being watched, dear?” he purred into your skin, his voice low and mocking. Then he looked up to Frankie who was frozen still. “Look at you, staring at her like a deer in headlights. Don’t you wanna come over here and feel how wet she is?” 
Frankie had to stop himself from leaning forward, he was more than ready to take that extra step. His skin tingled. His eyes flit from the other man to you. He saw the way you stared at him, blinking heavily, a silent plea for him to come closer. He furrowed his brows, if you wanted to he’d happily take a seat next to you. He stepped closer, his heart skipped a beat. Bruce seemed to be delighted. 
“Are you sure?” Frankie asked you. 
You’re about to nod– No, not about to, you’re in the midst of nodding, but the movement was cut short when you saw something Frankie couldn’t. You were staring through him, your eyes went wide. 
“Shit.” 
Frankie watched dumbfounded as you grabbed Bruce by the arm and tugged him along as you scurried up from the booth. He took a step back, trying to make sense of what was happening. Bruce glared at you and yanked his arm away.
“What the hell–” 
“It’s him– Albert Dunn, the waitress tipped him off. Come on Jack we need to go,” 
Frankie raised an eyebrow. “Jack?” 
He fucking knew his name wasn’t Bruce. He didn’t look like a Bruce. 
Jack rushed to the door, leaving you alone. Frankie was worried, but he also felt anger simmering in his gut. So you went back to your ex, the ex that made you feel like shit and pushed you to seek comfort in other substances. Oh yeah, he was definitely angry. 
He took a hold of your wrist and pulled you close so his voice could reach you. 
“That was Jack? I thought–” he sighed and shook his head, it was hard to swallow his frustrations down but somehow he managed to do it. “You’re not in any kind of trouble, right? You’re safe?” 
You nodded as you attempted to peel yourself away from his grasp, but he didn’t let you. He squeezed your wrists hard enough to be understood as a warning.  
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” 
“I can’t, I’m sorry.”
He felt defeated at that moment, his stomach sinking and his pulse slowing. His grip around your wrists loosened, and despite the crowd, it felt like it was only the two of you present. The bass of the music made his heart thud accordingly, his gaze dropped to the floor. 
“I’ll call you,” you said suddenly. 
Before Frankie could answer, you ran and disappeared into the crowd. He just stood there, hands lifeless against his body. Some part of him wanted to chase after you, but another part knew that he shouldn’t. 
He didn’t know when but he jerked when a hand smacked his shoulder. Frankie turned only to see Benny, his smile faded as he saw Frankie’s expression. 
“Are you alright, Fish?” 
He wasn’t.
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Frankie was working on a car for what felt like hours. 
Sweat drips down his forehead and neck, leaving streaks of dirt on his skin. He wipes his oily hands on the rag that hangs from his back pocket, his eyes squinting against the hot sun. The air around him is thick with the smell of gasoline and motor oil, but he barely notices it anymore.
He sighs as he stands up, his knees aching from being hunched over for so long. The car is almost done, but he needs a break. He reaches for his water bottle, taking a long drink before leaning against the hood of the car.
That's when he hears it - the roar of an engine. He turns his head to see a vintage Ford Bronco driving towards him. He raises an eyebrow, surprised. It's not every day that a classic car like that pulls into his garage.
As the car comes to a stop, he walks towards it, wiping his hands on his jeans. He squints into the driver's seat, but he can't make out the driver's face. He shrugs, assuming it's just another customer, and goes back to his work.
But as the driver gets out of the car, Frankie's heart skips a beat—which he doesn’t appreciate. It's Jack. He feels a rush of emotion that he can't quite place. The man hops out of the car and greets him by tipping his hat. Frankie doesn’t return Jack’s enthusiasm. He just stares at him, confused. 
“Need your car fixed?” he asks, hoping this is just a coincidence. 
“Not quite,” Jack drawls. “I actually wanted to apologize for my behavior a week back—in the bar.” he adds when Frankie gave him a quizzical look. “I would like to buy you a drink.” 
Frankie waves him off in dismissal, “No need. It’s nice for you to apologize but we don’t need to be friends. It’s weird.” 
“I suppose it is,” he grins. “Just one drink.” 
“Why?” 
“I just want to talk,” he answers, teeth poking above his lip. “I don’t bite, promise.” 
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Frankie seems to have a lot of regrets nowadays. This is just one of many.
They walk into a dimly lit bar, the cool air conditioning a welcome relief from the hot day. Jack leads the way to a booth in the corner, and they both slide in, facing each other. Every muscle Frankie feels uncomfortably tight over his bones. 
He really shouldn’t be here.
Jack orders them both a whiskey on the rocks, and he unpromptedly clinks his glass against Frankie’s. The first sip burns down Frankie's throat, but he relishes the sensation. 
“So… you’re a mechanic?” Jack asks. 
“She didn’t tell you much about me did she?” Frankie smiles, the corners of his lips twitch. “No, I guess she wouldn’t. Why would she tell her boyfriend about her ex.” 
“We aren’t actually—” Jack swallows. “We aren’t actually a couple. We ain’t even friends to be truthful, just acquaintances.” 
“From work?” Frankie asks despite knowing the answer, the other nods. 
Frankie takes another sip of his whiskey and studies Jack’s face. There’s something different about him now. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself or the set of his jaw, but Frankie can’t quite put his finger on it. Frankie leans back against the booth, his eyes fixed on Jack’s face. He can feel his body tensing up again, despite the coolness of the air conditioning. He takes another sip of his whiskey, hoping it will calm his nerves.
“Listen, Jack,” Frankie says, his voice low. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I don’t want anythin’,” Jack says, his eyes meeting Frankie’s. 
“Then why are we here?” 
“I was just curious about what kind of man you are,” he swipes over his bottom lip. “She might’ve not spoken about you much but when she did, she did speak highly of you.” 
Jack leans in closer, his arm brushing against Frankie's. 
“It seems like you’re a much better man than I could ever be.” 
“I wouldn’t really go that far. I don’t know you and I don’t know what she said but nothing is ever that simple.” 
Frankie observes as Jack’s eyebrows slowly raise, eyes only slightly wider. The other seems taken aback by the words and Frankie’s not really sure why. Maybe Jack still wasn’t aware that good and bad didn’t exist, that they were just terms. No one is really truly bad or truly good, you understand that after being at war, after shooting others that had families and loved one’s before they shot you. 
He shakes his head, trying to rid his thoughts of unpleasant memories. Those thoughts were only reserved for the late hours till morning—
Frankie feels the heat rising in his cheeks as Jack's hand brushes against his knee. He tries to ignore it, but he can't help but feel a stirring in his chest.
They start to get closer, their arms touching as they lean in to talk. Frankie can feel the heat of Jack's body next to his. Jack’s gaze lingers on him. He takes a sip of his drink, trying to steady his nerves. Frankie’s leg bobs up and down, he should leave. 
“I should go,” Frankie chokes out, he shifts in his seat, getting ready to get up.
“Stay.” 
Frankie can feel Jack’s breath on his cheek and his heart starts to race. It’s just a voice. Jack’s not even touching him, he not holding his wrists, doesn’t have a gun to his head but despite it, Frankie stills. 
“I appreciate the drink,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “But I’m fine.”
“Are you sure about that?” Jack asks.
“I’m sure,” he says, his eyes locked with Jack’s.
Jack leans in even closer, his lips just inches away from Frankie’s ear. “Alright then,” he whispers, his breath sending shivers down Frankie’s spine. “See you later, Francisco.” 
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Frankie can’t throw himself out of the bar fast enough. 
The world around him spins, the cars louder, brighter the before. He heaves a breath. What the hell was that? He thinks over and over. The warmth of Jack’s breath still lingers and Frankie crosses the street, adamant about putting as much distance as he can. 
When he’s on the other side, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t recognize the caller ID but takes any kind of distraction with open arms and answers. 
“Hello?” 
“Frankie it’s me,” you say and an odd sense of relief washes over him. “Can we meet up?” 
He stops, takes deep breaths of the city air. His throat is dry and he lifts his head to the sky. 
“Sure,” he answers. “How does tomorrow sound?” 
160 notes · View notes
starlightmornings · 11 months
Text
magic markie returns: one night only (Marcus Pike/f!named reader)
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Rating: E (Explicit) - 18+ only, minors DNI
Length: 7.3k
Summary: It’s been a couple of years since the events of Magic Markie, but you (Tina) and Marcus are still going strong. So is your best friend Anya and her absolute beast of a boyfriend, Din. When Frankie decides to plan a grand re-opening of the club, he’s going to hire a few new dancers to fill out the group - along with a few familiar faces - and it’s clear that Wild Things has never been hotter.
Warnings: SMUT, PIV sex, oral (f and m receiving), strip club, exotic dancers, m/m romance between minor characters, yes the gay cowboys have arrived, orgy (later, involving reader and three other characters), bisexual reader, nobody puts baby in a corner etc, girls (and gays) just want to have fun
A/N: Once upon a time this lil story was a birthday saga for @ezrasbirdie and it’s STILL for her but also it’s for everyone. Much love to @lowlights for her encouragement and all those who have enjoyed, read, commented and otherwise interacted with this wacky, cracky tale of an FBI agent going undercover as a stripper and the MANY other characters he meets along the way.
masterlist || marcus pike masterlist || magic markie masterlist
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“You want me to what?”
Frankie smiled across the desk in his office, arms resting on the table. He’d made it his mission to get Wild Things back in the black, and with the help of one very sexy accountant, he felt better than ever about the business (and life in general). 
Marcus had no sooner gotten the question out, than he started to sweat. He’d been a hit during his brief undercover stint at The Stables, the former club where he’d been part of an FBI operation due in no small part to his particular assets (‘hung like a horse’ had been one supervisor’s glib assessment), but he was firmly retired from the world of exotic dance now. He and Tina were getting serious, and he was perfectly happy going home to her each night, their bedroom escapades providing him with more than enough spice to keep things interesting. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten to find her.
He’d always be grateful to the club for that, but coming back?
“It’s one night only,” Frankie said, gesturing as he spoke. “A special revue. We’ve got some new guys on staff, of course, but you were a knockout act, Marcus. Shows like this are always about the surprises and the special guests. We’d make it well worth your time, of course,” Frankie added quickly.
Marcus shook his head.
“I’d do it for the guys,” he said. “Maybe a few tips here and there. But I’m not sure I ought to do it at all, if Tina has any, uh, reservations.”
Frankie nodded, rubbing his fingers over his jaw.
“I get that. Talk it over with your lady, all right? We’d love to have you, though.”
Marcus smiled.
“I’ll be in touch.”
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You arrived home from work, pizza box and salad stacked in one hand, and toed your shoes off at the door.
“Markie? Sweetie, I’m home,” you called out, and you heard the muffled sound of the TV in the other room go silent.
“Don’t switch it off on my account! We can watch,” you said, setting down your work bag and sliding the box onto the kitchen counter.
Marcus padded into the kitchen in his socks, jeans, and a soft cotton t-shirt. You suddenly felt the very familiar urge to tackle him and not let up until long after the pizza cooled.
“Can we talk, Teeny?” He asked. 
Your face must have frozen in shock, because Marcus immediately held his hands up in apology.
“Nothing bad, I promise, baby,” he said, and you swallowed hard, pressing a hand to your chest. 
“Way to give a girl a heart attack,” you said with a half-chuckle. “The panic that just flooded my system, oh my god,” you added, biting your lips.
“Come here,” Marcus murmured, pulling you into his arms and letting you settle. “I wanted to ask you about something. Something to do with the club,” he said. 
“Frankie’s place now, right?” You asked, swiping a slice of pepperoni off the pizza and popping it in your mouth. Marcus got down a pair of plates.
“Yep. He’s got things all set for a grand re-opening,” Marcus said, lifting a couple of slices out of the box for each of you.
“He invite you to come back and dance again?” You asked with a playful grin.
Marcus faltered.
“Oh my god. He did?” Your mouth gaped for a moment before it slid into a grin. “He did! And you - you’re considering it, baby?”
Marcus shrugged, his cheeks flushed. 
“Well, yeah, maybe. Just a one-night special, nothing long-term. But I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it, and as much as I like those guys, I wouldn’t dream of doing that again unless you were good with it,” he said.
“Baby,” you said, taking both of his hands, “you know I have only the fondest memories of that time, right?”
Marcus nodded, eyes meeting yours.
“And you know I support you one-hundred percent, just like you support me?”
He nodded again.
“Yeah.”
“Then if you want to do it, do it. I’ll be in the front goddamn row,” you said, grinning. “I know you can put on one hell of a show.” You paused, a playful gleam in your eye. “How about a little practice run?” You asked, and Marcus met your mischief with a sparkle of his own.
“Sounds like fun,” he chuckled, reaching back behind his neck to gather up the fabric of his t-shirt, whipping it off over his head and tossing it aside.
“Look at you go,” you giggled, following him to the bedroom. “Haven’t lost a step.”
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Frankie sat stone-faced as he reviewed the CV in front of him. The prospective hires came as a pair; Jake and Silva, both rapidly closing in on 50 years old. Frankie was no spring chicken himself, but the idea of hiring dancers that age gave him pause. The men came with a recommendation, however, from a former Stables alum.
“I’ve never seen anything like them,” Dio had said on a call from his island getaway with Maxwell. “Maxie and I watched them perform at a traveling show and it was - well - let’s just say no one will be able to look away. Had to race back to our hotel afterwards,” he said, a yelp of mirth letting Frankie know Dio must have been within tickling distance of Max.
“All right, Dio. I’ll give them a fair shake.”
Frankie did just that, introducing himself to the pair of men. They seemed like old-school cowboys, from the clothes they wore to their reserved, wary expressions.
“Gentlemen,” Frankie said after pleasantries were exchanged, waving at the stage. “The platform is yours.”
Jake pressed a button on a boom box and a slow, languid melody began playing as he walked up behind Silva, leaning into his neck.
Frankie’s cheeks burned as he watched the men embrace, hands sinking into each other’s salt and pepper hair. It felt intimate, and raw, and Frankie wasn’t sure what to expect when Silva threw his leg over the saddle on stage. He was enraptured when Jake settled onto the same seat right behind him, hands firmly gripping the other man’s slim hips and grinding as the “horse” rocked, then sinking his hands into the fabric of Silva’s tear-away shirt and pulling. The shirt gave way, a strong yet soft chest revealed, before Silva all but dove off the saddle, pointing a pair of finger guns (Frankie wasn’t about to have any real weapons in an act) at Jake.
Jake collapsed to the ground, Silva surging forward to catch him in a loving embrace.
The men rolled together, climbing over each other, fighting for dominance, until the music stopped, their mouths a hair’s breadth apart, eyes on fire.
Frankie clapped as the men rose to their feet.
“That was quite impressive,” he said, watching the small looks of pride they exchanged. Silva spoke, his English heavily accented.
“It is the story of us,” he said simply, holding Jake’s hand. “Of our love overcoming all.”
Jake gazed lovingly at Silva before adding, “We know it might not be the club’s usual style, but it’s our way of life.”
Frankie held up a hand.
“It’s exactly the kind of unique showcase I’m looking for. We’d love to have you perform for the revue.”
Terms were set, and Frankie watched the men leave the club hand in hand, their clear affection warming him from the inside out.
Whiskey showed up about twenty minutes later, just before Frankie’s second audition-slash-appointment was set to arrive.
“Who’s next on the roster?” He asked, organizing the bar while peering curiously at Frankie’s clipboard.
“Former detective,” Frankie replied. “Says he knows how to work the uniform, which we know will be a hit with some of the guests,” he added with a grin. “Tim Rockford.”
Tim arrived at the exact time of his appointment, dressed for all intents and purposes as though he’d just chased down a suspect; his pants were clean but slightly rumpled, as was his shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A shoulder holster fit tightly across his broad body, and Whiskey cocked an amused eyebrow at the man as he swaggered inside.
“Afternoon, Mr. Morales,” he said, giving him a firm handshake.
“Nice to meet you,” Frankie replied, waving Tim farther inside. “Let’s get right to it, we can talk after. Need any props up there?” 
Tim looked around, rubbing his jaw.
“I’m definitely going to need a chair. One with no arm rests.”
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You couldn’t have been more excited about Marcus’s return to the stage — and of course you had to call the woman responsible for bringing the two of you together to invite her to the big show.
“Bonbon! My love, I have some delightful news!”
“Oooh, what is it, Teeny? Wedding bells? Baby on the way? Markie said yes to the orgy idea?”
You snorted at her hierarchy of replies.
“No, no, and I’m still working on my proposal, love. But you’ll be thrilled to hear that Markie is going to dance again at Wild Things — one night only! Can you and Din make it?”
“We wouldn’t miss it! Baby cakes, Markie’s gonna dance again, clear your schedule,” Anya hollered over her shoulder. A distant rumbling laugh and a whoop of joy made you grin.
“Say, is Din going to be dancing too?”
Anya hummed into the phone.
“Mm-mm. I told him I didn’t mind, but he’s been extra possessive and protective lately. Said he’s happy to support the guys, but his stage grinding days are behind him.”
You pursed your lips.
“Well, he was quite the showman,” you replied. “Tell him hi for me!”
“He’s waving right now. And, uh, making some obscene gestures — baby, I already asked about the foursome, we gotta give them time to think about it,” Anya added, her aside to Din muffled slightly.
You laughed, shaking your head.
“I gotta admit, that would be quite the fun experience,” you said, biting your lip. 
“I know it won’t be the first time we’ve shared our boyfriends and had a little fun together… but oh my God, Teeny. With these men it would be next-level. Ascend to a higher plane.”
“I’m 100 percent down, love. Just need to see how Marcus feels. He’s never been quite as adventurous,” you said, cheeks heating at the thought of how flustered poor Marcus would get at the mere suggestion.
“No rush, Teeny. I’ll placate this beast of a man somehow,” Anya said, squeaking suddenly at whatever Din was currently doing to - or near her.
“I’ll see you next Saturday,” you said. “Be good!”
“Absolutely not,” Anya replied with a playful chuckle before ending the call. 
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The coat was your idea.
You’d discovered it in a thrift shop and immediately had visions of Marcus wearing it - and then not wearing it - on stage.
“Seriously? It’s not… too much?” He asked, hand brushing over the soft synthetic fur as he glanced up at you a bit nervously.
“On you? It’s gonna bring the house down, baby,” you replied, lifting it out of the box and helping Marcus slide into it, the coat contrasting with his simple tank and jeans.
He flashed you suddenly - or at least mimed doing so - making you squeal with delight.
“See?” You said, stepping in close to nuzzle his neck. “It’s perfect. So sexy. Now imagine you’re wearing some silky shorts under it instead, and I’m getting on my knees for you,” you added, hands wrapping around his hips beneath the coat.
“I like the sound of that,” Marcus purred, tipping his face to slot his mouth over yours and pulling your body in close. 
“You’ll be a rock star in this,” you said between kisses, collapsing with him to the sofa. “I was thinking maybe later, after the show, we could do something a little wild,” you added, your thumb gently rubbing his nipple through his tank top.
Marcus looked as though his eyes might roll back in pleasure.
“I’m down for anything you want, baby,” he murmured.
“Really?” The spark of excitement in your eyes had him squinting back at you.
“Well, yeah. What- uh, what did you have in mind?” Marcus asked, tipping your chin up gently to look at him.
You bit your lip, eyes searching his for a moment before speaking.
“Thought maybe we could have some fun with Anya and Din,” you said, heart pounding. “They, um. Suggested it,” you added, face flaring with heat. 
“Oh. Oh,” Marcus said with sudden understanding. “You mean all four of us… together.”
“Yeah,” you replied, kissing his chest just above the neckline of his tank. “There’s no pressure at all, baby. But they’re both curious about the idea, and - well, so am I. I’ve shared with Anya before, but…”
“But what?”
“But something tells me this would be a whole different kind of thing.”
Marcus was flushed from the tips of his ears down to his neck, as though he’d just swallowed a bottle of hot sauce.
“Well,” he said after a long pause, “I can quite easily say the idea of you and Anya is a yes - but Din is just so… enormous,” he added with a gulp. “I’m a fairly strong guy, so when I say he could break me, you know I’m not kidding. I’m… a little nervous there.”
“He’s a gentle giant, though, you know this,” you said, one hand slipping up to stroke Marcus’ hair. “And, let’s not forget how much you liked it when I got that riding crop,” you added, grinning. “Maybe just a little roughness could be fun?”
Marcus kissed you, nibbling on your lower lip.
“Maybe so. Let’s have them over for dinner and talk about it. Decide what we all feel comfortable doing. What do you think?”
You planted a firm, solid kiss on Marcus’ lips.
“That sounds absolutely perfect,” you said, nuzzling his cheek. “Now, let’s get your pants off.”
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It was the last day of Frankie’s auditions, and only one new candidate remained: a contractor named Joel Miller. On paper, he seemed like an all-American roughneck - used to working in the sun, with his hands, until his back ached and his skin turned a deep shade of bronze.
Joel was unassuming as he made his way into the club, sizing up the place in a few long, considering looks. Frankie quickly sensed that this man was a kindred spirit; someone who was used to using his body to earn a living.
This was just a new dimension of that concept.
“Mr. Miller, welcome,” Frankie said, offering his hand. Joel shook it firmly, still studying the stage and the bar with cautious curiosity.
“Thanks,” Joel replied, clearing his throat. “So, I gotta admit, I’m new to this, but I’m a quick study,” he added. 
Frankie nodded. 
“You have any special things to include in your act?” 
Joel bit back a sly smile.
“Well, at the moment, making use of my builder’s tools,” he said. “And I practiced with my girlfriend, uh, acting out a home repair that turns a little X-rated,” he added. “Naturally I’d stop before it got quite to that point,” Joel finished, clearing his throat.
“Your girl is cool with this? Not likely to get jealous?”
Joel chuckled. 
“She encouraged it, actually. She was a dancer a few years ago, before y’all merged into this new club. Gave it up, but she has fond memories of the place - before all that chaos a couple years ago.”
“Not Tess?”
“Yeah!” Joel replied, cheeks heating. “You, uh, know her?”
Frankie smiled warmly. 
“She was a star in her own right,” he said, grinning. “If she thinks you’ve got a knack for this, I ought to hire you on the spot.”
Joel smiled hopefully before clearing his throat.
“I just have one request, if you like me - could I stay out of the promotional materials? I have a teenage daughter, and while I’m not ashamed of doing this to help send her to college, I’d hate for her friends to get hold of a flyer and embarrass her,” he said.
“We can make that deal,” Frankie replied. “Let’s see what you got, Joel.”
Joel nodded, sliding an honest-to-god cassette tape into his boom box - a prop that Frankie made a note to ask him to bring back for retro night - and climbed up onto the stage, fastening a tool belt over his jeans.
As the beat of the music picked up, Joel began to move, taking out a wrench and miming that he was loosening the pole in the floor before sliding his hands down it, then falling to his knees. He spread his legs apart, leaning into the spotlight and rearing back with a hammer, holding himself up with one hand before sliding around onto his back. Joel gestured to an imaginary woman, taking her hand and lifting her on stage to sit on a chair, which he promptly straddled, flicking open the button on his pants as he did so. 
He leaned back and forth, gyrating before tugging his shirt up and over his head in one smooth, fluid motion.
Damn, this man can move, Frankie thought, studying him closely.
“Reminds me of you,” Whiskey whispered, sidling up beside Frankie. “Back in the day.”
“Easy, old timer,” Frankie retorted, grinning.
Joel made his way partially behind the curtain, reaching up for a support bar before doing a few pull-ups, then diving back out to finish the act, crouched like a tiger ready to strike.
Joel nodded, then rose to his feet.
“Figured I’d, uh, keep the jeans on for the audition,” he said. “But I can strip down to the tool belt alone,” he added.
Frankie and Whiskey exchanged a look.
“You’re hired.”
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Marcus quietly stirred the tomato sauce he was making as you slipped your arms around his waist.
“Penny for your thoughts, Agent Pike?”
He smiled, turning to press a soft kiss to your lips.
“Just pondering the, uh, wild night we’ll be planning,” he said, biting his lip.
“Everyone has to be fully on board, or we don’t do it,” you replied, snapping some long strands of angel hair pasta in half and sliding them into the pot of boiling water on the other burner. You stirred the pasta, letting it soften.
“I want this,” Marcus said, his free hand rubbing your lower back. “I know it’ll be memorable - and I want to see you at your absolute wildest,” he added, mouth sliding into a devilish grin.
“Oh, count on that, baby,” you said with a wink as the doorbell rang. “Keep stirring, I’ll welcome our guests,” you added, setting the spoon aside and padding over to the door.
“Teeny! God, it’s so good to see you,” Anya beamed, throwing her arms around you and giving you a tight, warm squeeze.
“Hi, Bonbon! Hi, Din,” you replied, grinning as he leaned down and kissed your cheek, then held out a dish - dwarfed in his big hands.
“We brought those parmesan veggies you liked from the Italian place, from your last birthday,” he said with a grin so earnest you could almost forget the debauchery you had gathered to discuss.
“Ooh, thank you!” You took the dish - which was heavier than it looked, carrying it into the dining room just as Marcus emerged, cheeks pink.
“Hi,” he said brightly, smiling.
“Hi, Markie,” Anya replied with a wink. Din said nothing, but slowly made his way over to Marcus - and to his astonishment - kissed him full on the lips, the contact firm and deliberate. Marcus looked like he might swoon when Din pulled away.
“There,” Din said with a grin. “First step out of the way.”
Marcus licked his lips, his expression dazed but pleased.
Anya pressed a palm to her forehead.
“What?” Din asked. “Just getting the lay of the land.”
“You’re such a dork,” Anya giggled, giving Din’s butt a playful slap.
About ten minutes later, the four of you sat around the table, digging into dinner and laughing between bites, your plans temporarily forgotten as you caught each other up on the latest comings and goings in your lives. Din had found a position at an elite security organization, and was making a tidy sum with his clothes on these days (except while he was home with Anya). Anya was busy charming people in her new public relations job (yes, just call me Olivia Pope, she’d said playfully), and you could feel the love between them had only grown more solid.
After all, it had been nearly two years since you’d all met amid Marcus’s very unusual FBI mission - and the unexpected romance that grew out of his brief stint as an exotic dancer. That hadn’t faded in the slightest, though; both you and Marcus were happiest when you were together.
Plates cleared away and bellies satisfied, you poured a second glass of wine for everyone and settled onto Marcus’s lap.
“So,” Anya began, raising an eyebrow. “I know what Teeny and Din like, but let’s talk about you, Marcus,” she said. “We want to make sure everything is just right for our night together next week. Any ‘hard-no’ things?”
Marcus gulped, blushing.
“Well, uh,” he stammered. “I mean, I haven’t had a whole lot of - or any - times with multiple partners at- at once,” he said. “So can you be more specific?”
You held his hand, leaning against him.
“Maybe we start with what we do like,” you said encouragingly. “Kissing, touching, licking - all good things, but are any places off limits?”
“I mean, I don’t know if anyone wants to put their tongue in my ass,” Marcus said, half-joking.
Anya and Din both put their hands up simultaneously, then burst into giggles.
“Are you guys fucking with me?” Marcus asked, shaking his head but smiling despite himself.
“Not yet,” Anya said, grinning. “We’re totally serious, though.”
Din nodded. 
“I’ll eat you out,” he rumbled, the pledge sending shivers through Marcus, going straight to his cock.
Anya produced a small whiteboard from a tote bag, uncapping a marker clipped to the top.
“Excellent,” she said, the marker squeaking slightly as she scribbled onto the surface. “Din eats Marcus’s ass. Who’s next?”
You burst into a peal of laughter.
“Bonbon, you brought a whiteboard?”
Anya sipped her wine demurely.
“I like to be prepared,” she replied, winking at Marcus again. “Speaking of which, we’ll have plenty of protection, just to be on the safe side. We’ve got negative STI panels as of a few months ago, though, and no other partners.”
“Same here,” you chimed in, glad you’d encouraged Marcus to get his tests done at his last checkup.
“So,” Marcus said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “how exactly do we - all - uh, at the same time?”
You slung your arm around Marcus’s shoulders.
“It doesn’t have to be all at the same time,” you said. “Some of us can watch, sometimes. And we all have two holes, at least,” you added with a nip to Marcus’s ear.
“Some of us have three,” Anya quipped, and Din hauled her into his lap, the pair of them sighing contentedly at the contact.
“It would be fun, I think,” Marcus began tentatively, “for all of us to taste each other.” His eyes darkened as he looked at the others in turn and then back to you. “Think I’d like that a lot.”
“And we can get a little rough, but not too rough,” you said, smiling. “Nothing truly painful.”
“Agreed,” Din said. “I promise not to crush anyone.”
Marcus let out a desperate sounding laugh before clearing his throat.
“That’s very good news,” he said, enjoying the way you nuzzled at his neck.
“Don’t wanna get too carried away tonight,” you whispered. “Or we might all just end up fucking right here.”
Din slid an enormous hand into Anya’s shirt, cupping a breast and making her whimper. Marcus watched with rapt attention as she slid the straps of the tank top off her shoulders, breasts spilling free for just a moment before Din held both of them in his palms.
“Holy fuck,” Marcus breathed, his already-hard cock now nearly stabbing you in the thigh.
“Our friends are fucking sexy, Marcus,” you purred, sucking on one of his fingers playfully. “I think we’re all gonna do just fine.”
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The big night had arrived.
Marcus stood backstage, a mess of nerves as he paced and wiggled, the dancers stretching and oiling themselves up for the revue. Tim had his button-down shirt partially unbuttoned, holsters still snug across his shoulders. Joel’s eyes darted around anxiously as he sized up the crowd he’d seen gathered in the building. Jake and Silva seemed to be in a world of their own, though, whispering tender words to each other, too low to be heard by anyone else. Marcus settled himself among them, the fur coat already making him a little hotter than he’d planned to start the evening.
Frankie patted Marcus on the shoulder, grinning.
“You ready for the show?” He asked, and Marcus nodded, rolling his head from side to side.
“Good man,” Frankie replied, walking to the center of the group.
“It’s time for our grand re-opening, fellas. Some new faces here tonight, and some fan favorites - but I can tell you right now, all of you are making fantasies come true.” Frankie looked at each of the men in turn. “Those guests out there - they come to set their worries and stresses aside and be entertained and excited. So let’s give them a night to remember, boys.”
“Hell yeah,” Whiskey said, clapping and grinning.
“I know you weren’t about to put on a show without me,” a voice hissed before giggling.
“Dio!” 
Marcus hugged the younger man, fresh off the plane from New York and an off-Broadway production. He had just a hint of glitter in his hair, and Marcus reached to ruffle it.
He was unceremoniously blocked.
“Do not touch,” Dio scolded, his reflexes shockingly fast.
“Room for one more?” 
Marcus laughed as Din appeared behind the curtain, dwarfing the rest of them.
“Thought your strippin’ days were over, big guy,” Marcus said, folding his arms.
“They are - I just wanted to say, break a leg, boys,” Din replied. “Couldn’t be prouder of this crew.”
Marcus smiled, cheeks heating slightly at the thought of the night’s activities ahead.
First things first, though.
“Showtime.”
“It’s gotta be starting any minute, right?” 
Anya wiggled in her seat next to Din, giving your arm a squeeze. 
“I’m sure it will,” you replied, grinning.
As if on cue, the lights dimmed, and a single spotlight illuminated the stage. Marcus stepped out into it - fur coat covering him from shoulders to knees, boots on his feet.
“Oh my god,” you said to no one in particular as he began to slide into a crouch, his bare legs slowly becoming visible. The audience positively squealed as they could see more and more of his legs come into view, excitement rising as a glimpse of his ass cheek came into view before disappearing again.
“Little tease,” you giggled. Marcus was wearing a thong.
He stood, then strutted forward, throwing the coat open to give the crowd a look at his oiled-up chest, and the ensuing shriek from the audience made you bite your lip in anticipation. 
Anya bounced excitedly in her chair, clinging to you and Din on either side.
Din’s low rumble of a chuckle made you smile, too.
Marcus kept the act going, jumping down from the platform to invite a slightly-alarmed looking bachelorette onto the stage with him. Two of her friends hooted and hollered before showering Marcus with bills, then passing the woman several more to tuck into the waistband of his thong.
For his part, Marcus gyrated and smiled, charm oozing off of him as he shimmied over the young woman, her “Bride” sash slightly askew. She giggled, stuffing a few bills next to Marcus’ hip, which he acknowledged with a reverent kiss to her hand before helping her off the stage, to a round of applause from the crowd.
Tim Rockford was the next man to take the stage, a punched-up version of the Law and Order theme playing in the background and sending Anya into a fit of laughter.
“He is not. He is truly not stripping to this song,” she wheezed.
Luckily, her chuckles were drowned out by the whoops and yells of what was clearly a crowd that loved cop dramas.
Tim acted out a pat-down on himself, giving his equipment a firm tug and making more than a few ladies in the crowd scream with glee. After cuffing himself to the pole, he slid to his knees, straining against the bonds and leaning into the crowd (where  he, too, was showered with money). 
A hush fell over the crowd as Jake and Silva began their act; you could nearly hear a pin drop as they rocked together on the saddle, their bodies poetry in motion, and went through the drama of their fight, their reunion, and the heat of their final kiss.
The building shook with thunderous applause as the two men bowed gracefully before departing the stage, shirts tucked into their back pockets, fingers laced together like two lovers without a care in the world.
Din swiped a tear from his cheek.
“That was fucking beautiful,” he whispered, and Anya rested her cheek on him lovingly.
Strobe lights filled the room, shocking everyone out of their reverie.
“Surprise, bitch,” said a slim, dark haired man, turning with attitude in a pair of high heels as the spotlight landed on him. “Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.”
The audience roared with excitement as Dio took the stage, all but leaping onto the pole and spinning his body weight around it with equal parts impressive strength and delicate grace. He wore black briefs, a feather boa, and a positively dazzling smile.
Dio’s performance amped everyone up, and by the time he took his final bow, the building once again vibrated with cheers.
“Who’s following that?” Anya murmured in your ear. You shrugged.
You didn’t have to wonder for long.
A man strutted out in a cowboy hat, head dipped, jeans slung dangerously low on his hips, with a work tool belt fastened around his waist.
He looked like Whiskey, except… he wasn’t.
Dark-haired, just a little scruffy, and ever so slightly thicker than your Marcus - he started to move his hips, and your eyes widened.
Was it Frankie? No - Frankie was near the side door, watching his new crew with pride.
“That’s Joel,” Din said, leaning behind Anya. “He’s damn good, isn’t he? Gonna carry the torch from Frankie’s days as our star,” he added.
You were having trouble keeping your mouth closed. Joel was rocking and moving to the music, a slow, sexy country song that had heat prickling along the back of your neck.
“He is amazing,” you said with a grin.
“I’m gonna try not to be jealous,” Marcus whispered from behind you, making you squeal in surprise before hugging him.
“Baby, you’re all oily still,” you said, brushing off your fingertips.
“Gonna have to hang on tight to me, then,” he replied. “But keep your eyes on the stage. You’re not gonna wanna miss Joel’s finale.”
You cocked an eyebrow but turned in time to see Joel adjust the tool belt before briefly vanishing behind the curtain and then reappearing - without his jeans.
The audience hollered as he strutted back out, the tool belt pockets strategically covering his dick, his bare ass flexing under the lights as he moved.
There was a chorus of shouts and feet stamping as the crowd took in the sight of him, continuing his dance, each thrust seemingly threatening to leave him fully exposed.
“Oh my fucking god,” Anya yelled over the crowd, shaking Din slightly as everyone buzzed with excitement.
Joel finished the act on his knees, taking his hat off his head and placing it in front of him before letting the tool belt fall to the floor. He stood, preserving modesty for a moment before spinning and giving everyone a good look at his ass as he strode back to the curtain, hat replaced on his head, every muscle flexing and shining under the lights before the stage went dark.
If there had been thunderous applause before, now it seemed as though the roof might blow off the building.
Marcus gave you a slow, tender kiss before slipping away to take his final bows along with the rest of the dancers, each of them taking the stage in turn as the crowd clapped and cheered.
You shouted extra loud for Marcus, and if you were a little biased, so be it.
Marcus gazed at you with heat in his eyes, his mind wandering to the excitement that still lay ahead.
He dismounted, making his way back to your side and leaning close to your ear.
“Let’s get out of here, baby. We’ve got a busy night.”
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The car ride home was content and quiet, but buzzing with an undercurrent of need. Marcus kept touching your thigh, giving you longing glances, and you felt your core throbbing by the time you arrived. 
Anya and Din were already there, Din’s enormous Range Rover parked in the driveway, and he had Anya in his arms, making out with her just shy of intensely enough to get the cops called on them.
“C’mon,” you giggled breathlessly, fumbling for your keys and opening the door. The four of you made your way inside, kicking off shoes and jackets. 
Marcus kept stripping.
“Still oily,” he chuckled, his bashfulness gone as he peeled off his thong and padded to the bathroom.
“Coming with you,” you said, sliding out of your dress and winking at the others. “You two gonna join?”
You’d have to take turns - the shower wasn’t that big - but you and Marcus quickly steamed up the room, hot spray soaking your bodies. Anya and Din watched through the clear glass doors as you and Marcus kissed, then scrubbed each other clean with sweet, lightly scented body wash.
Rinsing clean, Marcus turned you to face the glass, pressing a finger inside your cunt and kissing your throat.
Din and Anya stared back, eyes dark, and quickly peeled off their own clothes as Marcus shut off the water.
“I’ll get you two some towels,” you said breathlessly, as you saw the pair of them step naked into the shower, Anya shaking her hair out of her ponytail.
“Hurry back, love,” she replied with a wink, and you and Marcus slipped out briefly, returning wrapped in cozy robes and with your arms piled with towels (including one larger bath sheet for Din).
When you got back into the bathroom, you and Marcus nearly whimpered at the sight. 
Din had Anya pinned against the shower wall, spearing her on his cock, hips thrusting.
“Watching you two made me so wet,” Anya babbled. “I couldn’t wait, I told Din to fuck me now.”
“That’s my queen,” Din purred, and you and Marcus exchanged a heated look before going back to watching the pair hungrily.
Anya cried out as Din pounded into her cunt, clinging to his shoulders, the whole shower shaking slightly. He pumped inside her over and over as she held on, mouth open and eyes shut tightly.
One final cry of pleasure told you Anya had peaked, and Din gently let her down to her feet. She kissed him, nuzzled his chest, and then tenderly washed his body, soaping and rinsing his cock before kneeling to take the still-hard length of him as far into her mouth as she could.
Din held her wet hair as she bobbed on him, licking and sucking, slurping loudly.
You slid your hand into Marcus’ robe, giving his cock a squeeze as you watched. You rubbed and teased him, feeling him get fully hard before lifting your hand away and nudging the robe open.
Anya got to her feet with Din’s help, and they shut off the water, stepping out and wrapping up, the four of you crowding the bathroom slightly.
Marcus was grateful he’d chosen a steel frame for the king bed he’d purchased for you as a gift when your last bed needed replacing; it protested only a little as the four of you piled onto the mattress, towels and robes abandoned.
“Everyone comfy?” You asked, sighing in contentment as you wiggled on the soft sheets, Marcus cupping and caressing the curve of your hip.
Anya nodded and stretched, the soft swell of her breasts melting against her chest as she arched back against the wall of Din’s firm body.
“C’mere,” she said, pulling you close and kissing your lips with her soft, plush mouth, both of you rocking your hips against the men at your backs. You sucked on her tongue as she slipped it between your lips, making her give a little yelp of delight.
“So sweet,” you whispered before leaning down and cupping one of her breasts, bringing her nipple to your lips and sucking on it lightly before pulling off with a loud, wet smack.
Marcus groaned with need, his cock hard and leaking as it nudged the swell of your ass.
“She tastes sweet, Marcus. Wanna try?” You asked breathlessly. Marcus nodded, pressing his body up and over yours to seal his mouth over Anya’s nipple, whimpering as you tugged on his hair with one hand.
Din reached over, lifting Marcus’s chin and locking their lips together, making you and Anya giggle. 
“Wanna taste my pussy, too?” Anya asked, and Marcus wiggled his way down the bed to press his face between her legs. Din grinned, crawling to the foot of the bed and slipping off to position himself behind Marcus, who yelped in surprise when Din leaned in and licked his ass, a wide wet stripe of his tongue passing over the tight ring of muscle.
You moaned at the sight, enraptured by the image they made.
“C’mere,” Anya panted, tugging on you. “Sit on my face, and watch them,” she added, hands sinking into the soft flesh of your hips. You crawled up and swung a leg over her head, settling as Anya’s tongue slipped out and licked your soft, wet folds, her tongue rubbing over your clit. You whined, breaths stuttering as Marcus looked up at you from between Anya’s legs. His nose was buried in the soft, damp curls there, and you felt yourself clench at the sight. His eyes rolled back slightly, and you could see Din working his ass over, strong hands pressing the cheeks apart to get in deeper, Marcus’ strong thighs shaking from the act.
“Din,” you beckoned, making a circle with your finger, and he got the message, managing to climb back onto the bed, tilting himself slightly. Marcus and Anya both rolled to their sides, taking the pressure off, and you reached for Din’s hips, your open mouth seeking out his hard cock, the tip glistening in the low light of the bedroom.
Moments later, you had him in your mouth, the circle complete. As you sucked, he licked Marcus, who had his tongue deep inside Anya - who had her mouth sealed to your soaked cunt. Free hands held thighs up for better access, and the room echoed with licks and slurps; filthy, wet sounds filling the air.
“Mm-Marcus,” you murmured hoarsely after pulling your mouth free for a moment. “Come taste Din, too. Taste him with me,” you added, and Anya cried out with need as she watched Marcus do just that, the pair of you bathing her boyfriend’s enormous length with your tongues. Din pressed a big hand to the back of each of your heads as you pleasured him, and Marcus gave another desperate cry as Anya had wiggled around behind him, her wet mouth finding his ass.
“So good,” she murmured before proceeding to feast on his hole, licking and teasing with the tip of her tongue. Din reached down, one firm hand pressing against Marcus’ throat and holding him back for a moment. 
“Teeny needs you to eat her pussy,” he all but growled, and Marcus nodded feverishly, pawing at your legs until he had full access. He licked you, sucking on your clit tenderly, slowly, just the way you liked.
“F-fingers,” you begged, letting Din hold you up and kiss your neck and breasts, feeling positively tiny in his arms.
Marcus rumbled with pleasure, and Anya wiggled up the bed, her hands caressing both you and Marcus as he teased you, lips, tongue and fingers working your cunt. 
“She’s soaked,” Anya breathed. “Can you give us more, baby? Can you squirt for us?”
Din cradled your upper body, one hand stroking himself off as he watched Marcus lash you with his tongue, fingers pumping, until you screamed in pleasure, a splash coming out of you as his fingers pulled out.
“So fucking beautiful,” Marcus breathed, face wet and shiny. “That’s my good girl,” he added, kissing your thighs.
You felt almost weightless as Din and Marcus arranged you and Anya next to each other on the bed, both men still rock hard.
“You boys should finish each other off,” Anya panted, a dreamy smile on her face. “Cum on our titties, so we can watch,” she added, and you whimpered at the thought.
You watched, dazed, as Marcus and Din stood over you, Din reaching down first to give Marcus a tight, firm stroke. He licked his palm, then, and pumped him in earnest, stepping behind the smaller man to hold him tightly as he jerked him off, aiming him right over your breasts - and Anya’s. The stripes of warm, wet release painted over you in moments, Marcus groaning as he finished.
He was surprisingly strong as he maneuvered Din into place, spitting into his hands to ease the friction and tugging on the bigger man’s cock. He used one hand to tease and roll Din’s balls, earning himself a needy groan, before Din stuttered to a halt, his cum pooling over Marcus’s, adding to the sticky mess on your skin.
Din knelt down and began to lick the mess, making you and Anya gasp in pleasure. Marcus joined him for a moment, before the pair of them slipped away, returning with warm, damp towels to clean your skin.
You let yourself be wiped clean, completely relaxed. You weren’t even sure whose hands were on your body, and honestly? You didn’t much care.
You simply enjoyed the warmth as soft curves and hard muscles pressed against you from both sides, and all four of you settled in, completely satisfied.
“Not bad for our first round,” Anya said with a mischievous chuckle.
“Mm,” you replied. “Not bad at all.”
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little-mrs-morales · 1 year
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Was this a date?
junes.pegasus
This is oneshot that warms my heart. Such a sweet little thing to cheer you up when you feel down. Frankie Morales as a sweet best friends brother, who is also caring. “You really gave me no choice, being that sweet, kind, sexy as hell son of a bitch that you are.” and thats what perfectly describe who Frankie is. Such a comforting character.
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A Second Chance at Love
@absurdthirst @wardenparker
I feels like they are going to be here every week. Every single piece written by these two is good read! I love a lot of authors from Tumblr but i need to say that they have such a unique style and are definitely one of the best authors in the fandom. Quality of their work is incredible and im in owe they share it with us for free!!
People lately starts to thirst over Wiskey again and this piece is so sweet and beautiful.
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Casa Werewolf
@princessbatears
This story makes me think more about Javi G, especially about how he fit for a story with single mother. The whole story is very comfotring but brings a new element portrayed by warewolf triplets. Javi G can be a great step-father but how he deals with little warewolfs? he is so lovable and caring, that everybody falls for him. I remember reading it throught and always waiting for notification for new chapter. Its easy reading you can rest with!
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wordsnwhiskey · 2 years
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As It Should Be | Chapter 13: Purgatory
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(moodboard by mi esposa, @danniburgh )
Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales
Summary: The way home isn’t easy and the way back to yourselves is even harder. Sometimes, you just need to lose yourself a bit to find yourself again.
Rating: Explicit
WC: 5.2k
Warnings: Angst, canon typical violence, guns, language, minor medical procedures (getting stitched up), something akin to wound play…(think Billy Russo in the Punisher), pain play, feral sex, unprotected PiV.
A/N: I have to thank @whistlingbirdie for beta-ing for me. I can't thank you enough bby!! Also a huge thank you to @flora-screeches @pascalslittlebrat and @danniburgh who really helped me through this chapter!! I know this took forever, but I wanted to get the vibes right for this scene and boy, did I struggle between work and deaths in my family BUT WE’RE HERE! I hope you enjoy!
Just a quick reminder on vocab: A magazine refers to something ammo is stored in and used to feed into the gun. Also, taxiing a jet, is when you drive it out onto the runway/tarmac.
Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Ch 12: Blood in the Water | AO3 | Taglist Sign Up | AISB Art
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The rain had stopped, but the clouds remained, pinning the horizon down with an overcast gloom. In those moments, time seemed paradoxical; the ground swimming past you while you sat in the standstill of the Black Hawk cockpit. The landscape was beautiful and serene, but you found your gaze drawn to the darkness of the shadow cast by the aircraft. It seemed to have a hold on you, pulling you deeper into your thoughts of the last 24 hours.
Just last night Jack was in your arms, the two of you tense, but confident in the outcome of the mission. Now, Jack was wrapped in a thermal blanket in the back of the bird, and you barely recognized your own reflection. It seemed silly, but you knew it was you staring back; if only because you’d seen the same face looking back at you from a broken, dirty mirror while you were traipsing through whatever war zone your unit had gotten deployed to.
An eternity had passed in the blink of an eye and eventually, it was Frankie’s voice that brought you back from the murky shadows.
“Hey, baby,” he called out to you gently and chanced a glance at you. The steely concentration in his eyes softened slightly out of concern for you as you startled, blinked, and then turned to face him.
“Hey,” his voice was just a little softer this time. “You good, cariño?”
“Y-yeah, babe.” You shook yourself out of your haze and nodded as you gave him a small smile. “I’m good.”
Frankie stared at you for a moment longer than he would normally take his eyes off of the sky in front of him. Something unspoken passed between the two of you, and Frankie nodded his acceptance of your answer. He knew you weren’t ok, but he also knew that neither of you were in a place to talk about it, mentally or physically.
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<Airport in 30.> Frankie’s voice crackled over the headsets and Santiago froze for a second before his gaze met Tequila’s. Hours had been poured into minutes for them, too.
Frankie glanced over to you and nodded, letting you know he had control of the bird and you were free to go prepare for the inevitable firefight once they landed.
You kissed his cheek, then clambered out of your seat and made your way to the back of the helicopter. Pope and Tequila nodded to you as you walked past them, reloading their weapons, and made your way to the bag you had left near Jack. Duke, for his part, seemed to understand that it would be best if he remained still and quiet.
You pulled the rifle out from your bag, reloaded it and took stock of the spare magazines you had.
“You guys ready?” The question was more of a manifestation of your nerves than an actual question; people were rarely truly ready to step into a firefight.
“Just like old times, eh, Halcón?” Santiago had met your question with a forced smile as he sauntered over to you and patted your arm.
You smiled back at him, the action not quite making it to your eyes.
Landing a helicopter in a hail of bullets with minimal back up and a cartel after you. Yeah, just like old times.
***
As the airport came into view, Frankie let out a long exhale as he turned his comm back on and waited for Ginger to answer before he identified himself. <This is Catfish, ID code Delta-Bravo-Whiskey-Niner-Niner. We’re about 40 klicks out and making our approach. T-minus 5 minutes.>
<Catfish, good to hear. I’ve got Cran on the line here too.> Ginger pulled her lip between her teeth, mentally preparing herself for the chaos that was coming.
<Copy that, Ginger, Cranberry.> Frankie licked his lips nervously as he scanned the rooftops ahead of them, looking for any combatants waiting to pluck them out of the air with an RPG. <Can either of you confirm a visual on any hostiles?>
<None in the open, Catfish.> Cranberry’s voice was terse and Frankie could hear her load her own rifle in the background. <But there’s a hangar next to me I’ve seen armed patrols come in and out of.>
<Copy.> Frankie’s lips pulled back in a grimace, hating that he was flying virtually blind. <I’m going to try to bring us down to land.> He called out, mostly to you, Pope, and Tequila, then began his descent.
The shimmering stasis of anticipation that suspended everyone and held you taut, broke, like a slow motion video suddenly thrust into fast forward. It was almost a relief when the familiar pinging of bullets pelting the metal exterior of the helicopter pierced the building tension that held everyone captive.
Frankie felt the old familiar rush of adrenaline spike in his veins like a drug, putting his senses into overload, and focusing him. Fuck, he had missed this.
Your heart thudded at the sounds of the building chaos around you, allowing yourself a moment before you swallowed and took control of yourself, moving to the co-pilot’s seat to engage the .50 caliber guns mounted to the helicopter. The swarm of combatants on the ground dispersed like ants as you rained lead down on them. In the midst of the chaos, the sound of Cranberry, Ginger and the guys on comms, threaded between the alternating thunder of the helicopter blades and the steady beat of the .50 cal.
<Cranberry, can you get clear of the hangar?> Frankie shouted.
<Guys, they’re radioing in for backup. You gotta get out of there quick!> You could practically see Ginger’s eyes wide and lips pressed together as she stared worriedly at the screen.
<Copy, Catfish. Standby. I’m going to pull out so you can land and transfer quickly.> Cranberry’s voice was the essence of calm, as if she wasn’t about to taxi the jet out into the middle of a firefight.
As the nose of the jet began to poke out of the hangar, Frankie looked up to see one of the men below drop to one knee and take aim at them.
<Hijo de puta> He swore as he pulled up in a hard, jerking movement to avoid the incoming RPG. You maneuvered the guns and took aim at the shooter, leaving a small crater where the assailants had been.
<What the fuck is going on, Catfish?> Santi yelled into his mic as the helicopter jostled all of you and he staggered to the entryway of the cockpit.
<Fuckin’ RPG.> Frankie’s tone was thin and distracted as he worked quickly to get the helicopter back into compliance while they took heavy fire. <Trying…> He cocked his head and furrowed his brow in concentration. <To get us even so we can land…>
You turned to look at him as he trailed off and his eyes darted around the scene below as he ran through a variety of calculations and scenarios in his head to figure out the best course of action.
<I’m gonna bring her down.> Frankie gritted his teeth and the helicopter creaked under the sudden shift in velocity. <Brace for a rough landing and get ready to make a run for the jet!>
Pope rushed back to the belly of the helicopter and assessed Duke’s state. There was no way he would be able to make the run, even if Frankie managed to get as close to the jet as he possibly could.
“Oye, pendejo!” [Listen, bastard!] Santiago shouted to Duke over the cacophony. “Tendré que llevarte cuando aterricemos.” [I’m going to have to carry you when we land.]
Duke blinked up at Pope in disbelief, but fear dawned on him as a bullet punched daylight into the helicopter then whizzed past them and he realized that Pope was dead serious. Another bullet pelted the helicopter and Duke nodded, wide eyed, as he quickly did the sign of the cross, praying he’d make it out alive.
The helicopter dipped and shook, jostling you, Santiago, and Tequila as Frankie did his best to evade the brunt of the heavy fire they were taking. Pope stumbled and caught himself on the beam bolted to the ceiling, then cast a worried glance towards you and Tequila; they needed to decide how the hell they were going to get off the helicopter and to the jet in one piece.
“We better get ourselves a plan an’ we getter get one quick!” Tequila hollered as he clung to the same beam Pope was.
You looked around at everything and quickly decided on the best course of action.
“Ok! Pope’s on Duke. Tequila, you take Jack.” Tequila glanced at Jack, then nodded and started moving towards him. “I’ll take point and Frankie’ll take rear. Everyone, copy?”
A chorus of affirmatives sounded off over the headsets and then for a second, everything seemed to quiet, like the volume had been turned down and you had been plunged underwater. The tense calm that harmonized with the steady roar of the helicopter gave way to a clamoring discordance that matched your elevated heartbeat as Frankie landed the bird and all of you sprung into action.
You took a steadying breath and burst out of the helicopter, pointing your rifle and shooting at the men who were firing on you as you weaved through the bullets flying towards you. Santiago followed behind you, Duke slung over Santi’s shoulder, scared shitless as Santi fired his pistol and ran towards the jet.
Frankie scrambled out from his seat, bullets punching holes through the glass and upholstery of where he had just been seconds before. He grabbed his rifle and hurried to cover Tequila and Jack as they exited the helicopter and found themselves in a storm of lead.
The promise of back up had emboldened the men shooting and they crept around either side of the helicopter in a pincer maneuver. Frankie moved on a swivel, falling into the familiarity of being in a firefight with each pull of the trigger and every person he shot. He glanced back at Tequila, relieved that he was almost up the stairs with Jack. From his periphery, Frankie saw you perched at the entry of the jet providing cover fire and he kept shuffling back until he was at the base of the steps.
A sudden flurry of extra footsteps thundered on the pavement and the first wave of backup charged in as Frankie was jogging up the steps. He reached out to grab the hand you held out for him to help haul him in when he felt a searing burning sensation rip through him and he pitched forward.
“Fuck!” Frankie shouted, in frustration and pain as he scrambled the rest of the way up the steps and threw himself into the jet.
“Frankie!” You quickly hit the button to raise the steps and shut the door, bullets pinging as it went but you were more focused on Frankie who was grimacing as he dragged himself to the other side of the cabin.
“Cran!” Tequila shouted as he laid Jack down. “We’re all on board. Get us out of here!”
“Let me see.” You dropped to your knees in front of Frankie and immediately started ripping his tactical vest from him.
“‘M fine, baby.” Frankie tried to give you a reassuring smile, but it broke off into a hiss and a “Fuck!” when you pressed down on his wound. “Just need the medkit, amor, it’s not bad.”
Santi slid down beside you and Frankie with the medkit in hand. He pushed Frankie so that he was leaning on his side, giving him better access to the bullet wound. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Fish. Bullet went through.”
“Yeah, I know.” Frankie nodded, his hair plastered to his forehead and his hat askew as he bared his teeth and dragged in deep breaths while you and Santi went to work patching him up.
Once you were finished, you and Santi each took one of Frankie’s hands and hauled him up into the closest seat, then you took the one next to him.
“Can’t scare me like that, Frankie.” You breathed out, taking his face in your hands, pressing your forehead to his and shaking your head.
His eyes left yours, falling to where Jack had been laid down, lingering there for a moment until he finally nodded.
“It’ll take more than this to get rid of me, baby.” He tried offering you another reassuring smile but it came out as more of a tired quirk of his lips.
You hadn’t even realized the sound of bullets had since quieted until you felt the plane level off and you let out a sigh of relief.
“We made it." The words sounded much more relieved in your head but tumbled from your mouth in a dissociated monotone. You were clear of the firefight, but there was still so much to do, so much that was left unknown.
Santiago nodded in agreement almost imperceptibly; the same sinking feeling of apprehension he’d had in the helicopter, like the rug was just seconds from being pulled from under him, was acid etched into his bones. The echo of the bile he’d tasted when Tom was shot stung his throat–he didn’t need to see Jack at the back of the jet to see him. He saw Jack in the way you and Frankie clung desperately to each other in the wake of all the death and darkness. He had seen Jack, lifeless, in the way Frankie had torn through the cartel thugs like a jagged piece of shrapnel intent only on piercing whatever lay in its path. He saw it again in the bottomless well of fury iced over in your eyes, in just how far you and Frankie had been willing to go when the two of you tortured Duke.
They’d made it…but what had been the cost?
You and Frankie were like two wheels, wobbling and careening towards a moving target on broken tracks, kept on course only by a frayed ribbon of hope that Jack would be ok. He was worried–concerned–about what would happen if Ginger couldn’t turn back the metaphoric hands of time and bring your Jack back.
How much more would it cost to finally complete the mission?
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You spent the entire flight connected to Frankie in some way, his thumb rubbing small lazy circles on your thigh, your thumb doing the same to the bullseye tattoo on his hand; but for as languid as your movements were, your mind was racing. Every little vivid detail cycled through your mind, skipping through the memories as if you were impatiently flicking through channels.
The bounce of the jet as it landed shook you from your thoughts, and the aircraft had barely come to a halt before you were helping Frankie to his feet. A few members from the Statesmen medical team rushed in as the door to the jet was lowered, carrying a stretcher and brushing past the rest of you as they made their way straight to Jack. The five of you stayed out of their way as they carried Jack away to where Ginger was no doubt waiting in the lab.
Frankie stepped forward to follow after them, his feet moving on instinct of their own accord, before his side twinged and he grunted in protest at the pain. You caught him before he could stumble and one of the medics who had been lingering just outside, hurried in as the others left, to help you get Frankie out.
The medic unfolded a wheelchair and held his hand out to steady Frankie so he could get in, but Frankie pushed the hand away.
“I don’t need a fucking wheelchair.” He spat, letting go of your arm to stand on his own, and leveling the medic with a hard glare.
“Alright, Frankie. No wheelchair.” You waved the medic away, then nodded towards the door Jack and the rest of the medic team had disappeared through, gesturing for Frankie to follow you. “But you need to get checked out and stitched up. Trust me,” you scoffed. “Ginger won’t let us leave without clearing all of us first.”
“Ok.” Frankie relented with a sigh, wiping his glare away as he scrubbed his face with palm, he knew he shouldn’t have snapped at the poor medic, the kid was just doing his job.
You led the way to the medbay, just a half step in front of him in case he faltered. Cran made a beeline for the main building while Santiago and Tequila filed in behind you and Frankie.
Outside, the last of the Statesman tours for the day were finishing, people following their tour guides, eager for the tasting at the end of it. Inside, Ginger was ordering the medical team around with a gentle firmness that compelled obedience even from the most stubborn of wounded agents. Jack had been placed on a bed, the nanomites working to repair the damaged tissue while Frankie sat on another hospital bed, hissing as the medic stitched and patched him up.
“I know you’ve had worse, Catfish.” Ginger let out in response to the hissing, more in reassurance of the new medic who was tying off his stitches. “There, you’re done. That wasn’t so bad.”
Tequila cleared his throat, having been let go first, he had gone to check in with Champ.
“Champ was adamant that we all go home now, an’ we’ll meet in the conference room t’ debrief in the mornin’.” Tequila looked at Ginger while he spoke, even if his message was for you, he wouldn’t cross Ginger on the best of days. “Once y’all are finished here, of course.”
“They’re free to go, Tequila.” She nodded to him then turned to you and Frankie. “You’re more than welcome to come down here and visit him any time. It'll be longer than usual considering the circumstances.” The soft sympathy in her voice was back and she rubbed yours and Frankie’s shoulders reassuringly. “Just promise to get some rest first.”
“Thanks, Ginger.” You let out as you stood up from your chair while Frankie tugged his shirt back down, then slid off of the hospital bed.
A tense, heavy silence followed your group as you shuffled out of the medbay and rode the elevator down to the lobby. There were a few scattered glances cast towards your ragged appearance, but all of you had shed your tactical gear, the articles of clothing that were too obviously bloodstained had been replaced, and most of the blood had been wiped away, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to care
You just wanted to go home, to wash what remained of the mission away, to try to calm the adrenaline still running through you– keeping you on edge, and to find peace with Frankie, if only for a moment.
“Hey, Halcón?” Santi’s questioning tone reached your ears as his hand tentatively rested on your shoulder and you blinked yourself back to the present, a worried expression on his face. He was looking at you expectantly like he had been talking and only just then realized you hadn’t been listening.
“Sorry, Santi.” You sighed and stopped, giving him your undivided attention. “What were you saying?”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, Halcón.” He waved his hand, dismissing your apology. He understood. “I asked if you guys wanted to grab drinks tomorrow? It’s been a while, but we sure as hell shouldn’t break tradition now.”
Santi gave you and Frankie a small smile that you couldn’t help but try to return with a soft scoff. Back when you were all still in the military, the team would get together for drinks after every mission; success or failure, it didn’t matter, but more and more each one of you came to realize how much you needed the time to decompress by talking or just sitting in silence together.
“Yeah.” You agreed after looking to Frankie and seeing the slight nod he gave you. “Can’t break tradition now.”
“Great!” Santi’s smile widened, faltering slightly when he looked down at himself. “We all really need a shower.” He muttered as he checked his phone. “17:00, tomorrow?”
“Sounds good, Santi.” You said, trying to muster a more upbeat tone. “We’ll see you guys then.”
Pope and Tequila walked off talking amongst themselves, while you and Frankie went your own way. You stepped outside and Stan caught your attention by waving to you both and you silently thanked Champ for asking Stan to come get the two of you.
Stan didn’t ask why it was just you and Frankie climbing into the back of the car, in fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He didn’t even ask if you wanted to go to your place instead, and you didn’t correct him. The haunted, tired, far off stare that was mirrored between you both told him all he needed to know.
You sagged against the back of the elevator, watching as Frankie leaned against the wall next to you, arms crossed in front of him and his chin tucked into his chest. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, you could feel the echoes of Jack’s presence all around you: his casual touches, his searing kisses, and those enveloping hugs he would pull you into on the way back up to his place after a long day. There was an answering echo in your heart, a pang lancing through you at the memory of the comfort he always brought you.
You pushed off from the elevator as it dinged, trudging towards the door to Jack’s penthouse, and you couldn’t help but think that the key had never felt so heavy as you opened the door. Frankie lumbered in after you, and closed the door behind him, the stomp of his boots as heavy as the air in the penthouse felt.
There was a deep seated emptiness inside of you, making the thud of your heartbeat even louder in your ears as you made your way to the bedroom, eager to wash the day away. You heard Frankie let out a sigh behind you and he nearly stumbled into you when you stopped suddenly to take him in. He looked stretched thin, the stoic mask he had plastered on his face since you landed was peeling, revealing more of the man you loved, barely hanging on. His brow was scrunched together, deep in his own thoughts, a storm of emotions swirled in his eyes. He blinked, murky confusion quirking an eyebrow as you brought a hand up to his cheek and caressed the spotty patch of his beard. His eyes fluttered closed as you stood there, grounding each other and when you hummed as he leaned into your touch, he opened his eyes again, the swirl of emotion in them solidifying into something dark, hungry, vibrant and familiar.
Your hand slipped down to his neck, his pulse racing under your palm as you stroked his jaw with your thumb and you knew your heart was doing the same. Blood was roaring in your ears and your body was still tense, as if waiting for the next tragedy lurking around the corner.
Frankie’s gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, then lower, snagging on the shiny metal chain around your neck holding his dog tag. He sucked in a sharp breath, the bright, cold metal against your warm, soft skin a stark reminder of what he could have lost. It felt like he was in free fall, as if his sense of self was being pulled from his body, but there you were, holding him together and accepting all of him. His eyes found yours again, then he leaned in and kissed you, clinging to it like a lifeline as he poured all of himself into the kiss.
The ferocity of it tore a moan from your throat as you matched him in his neediness, deepening the kiss, as you crashed into each other as if you were both trying to reassure the other that you were truly home. You gripped his shirt tightly, fisting it and tugging him to you only for him to roughly walk you back against the wall, his hand slapping against the hard surface as you landed against it. A dull ache radiated from where your head connected with the wall, but you didn’t care. There was nothing gentle about the way you pulled at and bit each other as you kissed in a dizzying fever.
His strong, thick fingers found the collar of your shirt and he yanked, the sound of fabric tearing and buttons clattering on the floor clashing with your yelp of surprise. You tugged on his shirt, ripping it off of him, greedily pulling him back to you and digging your nails into his back as he sucked a deep mark into your neck. He quickly undid your jeans, a sharp punched out groan leaving his throat as he shoved them down and you dragged your nails up his back, leaving a white hot bloom in their wake. You stomped down, and stepped out of your jeans and underwear, gasping when Frankie cupped you, fingers finding your already soaked core with practiced ease and the frantic desperation to feel you.
“Frankie please, just fuck me.” Your plea dipping into a growl before he pulled his fingers from you and shoved them into your mouth, wanting to taste you on your tongue the next time he kissed you. You sucked on his fingers greedily, pulling a small moan from Frankie, while his other hand fumbled with his belt.
His belt clinked as he pushed his boxer briefs down, and pulled his cock out, already pearling precum at the head and aching to be inside you. He grunted in approval when you wrapped a leg around his hip, one hand gripping your knee while he lined himself up at your entrance with the other, burying himself inside you with one forceful snap of his hips.
The air was thick with your gasps and his groans as he thrust into your wet heat, pressing you further up the wall when you wrapped your other leg around his waist and he set a quick, hard pace–fucking you the way he needed to fuck you, the way your plea told him you needed too.
Both of your hearts were racing, a thin sheen of sweat coating you as you clung to him, the adrenaline pulsing in your veins, making you feel everything so much more intensely; his hot breath as he panted into your chest set you on fire, his hard grip on your thighs throbbing and going straight to your core. The feral grunts each thrust tore from his throat were sending you higher and higher, until you arched into him–cumming hard around him and squeezing his waist with your thighs.
“Fuck!” Frankie jerked suddenly, slamming his hips up into you with a cry that was somewhere between a sob and a moan.
As you came down you felt something rough against your knee instead of the hot sweaty stick of Frankie’s skin and you realized you had accidentally pressed into the bandage covering his stitches.
“S-shit Frankie, I’m-” The apology spilled from your lips, but he shook his head quickly, panting as he held you to him, not letting you remove the pressure and leaning further into you, into the feeling.
He looked up at you, a tendril of vulnerability tangling with the lust in his feral eyes. You could feel him twitching and throbbing violently inside you and your confusion gave way to realization, to how much he needed to feel the pain.
“S’fine, hold on.” Frankie grunted as he adjusted his grip to your ass then carried you to the bed giving you time to do hardly anything more than yelp and cling to his neck.
The breath left your lungs as you fell back onto the bed, and then Frankie was on top of you, kicking off his pants and sliding back into your warm, slick cunt. There was no burn from the stretch like before, but he still made you feel so full, each hard, deliberate thrust sending sparks dancing up your spine. One hand pressed your hip into the mattress, pinning you beneath him as he rutted into you with renewed desperation.
You let that desperation fill you, let it plug the gaping holes in your soul the mission had bored into you. He grunted above you, the rapid puffs of air frantic, but breathing new life into you all the same. His hands grabbed at you greedily, your soft flesh under his rough palms, simultaneously taking you apart and putting you back together; stitching together the scarred pieces of you that had been ripped open by the darkness you had readily let consume you to torture Duke. You let yourself go to all of the sensations, surrendering to the man you loved, a man as broken as you were, and hoped you would somehow come out the other end in more of one piece than you started.
Frankie wrapped his arm around your leg, grasping your thigh roughly in his bruising grip, and keeping your knee pressed against his injury, not caring if the stitches broke, he’d endure them again. The pain, the high he got from it, felt good. It focused him on the present, on being there with you, and it reminded him that he was alive. He panted against your lips, his barely grazing yours, and he growled as you met his thrusts, each one pulling a grunt from him and a hitched moan from you. He wanted to lose himself in the pain and ache radiating from his injuries, physical and not, and find himself in you.
His eyes met yours and suddenly you were both so overcome with emotion the two of you had to look away. Frankie buried his face in your neck while you mirrored him. You both saw so much of your own reflections in the other, it was fitting that your bodies would meld into each other, as two broken halves form a whole.
Your second release caught you both by surprise, and your entire body seemed to pulse and throb with pleasure; each cresting wave overwhelming you with emotion. Frankie fucked you through your high, chasing his own and when your knees squeezed around his hips in the aftershocks of your climax, he came with a choked out cry. Pain lancing through him, and racing sweet pleasure up his spine as he rocked into you, grinding himself and his spend deep inside of you.
The cant of his hips slowed but his breathing remained erratic and it wasn't until you felt the hot wet of tears falling and sliding over your shoulder that you realized Frankie was crying. He stiffened as if reading your mind, but you felt him gradually relax into you as you brought your hand to the back of his head and gently stroked the back of his neck.
You wrapped your other arm around him and held him tight, relishing his weight on top of you as little shudders rippled through his body and you felt the sting of your own tears pricking the corners of your eyes. There were no words, nothing to say, only quiet acceptance.
Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, shifting so that you were facing each other on your sides, a tangle of emotion and limbs. You would wash the dirt and grime off in the morning, for now, you and Frankie would soak in it, and in each other.
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Thank you so much for reading and for bearing with how long it's taken me to write these chapters! I appreciate all of you! Comments and Reblogs are much, much appreciated!
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magpiepills · 1 month
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Important question for anyone who ever writes non-Joel Miller fanfic inside the Pedro Pascal character erotic fan fiction community:
Is there a number of notes that you hope to reach reach to feel like you’ve written something “successful” by this community’s standards? I always feel like if I get 200+ notes I’m doing well. Im curious to know how others feel about that. Of course the notes don’t really matter when you’re writing for fun, but everyone wants to feel like what they’re doing is accepted and enjoyed and liked. We like feedback, don’t we?
I think that a lot of Joel readers aren’t necessarily Pedro character readers. They come for Joel (😏) and they don’t explore the other characters. Not even the more popular ones like Frankie, Pena, and Din. The number of folks who are fans of all the Pedro characters no matter how niche (PATS, Billy, Omar, Tim…) or smaller ones like Jack, Dieter, and Ezra is considerably lower. It makes me wonder exactly how many of us there are. I suspect good number of us reading these fics are also writers.
Brilliant and talented @schnarfer has had the fantastic idea to spotlight some of these fantastic but lesser-known fics and make sure we don’t overlook any real gems. If you or your friends have written something that deserves more attention, please send me or Al a link so we can add it to the list!
This is absolutely not a knock to Joel-only writers, or to any Joel fics at all. We all love him, I certainly do and I have written him and will keep writing him! But I’m also a writer of unpopular non-Joel fic, so I know the struggle well.
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deadhumourist · 2 years
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What do you do when you have ideas and plot progression for all three of your major wips at the SAME TIME? 😭😭😭
Help
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dionysusinparis · 4 months
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Hey besties I need to practice writing so if you have any requests for headcanons or short stories im more than happy to write them <333
P. S- for the short fics they will be max 2k words since they take a while to write and I won't write for Pedro himself (only his characters I'm sorry) xx
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chronically-ghosted · 1 month
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i wonder if you stopped his world like you did mine
rating: teen
pairing: frankie morales x f!reader
word count: 5K
summary: watching the woman he loves be with someone else is killing him, but for your sake, he manages. But when Benny's birthday loosens him up, he can't help but bear his soul over a phone call. Too bad you don't pick up and he's forced to leave the evidence in a voicemail.
tags/warnings: pining, light angst, idiots in love, country music as a catalyst, romance, tw alcohol, tw drinking, hangovers, ultimately very fluffy
a/n: Happy Valentine's Day @toomanystoriessolittletime! I hope you receive and give all the love you need and want! I've had this idea for a while, but once I saw that Frankie was your fave, I knew I had to do it!
one day i’m gonna do the series of all of my favorite country songs with a Pedro boy. This is one of them: Singles You Up by Jordan Davis. Had thoughts of Me and My Kind by Cody Johnson for our ever-fantastic Jack Daniels and Hurricane by Luke Combs for Joel. One day, my loves, one day. 
🤍Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist
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Frankie Morales has a problem.
Given the life expectancy in his line of work – all things considered – it really wasn’t that bad of a problem. Sure, his knees were busted, his shoulder aches when it was cold out, and his ex keeps hounding him for money he doesn’t have. But on the flipside, his little family unit of friends and brothers united by combat are (mostly) all alive and healthy. He has a steady job and his little girl, whom he loves and adores, thinks the sun shines out of his ass. All things considered, there’s not much else he can ask for. He’s far better off than some of the men and women at Will’s talks, or in Santiago’s field teams. 
So – really, truly, seriously – all things considered . . .  he can’t classify this as a bad problem.
In fact, this is a problem he would willingly have. Gladly even. Not quite joyously, but if it’s a choice between this problem and not having the problem at all, he will choose having this consistent, thorny, kind-of-hurts-to-breathe-sometimes problem every single time.
And right now, it’s wearing a dress.
Uh, well, you’re wearing a dress. An off-white, hinging-on-cream, dress that sits above your knees, cuts flat and wide across your chest, and puffs out into cotton sleeves that remind him of those conchas his abuela used to make. Sweet, fluffy, and absolutely forbidden. 
Until the time is right, at least. His abuela always made him wait to eat until the time was right.
He calls it – you – a problem, when in fact, it’s the opposite of a problem. There is nothing he would ever want to change about the warm, engulfing feeling that starts somewhere in his stomach and rises like conchas up his spine until it’s somewhere in his ribs, then under his breastbone, right by his –
He would kill anyone who tried to take that feeling away from him. It’s when he feels most alive, most present, most out of his head – like these things in the dark and sleeping corners of his mind that nip and bite at him can’t find him. He’s thrown them off his scent in his search for you and, even for a brief moment, he can step into the light.
There is no problem, in how you look tonight, how you look every night, with your bright shining smile, sweet-smelling hair, cowboy boots, glass of whiskey – you had such a fantastic taste in –
Wait. 
That’s not whiskey. Not even a whiskey glass. 
That’s –
“White wine?” Benny yelps as he leans forward and his chair legs clatter against the concrete floor. “If that’s Moscato, I’m calling the cops because you’ve been replaced by an equally hot body double.”
You roll your eyes as you sit down and take a long drink from your glass, as if to make a point. Frankie’s eyes are drawn to where your dress hangs over your crossed legs, exposing the curve of your thigh. 
“It’s not fucking Moscato, Benjamin,” you say, eyes narrowed, completely side-stepping his compliment, like you always do. “It’s Chardonnay. Nick recognized the vineyard on the menu so he recommended it. Thought I’d give it a try, because I like trying something new, Benjamin.”
He rolls those beautiful blue eyes and leans forward towards you at the table, that grin that brings grown women to their knees plastered across his face. He knocks back his cowboy hat with a tap of his knuckle. 
“Well, excuse the fuck outta me.”
“The fuck outta you is excused.”
You tug his hat back down over his face, smirking back at him, just as Nick saunters over – with what looks to be a wine glass of his own. 
Okay, in hindsight, you’re not the problem. 
His real fucking problem is Nick. 
Your boyfriend. 
Frankie, who has decided to only drink beer around you since The Almost Incident, takes three long pulls so he doesn’t have to watch Nick and his stupid hands slide across your exposed back and sit down in Santi’s empty chair. 
“Happy Birthday, man, thanks for inviting me out.” Nick says briefly, raising his glass to Benny. “But I gotta say, I was a little worried when my girl here said your party was gonna be at a country dance hall. I’ve never been to one of these. I had to buy cowboy boots just for the occasion.”
He sticks his leg out, and rotates his gator-skin boot back and forth as if to illustrate how important to him this whole thing is. 
But Benny doesn’t look down, doesn’t approve the boots, or Nick’s attempt at fitting in. Instead, he just smirks, his smile growing fat and lazy, a bit of the warmth fading from his blue eyes.
“Your first time at a cowboy hoe-down? I had no idea.” 
Nick grins, because he doesn’t know Benny well enough to see the dig for what it is. But you do. You know him and you know he’s ragging on your boyfriend. You narrow your eyes and shame coats Frankie’s chest. Because he knows also Benny and he knows why he’s giving Nick such a hard time.
See, the problem isn’t you, or even your boyfriend – not really. 
Nick is actually a decent guy. He treats you right, if a little delicately, but he buys you drinks, takes you places Frankie could never afford, in a car Frankie could never ever afford. Sometimes, you’ll say something, or tell a story and it’s obvious Nick doesn’t really understand you or your jokes, but he smiles along anyway. He makes good money and supposedly he keeps in touch with his mom. Nick is the kind of guy any brother would want his sister to date.
So the problem isn’t that Nick is a bad boyfriend, but that he’s your boyfriend.
The problem that Frankie Morales has is that he is painfully, achingly, in love with you.
And he’s your friend.
Maybe that would change, if he ever could work up the guts to say something. For fuck’s sake, he’s killed people – asking you out can’t be that much worse (as Santi often reminds him). But if the guys you’re into are like Nick, or even Nick-adjacent, then what fucking chance does he have? He never thought money was important to you, but apparently it is and that’s something he definitely can’t give you.
Or maybe you like the stability of a high-paying job with fucking miraculous health-care. And that’s two things more he can’t offer: stability and health-care. 
So, maybe, maybe his problem isn’t with you or Nick or the fact that Nick is your boyfriend. It’s that he never could be. He, with one failed marriage already behind him and a coke rap sheet, has nothing to give you . . .
And you deserve the world.
You deserve more than he can offer you. You deserve better than him.
That’s his real fucking problem. And one he can't ever fix.
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Will couldn’t get off work to come to this, so he owed Benny a beer and a nice steak dinner – according to Benny. Santi, despite absolutely swearing up and down for a week he wouldn’t be caught dead in cowboy boots and a hat, showed up tonight in full gear, belt-buckle included because he lost a bet with Benny over the Thursday night game. Santi, like everything else in his life, researched the hell out of the two teams, their past history, older statistics of both the players and the coach. He was confident, so confident, that he put his pride on the line. 
Never a good idea with Benny Miller. 
I don’t know, Benny said at the sports bar when his team was whooping Santi’s team’s ass, I just had a good feeling. Presumably, Santi did three shots before leaving and with another two in his system at the bar, all anger and frustration and embarrassment and inhibition had melted away and now Santi was doing what Santi did best, especially when drunk: dancing with beautiful women.
“The son of a bitch can dance, I’ll give him that. ” Benny muses as the three of you watch Santi, who despite having been taught the moves three minutes ago by two gorgeous blondes, complete a perfect line dance of Copperhead Road. 
“Oh, shit, I could never do that.” Nick shakes his head. “Not even after a hundred classes.”
“Ah, I find that hard to believe, Nicky Boy. You seem like a natural,” Benny smirks over the lip of his beer bottle. He finds Frankie’s eyes and winks. 
You are not amused. You glare at him over Nick’s shoulder for the second time tonight. 
“It’s really not that hard,” you smile tightly and squeeze Nick’s shoulder. “I can teach you.” 
“Oh, yeah, don’t you know your girl here?” Benny leans back in his chair, balancing against the rung of Nick’s chair by the ball of his foot. “She used to put all of us to shame. Dancing the night away, leading the crowd in line dancing. In fact, if I remember correctly, she and Frankie used to get into all sorts a-trouble on the dance floor. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”
Now he drew a glare from you and Frankie. 
Don’t, man, just don’t. 
Benny shrugs, swallowing his smirk with another sip of beer, hands raised. Just trying to help out. 
Over the speakers, the song winds to a close and the crowd does their final spin. Across the dance floor, Santi bows, his hat sweeping the floor, to both of the girls who giggle like high schoolers. 
“I’m gonna go get Boot Scootin’ Boogie over there some water before he up-chucks all over those nice ladies.” Benny stands and fixes his hat. “You guys want anything?”
Frankie shakes his head, his own hat that Benny insisted he wear, making the line of sweat across his forehead itch. You and Nick decline as well. You’ve barely even touched your drink, Frankie notes with a certain level of satisfaction. 
As Benny walks towards the bar, the next song starts up and you let out a squeal. Bring on The Good Times has been one of your favorite songs since college. And Frankie should know – he introduced it to you. 
“This one is the best! A classic!” You grab Nick’s forearm, but he almost immediately pulls it back. 
“Ah, babe, my first line dance is not gonna be in front of strangers! I’ll embarrass you and me. Why don’t you ask Frankie?”
Fuck, why could Nick just be a raging, flaming asshole? This would be so much fucking easier. 
Frankie swallows his beer empty, an excuse for a refill prepped. He hates cowboy hats, but he’d fucking set fire to the sky for Benny – he just hopes he immolates himself in the process. The giant brim makes him feel like he’s got a neon sign over his head that blinks, I Am A Giant Dork. Only further proven if he gets anywhere near that dance floor with his two left feet. 
Your eyes are unreadable as he tries to coax your boyfriend into taking you dancing.
“Nah, man, you got this. Your girl’s a great teacher.” By some cowboy miracle, his voice is steady as he says those two words. On the table, your fingers curl in, your wine glass still untouched.
Nick makes a face, eyes flitting back and forth to the dancers as they start the dance.
“My feet are already killing me in these new boots. Besides, this isn’t really my song.”
Over his shoulder, you find Frankie’s eyes. He knows that look on you – he knows everything about you – and you’re trying to hide how hurt you are.
He’s on his feet before he knows what he’s doing.
You and Nick stare up at him, surprised by how he practically bounded to his feet. 
The sweat at the ring of his hat runs down the back of his neck. Frankie does the only thing halfway-normal and extends his hand.
“Alright, princesa, I’ll fill out your dance card.”
He doesn’t care, or even really register, the darkly confused frown Nick sends him when you stand up, take his hand, and smile at him. He feels warm all the way up to his chest. 
“Thanks, Frankie. Let’s boogie.” 
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That was a mistake.
This whole fucking night is a mistake. God help him, he loves Benny like a brother but he should have just said no and promised to take him out later like Will. He would have bought Benny any drink, any ridiculous chicken wing plate he wanted if Frankie didn’t have to be here, right now. 
Because right now, right now, that wall of self-control that he uses to stem the reservoir, to stem the flow of whatever you cause to pour out of him, it’s leaking. It’s busted holes and now he’s drenched with it – with the scent of you, with the memory of hair down the length of your neck, the heat of your skin overworked and flushed, the sweet taste of your breath in his mouth when you leaned forward, into his space, his senses, and whispered,
“C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this.”
But in his defense, he couldn’t feel his feet, much less make them move when he watched you with your skirt rucked up high in your fists, your cowboy boots kicking like fish in a stream, and that smile – that fucking smile – brighter and sweeter than all the whiskey in the world. 
C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this
C’mon, Frankie, you’re better than this.
C’mon, Frankie, tell me you love me.
Kiss me, Frankie. Kiss me now.
His restraint, his resolve that he will never, ever have you – he can feel it throb beneath his palms. Shudder and wobble under the thundering of his heart. It’s so close to breaking. Too close. This is why he doesn’t drink anything harder than beer around you. This is why he rarely drinks around you at all. 
When Nick finally calls it a night because he’s already got a blister from the new boots, you don’t put up much of a fight. You’ve danced with Benny, you’ve danced with Santi and his gaggle of girls, Nick himself went up for a slow dance or two.
Frankie only ever asked for one. 
He knows he disappointed you, has been disappointing you because you can feel him layering you away, brick by brick by brick. One of his oldest and longest friends, barely visible now, and he’s going over it with caulk to make sure you can’t touch this fragile, weak, emaciated thing he calls a heart. 
The instant you walk out of the bar, Nick’s arm across your tense shoulders, he all but rushes for the bar. 
“Six tequila shots, please.”
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You wake up where you went to sleep: curled up on your couch, your giant Florida Gators blanket wrapped around you like a mentally-supportive straight-jacket, with Golden Girls reruns on the TV. The empty bottle of 19 Crimes explains the sticky, dry feeling in your mouth and the thundering headache accompanying swollen eyes and cheeks. You’d rather get hit by a train than have to move out of this position, but Nick has always been punctual.
Which, you assume, extends to picking up his stuff from your apartment first thing in the morning, his final threat that ended your conversation last night. 
The sooner, the better, you mother fucker. 
You blindly grab around for your phone, knowing that it’s most likely shoved into the deepest cracks of your couch, hoping against hope Panera delivers on a Saturday morning. There’s a distinct possibility you might start swinging if Nick shows up before you get a baguette and a coffee into your system. 
The things he said about Benny and Santi last night on the drive home. This break up was a long time coming, but fuck, if this is what he’d been sitting on about your friends, what the fuck did he actually think of you? 
And the things he implied about Frankie – how Frankie was in love with you and you were willingly not seeing it – ridiculous.
You fight the rancid taste of hope that anything Nick implied about Frankie might even remotely be true when you close your fingers around the shape of your phone at the far end of the couch. 
22%
Just enough to order then yeet this fucking thing into another room because there is no way in hell you are answering Nick’s calls.
But, as you scroll through your notifications, maybe you should have answered Frankie’s.
He had called sporadically, starting about two hours after you and Nick had left the dance hall, all the way until four in the morning. 
One text at 1AM: com e hang out wit us.i mis s you u 
You smile, despite the obviously drunken text. Frankie rarely texted, only if it was dire need – and apparently, you continuing to party with the boys at 1AM was very, very dire. Judging by the eight missed calls.
Eight missed calls, but only one voicemail. 
Like you’re about to settle down for some good TikTok scrolling, you lean back into the pillows, rubbing your eyes to clear the hazy fog, and press play. 
First, there’s noise. Lots of it. Country music and people laughing and singing. Clearly still at the dance hall. You wish for a minute it is a video instead because you’d pay hand over fist to see those guys falling all over each other.
But then comes Santi. Over the years, you’d picked up some Spanish here and there, mostly enough not to embarrass yourself if you ever went to Miami. 
But whatever Santi is saying, you’re not entirely sure it is Spanish, or any human language. 
“Comotuamiga, teruegoqueselodigas porfavornopuedo hacerestopormucho mástiempo. Estaríasmásfeliz y ellaestaríamásfeliz. Nomemiresasí, sabesqueloúnico quequiereesqu labeses y la beses y luegohagasotrascosas – ¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste?”
There’s a shuffling, hushed voices, the music still far too loud to make anything out.
“Déjame en paz, dude.” Frankie. Frankie, very very very drunk. “I’m gonna – I’m gonna say – voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. She’ll get it. I know–,”
“Then say something now because you’re leaving a voicemail!”
“Ah, mierda – um, baby?”
In two words and two filler words, Frankie’s whole demeanor changes. You can almost picture him curled around the phone, his hand cradling the phone to his ear as he rests his head against a wall. 
“Baby, listen – fuck, sorry, I’m starting all wrong. I shouldn’t even call you that – I shouldn’t call you ‘baby’ because you’re not mine. You’re not my baby or anyone else’s because you’re so fucking independent and I love that about you but I wish you were. Mine, I mean. Not a baby.”
You don’t even remember sitting up, but your feet are on the ground. You’ve dropped the phone onto the table in front of you, staring at it as if it’s been dripping poison into your ear. Your heart is pounding. 
There’s silence from Frankie for a second, the music still loud, but it’s dampened. You can hear Frankie breathing, swallow, and start again.
“You looked so fuckin’ good tonight. You look good every night but fuck, baby, that dress. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Even for a second . . . he doesn’t tell you that you look so fucking good enough, you know? You should hear it all the time. I wanna tell you – tell you all the time – he didn’t say it once. Not once and that’s a fucking crime. He makes you drink white wine when I know you fucking hate it – I know you, baby. I know you more than I know myself because you’re all I fucking think about. You’re in here, all the time, all up in my chest, my throat, my gut – and you can have it. You can have it. You can have all of me, if you just . . .”
His voice breaks and your fingers clench around the edge of the cushion. 
“If you just . . . look, I know this is so fucking outta line and I wanna say it to your face and I’m gonna but . . . when that fuckin’ moron forgets how good he has it, I’m gonna be there. Gonna be right there. Because –,”
And then like someone shoved a speaker right up against Frankie’s phone, as clear as day, you hear Benny yell:
“IF HE AIN’T HOLDING YOU TIGHT, IF HE AIN’T TREATIN’ YOU RIGHT, I’MA BE THE FIRST ONE CALLIN’ HIM CRAAAZY–,”
“Benny, fuck off!”
And then the call drops, along with it your stomach. In fact, it slides out of your body, slouches off the couch and melts into the floor.
Oh, Frankie, do you even mean a word of it?
The hangover rubbing your nerves raw, tears spring into your eyes, the silence and fear and terrible hope tightening like a band around your head and infinitely increasing the pressure in your temples. You want to cry but your eyes already feel too puffy. 
You’re stuck, frozen by every single possible outcome or single next step spinning out like chaotic webbing you can easily catch yourself on. 
This was a mistake, it had to be. He didn’t mean to call your phone. He had accidentally called you when he meant to call another girl . . . also with a boyfriend named Nick. Frankie, sweet Frankie, who you’ve all but outright begged to take an interest in you – said it with your eyes hundreds of times – Frankie couldn’t actually have feelings for you.
Not like you had for him. Not like the ones you’ve slowly plucked out of your ribs over the years because god, even just looking at him seared a scar across your heart. 
Fuck. Fuck!
You snatch up your phone, wiping your teary eyes and frantically hoping he might have said a name or anything – he couldn’t possibly have meant you – when three loud bangs on your front door sends your phone into the air and your heart into your throat.
The way he calls your name is frantic, verging on hysterical. In a daze, you glance at the clock. 9:04. Frankie’s had about four hours of sleep, if any at all.
“Please, open the door! We gotta talk – there’s something – there’s something on your phone you shouldn’t hear – please, baby, open up –,”
You stare at the phone on your floor. 
Don’t they always say you can’t tell the moments that irrevocably change your life until after they’re gone?
Not this time.
You open the door and either way, everything changes. 
“C’mon, please, let me explain.” His voice has quieted, no longer shaking, softer as though wounded. “Just five minutes and I’m gone. I swear. We can forget the whole thing –,”
You open the door to a hungover Frankie Morales, still in the same outfit you saw him last in, but his eyes are rimmed with black circles, his patchy beard even more patchy as if he had rubbed the bristle clean off. He reeks of beer, peanuts, and cigarette smoke. His shirt is loose, wrinkled, his belt isn’t even on all the way, and he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
“What if I don’t want to forget it, Frankie?”
You see the realization strike him through the eyes, the throat, the chest, his gut, his brown eyes swimming with shame and horror. He leans over as if kicked and presses a hand against your doorway. His thumb rubs the corner and he swallows.
“So you listened to it already?”
“Yeah, I did.” He closes his eyes briefly, hanging his head, every apology in every language he knows sitting right behind his teeth. “But did you hear what I said?”
He frowns at you through those thick eyebrows. “What?”
“When I opened the door, did you hear what I said?”
“You said –,” that beautiful bottom lip parts from its sensual top and Frankie blinks at you. The oily blackness of shame has evaporated from his eyes, but that stormy fear rages on. 
You inhale, breath getting caught on every knot in your spine, and step back.
“We need to talk.” 
He glances once over his shoulder, as if taking in the hallway to your apartment for the last time, and he steps inside. Immediately his height and broadness fill out every empty space in your tiny living room and you’re launched back into the memory of when the boys came over for Christmas and there was hardly enough room for anyone, but somehow you all made it work and after four rounds of DDR, everyone was so tired and drunk, you passed out pillows and blankets and you spent your first adult Christmas at what could have been mistaken for a thirteen year old’s slumber party. It was one of the happiest times of your life.
His thick fingers clench and unclench when Frankie spies your phone on the floor, like a bomb waiting to go off. 
Your brain struggles to default to hostess mode because you can’t think of anything to say.
Do you want coffee?
Do you want some cereal? 
Do you want to– 
“Tell me what happened last night.” You surprise yourself, Frankie, and your whirring brain by cutting right to it. As with the first question when you opened the door to him, there’s something inside of you that has taken on wings, spread them wide, and threatens to soar out of your body. Frankie’s here, he’s here, and he said he wants you –
He called you baby.
You breathe in, trying to scrape up some courage from the bottom of your lungs, wishing in the back of your mind under everything else that you’d chosen literally anything else to go to bed in than your Tweedie Bird shirt from Six Flags. 
“I don’t understand, Frankie. Please help me understand.” 
With a monumental sigh, he rubs his wide hand across his face and up into his hair, his other hand lifting his cap up off his head so his fingers can dig into his curls. It’s only then that you realize Benny’s cowboy hat he wore last night is gone and his tried and true Standard Oil ball cap is back. Meaning he must have gone home at some point. When did he realize (or remember) that he’d left you that voicemail? 
“I’m gonna get my ass kicked,” he murmurs, eyes darting like a fox to your bedroom door. “Maybe that’s exactly what I deserve.”
“He’s not here.” This great thing arcs between you, the emptiness a presence and clarity all at the same time. 
“What do you mean? Where is he?”
“We broke up.”
“When? Why?”
“Last night, after we left the bar. We got into an argument. He doesn’t like the way . . .”
Frankie – physically, mentally, emotionally, fundamentally – overwhelms you. He’s across the room in an instant, closer than you think he’s ever been before. But maybe this is the first and only time you’ve ever allowed yourself to enjoy it. Revel in his closeness and let this caged feeling in your chest break free. You touch his chest with the flat of your palm, the size of it, the breadth of him, staggering. You literally feel weak at the knees. 
“He doesn’t like the way what?” His voice luxuriates in his throat – warm, deep. He sounds like what you imagine a hot spring feels like against your skin.
“He didn’t like the way I looked at you.” Your fingers make circles where they did into his shirt. His hands have found their way, after all this time, to your waist. “The way I always look at you, Frankie.”
His breath, subsequent to the ghost of his lips, across your forehead is so gentle it makes you close your eyes, to block out one sense to encourage another. 
You feel him swallow even though he’s a foot away from you.
“Why –,” he stops, and starts again, just like on the phone call, “why do you look at me . . . when you have him?”
“Oh, Frankie.” His grip on your waist tightens as if you’re about to disappear forever. “I took him because I can’t have you.” 
You blame the tears on the hangover, the headache, and the way he takes your chin between his thumb and knuckle. 
Grateful.
He’s looking at you, eyes soft, mouth curved into a disbelieving smile, with gratitude. 
“He’s the furthest thing from you because I tried to get you out of my system – I did – I promise. I can’t lose our friendship, Frankie, but it’s killing me . . . not having you. Nick said it was obvious the way I felt about you and that was a problem for our relationship, so he tried to make me choose between you and him and every time, without a doubt, I’ll always choose–,”
This is the right time, he supposes. 
Hand over your cheek, he holds you still in silence to press his mouth to yours. The final word of your sentence dies on his tongue, muffled by a soft groan of surprise. Your breath is terrible, your skin is oily and damp, he knows he stinks like the bottom of a wet bar, but he can’t find himself to care. Your mouth opens to take him and the hand on your cheek sinks to your neck as you both move past the initial shock of I’m finally getting to do this and you’re not pulling away and into an actual, proper, deep kiss that sends sparks into his toes. Your tongue marks the bottom of his mouth, your arms going around his neck like you want more – you need more – and Frankie pulls back.
Not only because he’s slightly dizzy but because he a) won’t fuck you for the first time on your living room floor and b) absolutely will not do it hungover. 
“Breakfast. Do you like . . . uhm, breakfast?” He can’t quite focus on a single spot on your face, eyes half-lidded and gaze blurred.
You giggle, letting his beard tickle your nose as you sneak your face into his neck. He sways a bit with you, his arms around your back, and you don’t think he’s even realizing what he’s doing.
“Yes, Frankie. I like breakfast. I eat it almost every day, in fact.”
He grunts, neck suddenly flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I mean –,”
“I know what you mean, baby.” You lean back and run your fingers through the thatch of curls at the back of his neck. Both of you are so grimy but you can’t care. “I’d love breakfast.”
Frankie smiles his Frankie smile and the thing in your chest is illuminated in gold. 
“How do you feel about conchas?” 
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Translations:
Como tu amiga, te ruego que se lo digas. Por favor, no puedo hacer esto por mucho más tiempo. Estarías más feliz y ella estaría más feliz. No me mires así, sabes que lo único que quiere es que la beses y la beses y luego hagas otras cosas. = As your friend, I beg you to tell her. Please, I can't do this for much longer. You would be happier and she would be happier. Don't look at me like that, you know all she wants is for you to kiss her and kiss her and then do other things.
¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste? = Idiot! Did you call her?
Déjame en paz. Voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. = Leave me alone. I am going to tell her. She will know.
578 notes · View notes
aurorawritestoescape · 4 months
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Birthday Surprise
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader x Tommy Miller
Tw: 18+ mdni smut, mfm (their 🍆 don’t touch), power imbalance (boss/employee), ‘sir’ kink, praise kink, tiniest bit of degradation, oral (f/m receiving), cum eating, unprotected piv (wrap it up obv), creampie, rimming, multiple orgasms, butt slapping (light), voyeurism, swearing, no use of y/n
Word count: 3,2k
A/n: thank you @noxturnalpascal 💖 for an amazing idea to write fics based on this PROMPT: Pick a Pedge Daddy character - Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dave York, etc. (it can be Canon or Non-Canon/AU/No Outbreak).
PPCU Daddy is surprised - and excited - to learn that the grad/postgrad student he hires to watch his child sometimes also works as a: stripper/dancer/cam-girl/onlyfans-model/dating-or-escort-service (or straight-up SW)
I added Tommy to the mix cos what’s better than one Miller boy? Yeah, two Miller boys😝
Other fics based on the prompt: Room 301 @milla-frenchy Dancing is a dangerous game @noxturnalpascal Webcam for beginners @iamasaddie
🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩
You’ve been doing stripping as a side job for a few months now. As a postgrad student you were broke and in debt. You needed money to help out with the tuition, which was unbearably high. On top of that your car broke down and you’ve been trying to save for a new one. One of your friends who’d done it told you that the money was good and the hours were flexible. So you decided to give it a shot.
The gig turned out to be great. You were often tipped generously and though the men were usually drunk and overly excited you’ve been lucky enough to be treated fairly well. They called you Diamond because of your sparkling silver costume and glittering boots.
Today you are shining at a birthday party. It’s a total sausage fest and everyone is excited about the headliner - you. The men are cheering you on as you’re giving your best lap dance to the man of the evening. The music is blaring while you are slowly taking off your sparking top before pushing your breasts together and swaying your hips seductively. You’re still wearing high silver boots and a tiny diamond-encrusted thong.
Everyone is already buzzed. Everyone except the birthday boy. He doesn’t seem to be drunk at all as his dark piercing eyes are sliding across your glitter-covered body with intent and hunger. Sometimes he gives his friends a little smile and laughs at their thirsty comments. But when his gaze returns to you his expression becomes focused and serious, one of a hunter whose unsuspecting prey is inching closer and closer, as he’s waiting for the right moment to strike. There is something hypnotizing about the man and you feel the magnetic pull every time your eyes meet.
You want him to want you. And judging by a big bulge in his jeans you’re doing great. You’re practically drooling over him as your hands are gliding over his broad shoulders, strong chest, running through his dark curly hair. After some time you see only him, and your heart flutters and core burns with desire.
You’re hovering over his lap, his face inches from your bouncing breasts as your hips move the way you’d ride him and your hands are holding onto his muscular shoulders. He wants to say something to you so you lean down bringing your ear to his plush lips. His breath tickles you and you giggle.
“Can I get a private dance?” he asks a little louder so you could hear him through the music. He tilts his head to the side to look into your eyes. He’s gorgeous. Older, just how you like them. A scent of whiskey and something sweet hits your nostrils and you feel yourself getting wet. Your pussy tingles and you both decide to give this guy whatever he wants tonight. You smile at him nodding your head, maybe a little too eager.
🪩🪩🪩
That’s how you end up on your knees in the VIP room, fully naked between his spread legs, his cock deep in your throat. You’ve never done anything like that with a client but you just couldn’t help yourself. You would be fired in a second if anyone found out but you feel that he’s not the one to kiss and tell. His body, his eyes, his confidence drive any rational thought away from your mind.
When you were sitting on his lap having discarded your thong and boots and framing his legs with yours, your pussy was throbbing so much for him it hurt. You rested your head on his shoulder, turned to him and whispered in his ear, “You can touch me if you want”.
He chuckled and asked if he was allowed to but his fingers were already caressing your glistening seam. A few moments later he was fucking you with his thick digits, his tongue licking into your mouth. He knew his way around a pussy and you came hard, making a mess of his jeans.
Now you are sucking on his ball rolling it in your mouth with your tongue and slowly jerking his cock. His jeans are opened and tugged down his hips, your hand is splayed on his lower belly covered with soft hair. He’s watching you with a soft smile, half lidded eyes blown and hazy. You’re enjoying yourself so much you feel you might come untouched just from sucking him off.
That’s when HE barges into the room apologizing for being late. You hear the gravelly voice and your heart drops into your stomach. You freeze glancing up at the birthday boy with horror on your face. Fuckfuckfuckfuck!!!! Fuck! You recognise that voice immediately. You raise your head before glancing back. Of course it’s him! The father of the girl you’ve been babysitting for a few weeks. You always loved kids so babysitting seemed like a great idea. Well, until now when two of your clients met.
Joel Miller was always kind and respectful yet a little grumpy. You never blamed him, a single parent who worked very hard to provide his daughter with the best life. He was a great father judging by how well adjusted and happy Sarah was.
He doesn’t look grumpy now. With his mouth agape, he’s staring at the two of you and mumbles, “Fuck, Tommy.” He raises one brow and runs a hand through his dark hair in a nervous gesture. His black T-shirt rides up showing a slither of his soft stomach and a happy trail. Suddenly you remember all the times he would come home sweaty and hot from working outside all day and you bite your lip.
You’re used to being naked in front of strangers so it takes you a minute to realize you need to cover yourself up.
“Oh my god, Mr Miller. Fuck.. I’m so sorry,” you get up looking around for anything to put on. Of course there’s nothing except your tiny thong and the boots so you just place your hands awkwardly on your mound and breasts and stand between Mr Miller and ‘Tommy’, whose cock is still out and hard. He’s not putting it away, just sits there proudly. Your eyes are darting between the two men.
“You’re interrupting, bro,” Tommy says with a nonchalance in his voice. Now it’s your time to be surprised cos the man looks almost bored.
Joel visibly collects himself and comes up to you.
“I see that,” he says, looking you up and down and then turning to his brother, “Do you know that you’re getting blown by my babysitter?”
Joel looks back to you and brushes your arm with his big warm hand. You shiver at the touch.
“No shit! Babysitter?” Tommy sits up, finally expressing some interest. Joel hums and his brother chuckles and leans back again, holding his still hard cock in his hand, “Got yourself a new one?”
“Yeah… and I seemed to hit the jackpot,” Joel replies with a little smile but his eyes on you are darker, hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. Your skin erupts in goosebumps and you feel yourself like a bunny circled by hungry wolves.
“Mmm.. Mr Miller, I can explain,” you stutter nervously standing there like a school girl being scolded by a headmaster. You want to tell him that you don’t usually walk around sucking your clients off but Joel interrupts you, “No need to explain anything, sweetheart. Work is work. You did nothing wrong.”
His deep smooth voice makes your clit twitch and you almost gasp when he cups your cheek and lowers his face closer to yours, “I know you’re a good girl.”
“And full of surprises,” Tommy adds with a smirk looking at you almost differently, with more intrigue in the gaze and his cock twitches in his hand.
You glance up at Joel and his eyes slide to your lips and yours do the same. Your mouths are so close you’re breathing each other's air. His thumb is rubbing your cheek. Suddenly you jerk when Tommy coughs interrupting whatever is happening between you and your employer. Joel straightens up and his hand leaves your face.
“Ya know what,” he says walking to the chair across the room, placing it a couple meters away from you and taking a seat, “Don’t stop on my account.”
Your jaw drops and you freeze, hardly believing your own ears.
“You heard him, baby. We don’t need to stop,” Tommy repeats his brother's words as your shock is being replaced by excitement.
You hesitate at first but the idea of sucking a guy off when his brother is watching is so filthy that the burning in your core reignites again and you feel yourself gush.
You drop your arms exposing yourself to the men, come up to Tommy again and retake your previous position on your knees between his legs. You take his cock from him and turn your head back to Joel. His legs are spread, big hand resting on his inner thigh as he’s watching you.
You swallow loudly and turn back to Tommy. He must have read the anxiety on your face as he takes your chin between his fingers and gives you a warm smile.
“Don’t be shy, baby. My brother just wanna watch. Let’s give him something to remember when you come babysit for him next time.”
You blush, biting your lip and dropping your head. It can’t be happening. It feels like a weird wet dream. But you see this gorgeous weeping cock in your hand and your mouth salivates. And you would be lying if you said that you didn’t fantasize about Mr Miller bending you over his kitchen counter after your shift and fucking you senseless. So you bend down and kitten-lick Tommy’s fat tip. The man shamelessly moans and your pussy tingles at the sound.
You hear Joel’s groan as he must have a great view of your ass and pussy. The depravity of this situation makes your mind hazy and you arch your back wiggling your ass a little as you’re aching to be touched again. Your hand leaves Tommy’s balls which you were caressing and snakes down to your naked mound. You rub yourself there and then dip your fingers between your wet folds. A pathetic whimper escapes your lips muffled by Tommy’s cock and he twitches against your tongue stimulated by the vibrations.
“I think my naughty babysitter needs some attention, little brother,” Joel rumbles behind you and you hear a creak of the chair and his steps.
Parting from Tommy’s cock with a pop you turn your head and see Joel getting down on one knee next to you. You’re leaning on Tommys thighs, your elbows on his knees.
“You’ve been so good for my brother, sweetheart,” Joel says in a gentle voice, putting his hand on your back. You feel his calloused palm sliding down to your ass and then coming back up to your shoulder blades. “Has he made you come, baby?”
You nod your head staring up at him with slightly parted mouth. You still can’t believe you’re naked in front of the man you’re babysitting for and his brother. With the latter's precum on your lips.
“I’m a gentleman, Joel,” Tommy chimes in sounding offended. He glides his fingers along your neck, “Ladies always come first.”
Joel smirks and leans closer to your face not minding the stiff length of his brother just inches from you both and whispers in your ear, “Ya want another one?”
He presses his lips to your cheek and kisses you before traveling down to your jaw and neck. He grabs a fistful of your hair and holds you in place as he starts sucking a hickey into the delicate skin of your neck. You shut your eyes with a set of moans and tilt your head back for him.
“Don’t damage the goods, Joel”, Tommy jokes and the degrading remark sends you further into the depths of arousal.
“Please, make me come, Mr Miller,” you plead and both brothers seem to love it. Joel’s groaning against your neck while Tommy takes his cock from you and begins jerking his shaft.
Joel parts from you and you feel him gently pushing your head down. You follow his wordless command, lowering your face to his brother's crotch.
Joel guides you and when you open your lips he impales your mouth on Tommy’s cock.
“Yeah, just like that. Suck on it, sweetie, give my brother the best birthday present.”
Joel brushes the hair away from your face and watches you work Tommy’s cock for some time. His eyes are glued to your every move, every bob of your head, every swipe of your tongue around Tommy’s tip. The younger brother is holding your head on the other side and rhythmically raising his hips slowly fucking your mouth.
All this time Joel’s touch doesn’t leave you, he caresses your head, rubs your back and sides, until his hand snakes to your front and he grabs your breast and twitches your nipple. Your slick is dripping down your legs now and you can’t take it anymore.
With your lips still wrapped around Tommy’s cock you turn slightly to Joel and glance up at him. He’s panting and his half lidded eyes are clouded with arousal. He reads your expression and not being able to control himself any longer too, he orders, “Get up, sweetheart. But keep sucking.”
You do as you’re told placing your feet on the floor and standing up still keeping Tommy in your mouth. Joel gets up with a groan and walks behind you.
“Mr Miller’s gonna take good care of you, baby,” Tommy promises with a smirk and holds your arm to keep you steady in a new position. “Make sure she moans around my dick, bro,” he says louder and Joel hums in response.
“I know how to take care of a girl, little brother, don’t worry,” Joel quips, standing behind you as his clothed hard-on is pressed to your ass. You feel his fingers squeeze your cheeks and he gives you a light slap. You jerk and Tommy flinches, as your mouth moves on his cock a little too roughly. Joel chuckles and Tommy scolds him him,
“Be gentle, Joel, she’s got a mouth full of my cock.”
Joel laughs a little but his next movements are careful and soft. His big hands glide along your sides and down to your bottom again, rubbing your skin and making you clench around nothing. You wiggle your ass a little in invitation and he reads your signal.
“Look at her, Tommy. Can’t wait to be fucked by my fat cock while sucking on another dick… ahh..she’s gonna get a glowing recommendation from me.”
Both men laugh and you feel your pussy ache even more when they’re talking about you as if you’re not there and you place your feet further apart. “Ya wanna come on my cock, sweetheart, or my mouth?” Joel asks and you hastily part from Tommy and breathe out, “Cock, sir.”
“Fuck, baby,” Joel rumbles and you hear him unbuckling his belt and discarding it on the floor. You expect him to pierce you with his member any second now but you hear shuffling and then his warm lips kiss your pussy from behind. You gasp and Tommy smiles, gently pressing your head back down, “She’s like a little doe, so easy to spook.”
You lick the underside of the younger brother’s cock while Joel is behind you, peppering your pussy with open mouth kisses. Then his tongue slips between your folds and travels from your clit to your entrance. He spreads your pussy with his thumbs and your core burns with desire. You’re completely exposed, and you whine remembering that it’s Joel Miller who is about to make you fall apart while you’re blowing his brother. Joel’s movements are sure and effective and very soon your belly and thighs are trembling with an upcoming orgasm.
Mr Miller surprises you again when his tongue glides up to your asshole and he gives it a kiss after spreading your cheeks. You moan loudly not being afraid to be heard as the music is still blaring behind the closed door.
Tommy and Joel hear you well though and the oldest brother parts from your ass to lightly slap your cheek, getting your attention, “Ya like it, sweetheart? Will you let Mr Miller fuck your asshole with his tongue?”
“Yeah,” your whine, the sound muffled by cock. You roll your eyes in ecstasy and Tommy lifts your head by the hair a little to see the results of his brother’s actions on your face. Meanwhile Joel is licking your tight ring as his fingers rub circles on your throbbing clit. When he points his tongue at your little hole and starts poking it moving it deeper little by little you almost sob from the pleasure and lose your rhythm. You can’t concentrate on sucking any longer so Tommy pulls you off his cock.
“Hold it wide for me, baby” he commands, keeping you face above his red swollen tip and you do as you’re told, darting out your tongue. Your whimpers and moans fill the room accompanied by the squelching sounds of Tommy jerking his cock and Joel’s slurping on your tight hole.
Tommy’s eyebrows are furrowed and his gaze runs over your face, breasts and then your ass, being eaten out by his brother. The view takes him over the edge and he shoots his cum on your chin, lips and tongue. You close your mouth around his tip and drink everything he’s giving you. When Tommy pats your hand, you part from him and rest your head on his thigh, inches from his semi hard cock.
Joel gets up with a grunt and you finally feel his tip nudging at your dripping entrance. He impales you on his cock in one swift move and you scream when his tip hits your cervix. He’s big and your pussy aches trying to accommodate his thick length. You close your eyes and focus on the way his cock is gliding inside you, rubbing your sweet spot. A couple more thrusts and your whole body is shaking, ecstasy coursing through your veins, clit twitching and walls contracting. Your juices flow around Joel’s cock and he groans, “Yeah, good girl.. Fuck, squeeze Mr Miller’s cock.”
He begins thrusting into you vigorously and Tommy keeps you in place holding you tight while his brother starts pumping you full of his hot cum. Joel’s rough hands are gripping your hips leaving handprints on your skin while his cock is squirting seed deep into your pussy.
“Doing so good, baby,” Tommy coos at you, while you're nothing but a trembling shaking mess. He’s watching you both unravel and his cock twitches.
When your climax subsides and Joel stills and pulls out you fall on your knees between Tommys legs.
Both men help you up and Joel puts you like a rag doll on Tommy’s lap. You feel Joel’s cum leak out of you on his brother’s jeans.
You lean on the chest of the birthday boy resting your head on his broad shoulder, completely spent, drunk on endorphins and the depravity of what you’ve just done. Tommy lights up a cigarette as Joel gathers your clothes and boots and comes up to the two of you. He hands them to you and then caresses your cheek with a thumb giving you a warm smile,
“I’ll see you on Monday, sweetheart. Bring your costume.”
You smile back with a nod and he leaves.
🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩
Thank you for reading!
Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!💖
Tag list: @missannwinchester @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @nervousmumbling
I’d love to rec the fics that have been feeding my obsession with the Miller brothers combo! Check them out if you haven’t yet!♥️🥵
The Wrong Way @romana-after-dark
Leopard Print @toxicanonymity
Stuffing @toxicanonymity
At the Table @toxicanonymity
Liquid Gold @gasolinerainbowpuddles
Two Hands to Hold @gasolinerainbowpuddles
Too Depraved 4 TV @bonezone44
Smack My B*tch Up @milla-frenchy
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boliv-jenta · 7 months
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9/10/23
Fic recs
With Pleasured Hands Tommy Miller x AFAB reader, Joel Miller x AFAB reader
@magpiepills
Seven Minutes in Heaven (various Pedro boys) @firstofficerwiggles @oonajaeadira @okdeedee
Seven Minutes in Heaven (The Bathroom) Frankie Morales x f!reader
@tieronecrush
You Need to Relax, Sweetheart (18+) Joel Miller x Babysitter!reader (fem) ((with some Tess)) @walkintotheriveranddisappear
Frankie Fic Recs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin
Yoga (Agent Whiskey) @heyhilana
My Writing
Part 6 of And It Just Keeps Getting Better
Jack Whiskey Daniels x plus sized f!reader
Riches Beyond Your Wildest Dreams
Pero Tovar x f!reader
Tags: @kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass @mandoloriancookie @faceache111 @elegantduckturtle @manazo @simpingcowboy @pedrit0-pascalit0 @yourcoolauntie @pedrostories @geekrenaissance @its-nebuleuse @sherala007
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psychedelic-ink · 1 year
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kinktober '22 ║ XV
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pairing: jack daniels x f!reader
genre: smut, minors dni
word count: 1.2k
summary: It's late when you leave the office, you feel a pair of familiar eyes watching you.
warnings: consensual noncon, possesive!jack, alleyway s.ex, bondage, creampie, mentions of aftercare
a/n: I would like to point out again that everything in this is CONSENSUAL and even tho this is made aware in the fic, some parts of the dialogue can be triggering considering the nature of the kink so please read accordingly. This is a scene playing out between two consenting adults
MLISTS .  LIBRARY. TAGLIST . KINKTOBER '22
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He watches you. 
You feel him as you head home, the concrete wet and the air cold. The streets are empty, the clock nearing 2 AM. Nothing good ever happens after 2 AM, you think as you’re reminded of one of your favorite sitcoms. You flinch each time you take a step, hating the way it echoes within the alleyways. The only semblance of security you have is thanks to the man watching you through the shadows. He likes it. And you like being the target of his undivided attention, enjoy feeling the fear of never knowing when he’ll show himself. He also hates it when you get off of work late, and hates that other’s get to spend more time with you. 
You hear him when you turn into another alleyway, this one especially dark. Your heart is beating fast now, the small hairs on your nape standing up with unease. Squeezing your fist, you feel the keys poking out from between your fingers. What if he wasn’t watching you? What if it was someone else? 
He allows you to hear him, allows you to hear his steps. When you feel the warmth of his breath tickling your neck, you turn, hand striking forward in order to hit whoever is lurking behind you. The grip around your wrist is strong, he bends it and your mouth opens to scream, but before you can let out as much a peep his large hand covers your lips. You don’t see his face as he pushes you up the wall, you can only feel the familiarity of his lips, of the whiskers that tickle the back of your neck. 
“Such a pretty thing,” he rasps, his voice hoarse but still carrying that melodic tone. “Now, what on earth are you doing out alone?” 
“Trying to get home,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “Let me go, please,” 
“And why should I do that? I caught you didn’t I?” 
He pins your wrists against the small of your back, your keys falling down with a clatter. You struggle against him briefly, amused, he grunts, and before you know it you feel him tying you up with something made of leather. You manage to hit him with your shoulder when he slides his hand down to cup your asscheeks, arousal gathers between your legs and you feel your face growing hot. 
“How was your day, buttercup?” 
The question takes you by surprise, you blink before responding. 
“Good,” 
“Good.”  
You should be used to it by now, but the random questions he asks every time at the beginning still manages to surprise you. You know why he does it. Once you told him that you didn’t like him constantly asking if you’re okay, and he wasn’t comfortable in going on without checking in, then he came up with this, a random question to pull you back into reality for a brief moment. To let you know that he was there for you, no matter what you needed. If you answer negatively he stops, simple as that. 
His hand slides between your thighs and cups your heat, he growls at how wet you are, his breathing heavy in your ear. You attempt to struggle again, he clicks his tongue with disapproval, pressing you further into the rough surface of the wall. You hiss at the way it scratches your skin.
“Behave,” he groans, hips rutting into yours.
He unbuttons your jeans and tugs them down, hands finding refuge in the heat of your dripping cunt. His teeth sink into your neck, fingers moving along your folds and stopping at your clit, only to draw rough circles around the bundle of nerves. You gasp, his name falling from your lips. Your wrists strain against the binds, he laps at the salt of your skin. 
“Look at you, so wet already,” 
You tremble at the way his voice dips, his fingers make you clench, your thighs pressing together while he continues to grind his cock into the curve of your ass. Without a second thought you roll your hips down to his fingers, the wet sounds make your stomach roll. He chuckles, his warmth breath fanning your skin, and brings his hand to your lips. 
“Suck, taste how good I’m making you feel babygirl,” 
You press your lips into a thin line, moving away. Jack swiftly grabs your chin and forces your lips apart, shoving his fingers inside and pressing them into your tongue. Your legs shake at the taste, a moan rippling in your throat as you swirl your tongue around them. 
“That’s it, you’re takin’ my finger so well darlin’, so fucking well– Can’t wait to feel you squeeze my cock sweet thing,” 
When he’s inside you, it hurts. His cock stretches you in a way that no other man has ever done, the pain burns your insides and mixes with the pleasure. Your eyes roll back, moans slipping from your lips as your aching pussy wets his cock. Soon the pain is nothing but a pleasant pressure, the alleyway echoes with the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. Your legs tremble, noticing this Jack wraps an arm around your waist, his lips pressed against your ear as he sings utter filth. 
“You’re so tight– You’re so beautiful like this, stuffed full of my cock for anyone walking by to see. You like it when I claim you darlin’, does it excite you?” 
Your chest wants to cave in. The way he slams his hips is mind numbing, knocking the air out of you with every thrust. You’re spinning, the wind blows cold against your sweaty skin and you finally let your head fall back, surrendering yourself to him. You feel his lips on your skin. His one hand sneaks under your shirt, squeezing your breast while the other toys with your clit. The weight of his cock feels heavy inside you, sliding in and out with ease as you come undone around him. 
“That’s it, show me who you belong to– So goddamn pretty,” 
You’re trembling, body feeling shattered as he continues to rock his hips even deeper into you. Slick drips down his length, a white circle staining the base of his cock. 
“Take it all,” he rasps, both hands on your ass as he drills into you. “Fucking take it–” 
Your jaw drops, a loud moan escaping you, with urgency he covers your mouth, drowning the noise. His hips stutter, burying himself into you again and again as he fills you with his seed. It feels amazing, so amazing that you close your eyes, another orgasm tingling deep within you. You know you don’t have time for another one, you are out in the open after all, but the thought alone makes you flutter around him. 
“Fuck,” he breathes out, voice shaky. “You good sugar?” 
“Y-Yeah,” 
Cum trickles down your thighs when he pulls out, your body shivers at the feeling. Jack watches only a moment before untying you and pulling up your pants. He holds your waist, your one arm around his broad shoulder as the two of you make your way out of the alleyway. 
“The car is parked nearby,” he says, his voice soft. “We’ll head home, I got you your favorite bath bomb,” 
“I hope you’re going to join me cowboy,” 
“Only if you want me to,” 
You giggle at the uncertainty in his voice, it makes your heart swell. 
“Well if you don’t join me who’s going to wash my back,” 
When you see him finally smile in earnest, yours becomes wider. 
“I guess you’re right darlin’.” 
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kinktober tags: @tusk89 , @amneris21 , @witchisenpai , @pedrito-friskito , @tom-whore-dleston , @lola766 , @batdarkladyvampir , @dindjarinswhore , @dnxgma , @eyelessfaces , @queenofthefaceless , @softtdaisy , @saintlike78 , @timpletance , @xdaddysprincessxx , @stardust-galaxies , @spacecowboyhotch, @queenofthecloudss , @prettyouttherethoughts , @reaperofmen , @partr1dge , @bbyanarchist , @alwaysdjarin , @thevoiceinyourheadx , @absurdthirst , @levi-llama , @damnyoupedro , @stardust-galaxies , @all-the-way-down-here , @welcometostayingawake, @bullet-prooflove
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