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queenie-avenue · 5 months

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There's no solution for whatever this was.

💌 ⤻ THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

—> when you come crashing into his life, his focus for his studies are lost.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader's race is not mentioned but it does take place in korea, stalking, obsession, slightly suggestive, possessiveness, stealing, damage to personal, slightly suggestive, property, encouraging suicide, mentions of academic stress and korea's expectation for its students, inspired by @moyazaika 's academic rival yandere (go check the fic out, it's amazing), a drabble for now but I will be posting longer fics of him

🦋 ⤻ archives.

In Korea, students are shown to be almost always studying. Many news outlets have covered multiple schools and how much pressure Korean students are going through with their studies. It's difficult, no one can deny it. Yet, some of these students just find it normal, they view studying as perhaps their only form of control they have in their world.

One of those such students is Seo Min-Jun, a student belonging to a prestigious private high school. Someone who is in his final year of high school, soon to graduate and take his university exams. Top of his class, the son to a minister in Korea's government and a rather popular film actress, and the president of the student council. He was destined for success once he graduated.

The moment he crawled out of his mother's womb, his fate was paved for him in gold.

That was, until you — the sweet scholarship student — showed up.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

At first, he didn't understand you. Both of you were literally in your last year of school, but you waltzed in like you owned the place. At least, from his perspective. He thought you bland. After all, you got in from a scholarship. You may be smart, but were you as rich, or was your status in society as high as him? It didn't matter, he still viewed you as below him and didn't pay much attention to you, relegating his secretary in the student council to give you a tour of the elite private school that you should honestly be honoured to step your grimy shoes all over.

Sure, he'd never say these things out to you or anyone else in public. After all, he was still a model student, and he was taught to act humble. Key word: act.

He honestly didn't take an interest in you till he saw your name, above his, on the monthly test evaluations.

"What?" He muttered out, not believing his eyes. In almost every damn subject, you managed to score higher than him. He was almost always one mark off from you. His eyes shot to you, the you who stood there in your crisp and cut uniform on the other side of the crowd, looking up at the papers pressed onto the walls with a look of pride. What was that look of pride for?

Pride, something that existed strongly in almost every culture, and you had just ruined his.

Your life was never the same afterwards.

Letters of hatred piled in your shoe locker. They ranged from being written like some crazed man worshipping your feet like you were a god to someone who wanted to see you hop off the building of your school. The handwriting was typically crazed, but you could recognise whose handwriting it was solely because the both of you were in the same class.

As usual, the school board did nothing to help with that. And when you tried to accuse Min-Jun, the teachers especially scolded you for attempting to defame the student council president.

It got so bad that your things were going missing too, your homework — which the teachers unreasonably scolded you for even if you were user sure you placed it in your bag this morning — and then your notes too. Technically, they did return. They just returned torn up, and some were even burnt with mysterious stains on them.

One day, you couldn't take it anymore after receiving a death threat, and you stormed to the student council office, knowing that if you went to the general office, they'd turn you away again.

You would take matters into your own hands.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

When Min-Jun first saw you enter the room, he was left breathless. Your blushed cheeks from running all the way here, no doubt, the way your uniform crumpled, his mouth was almost drooling. No, no. He refused to let himself lust over you in such a manner that you were a rival, for goodness sake! Not some... potential love interest. Though that thought did pique his interest but he pushed it down with any other thoughts he had about his rival.

"I can't take it anymore." You said, which shocked him. Was someone bullying you? Only he could do that! "I know it's you. I've seen your handwriting on tests before, I just know you're the one who's been planting those notes and stealing my things." You accused your one-sided academic rival.

He didn't bother to defend himself. What was the point? His family would protect him, the school would protect him, and most importantly, the student body would rip them to shreds if they ever tried to act out against him. He knew how cruel students could be. After all, he had seen all the outcasts almost drowned inside toilet bowls by bullies multiple times.

He could not have that. Having you tortured would mean he would not be able to have a proper rival. As much as he disliked you for being in his way, he preferred to keep things... somewhat fair.

"And your proof?" He inquired.

"I have all those notes stored in my bag." You hissed.

For some reason, the thought of you keeping those notes made his heart beat faster. Were you a freak like him too? Did you have such sinful thoughts just like him? You broke his twisted fantasy with your next words, though.

"I don't understand why you're doing this to me. It's- it's," you struggled to find a word for his disturbing actions, "ceaselessly cruel!" You finally exclaimed.

Cruel? What was cruel were your actions, driving him mad, making him lose focus on his work. Who were you to call him cruel when you made him like this?

He got up from his seat and approached you, causing you to fall back, landing on the couch that you swore was not there when the entered the student council room. Taking this chance, he pinned you against the seat, taking in every part of your body, your face, your eyes... everything. God, you were so perfect but so infuriating. Just why did you have to confront him?

"Are you that fucking naive to think that when you present the school with your proof, they'll do anything about it for you? That they'll go against me and my family for the sake of defending the poor scholarship student?" He hissed, grabbing your face harshly as you whimpered. He wished the circumstances of your whimpers were different; in his bed rather than on the couch of the student council office. Still, that did breed intriguing fantasies into his mind. "You think they'll do that for you?" He repeated.

"I-" you started, but you had no idea how to end.

"Exactly." He let go of you, almost smacking your head to the other side as he straightened himself, readjusting the blazer of his uniform.

"You should get used to the circumstances of your situation." He said which only made you shudder. "Let yourself out." He said cooly as he exited the student council room, "I trust you'll keep this meeting a secret." He said with an air of finality before sauntering casually towards the male bathrooms where he promptly slammed the door shut and sat on the toilet seat, practically fuming.

That look on your face, the scrunch of your nose, the furrowing of your eyebrows. You were so unfair! He could practically feel all his blood flush downwards as he thought of you.

Now that you knew he was the culprit, what would you do?

It didn't matter.

He would find ways to pester you and find ways to mark you as someone who could not be touched by anyone else other than him.

"I left another note in your bag. You should look at it. Or else."

#male yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere academic rival #yandere

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urrsstrully · 10 days

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park gunwook with a younger s/o

zerobaseone park gunwook x younger!reader genre : fluff, a very tooth rotting fluff word count : 760 warning : too fluffy, so much usage of petname (baby), usage of “oppa”, some of you might find this cringy but it’s my style of writing so please don’t judge 🥹🫶🏻 a/n : this man live in my head rent free and i just have a lot of thoughts of him dating a younger s/o (also because i just love boys whos older than me so i made this). this is for all of the gunwook stan whos younger than him <3 reader is around 1-2 years younger than gunwook !

DEFINITELY GONNA BABY YOU MOST OF THE TIME. just like how he saw yujin, he just wants to protect you and offer you all the best efforts he could provide.

he finds all the things that you do endearing and it makes him love you even more. PARTICULARLY, if you’re the shy type who gets flustered so easily.

he would unleash his flirty side even more. He ADORES seeing you flustered; there’s simply no way to escape from his flirtatious behavior. Sometimes, he'll put his hand on top of your head and ruffle your hair or gently pat your head. Or he might suddenly bring his face close to yours, maintaining eye contact until you can’t handle it anymore.

his heart wouldn’t take it anymore and wants you in his pocket immediately so that he can bring you anywhere he goes. “could you stop being such a cutie, cuz i can’t handle it.”

even when you’re smiling and giggling, he feels like his heart is about to burst. “please stop that bright smile of yours, baby. i might faint because of your cuteness right now.”

he would let out his protective side even more. of course, because you’re his baby and he needs to protect you.

you got hurt? he’ll be panicking and acts on it immediately, even if it’s just a slight cut on your finger, he’ll be treating you like a wounded soldier. you’re suddenly crying? he’ll give his shoulder for you to lean on.

he’ll be sooooo cuddly and clingy, all he need after a rough day is just your cuddle. prepared to be babied whenever you guys cuddle cuz this man LOVES babying you and he just can’t help it.

it’s definitely the popular senior x junior type of trope between the two of you. you’ll be the luckiest junior to be with him, cuz who wouldn’t want to have a boyfriend like gunwook.

ALSO, you got to know him because you had the chance to be a part of the student council, with him being the vice president of the student council at that time.

he always got his eyes on you whenever there’s some opportunity of you two working together in school. he always finds an excuse to be beside you and some other student council members might actually notice the change in his behavior whenever you’re near him.

you’ll probably got to be the most talked-about junior among the seniors because how close you are to gunwook and how sweet gunwook’s gestures are towards you.

but because of the csat, he got too focused on it and became a bit distance with you. HOWEVER, after the test and all of the final exams were done, he finally had the courage to talk to you seriously about his feelings.

it’s a bit sad that you guys established the relationship when he’s already on his way to graduating.

BUT DON’T WORRY, cuz after he graduated, he will be your own private lesson teacher. he’ll always be there when you need to finish your homework and whenever there’s a quiz or test coming up, he’ll be there to help you with the materials.

there have been a few times where he actually asked if you had a test or quiz upcoming. “do you have any tests coming this week? if so, don’t be bother to tell me, alright?”

he’ll be worried too if you overworked yourself. he’ll ne the one who always remind you to take a rest and eat properly.

“school isn’t everything, baby. you don’t need to overwork yourself okay? you need time to rest too.”

if you had a rough time at school, your escape would be him. spending time with him would let go all of the burden on your shoulders. ESPECIALLY, you could burry your face onto his broad chest and rant about what happened in your school.

aside from all of the school stuff, he’s just going to be the best boyfriend ever. with the best effort and he wants to be the best for you and you’ll always tell him that he’s just the best.

one thing that definitely gonna fluster him is when you occasionally call him oppa.

“oppa, can you help me with this..” “okay… oppa will help you with it”

his face will be full of the most lovesick, cheeky, and cocky expression ever. he just can’t hide his wide smile anymore and definitely gonna remember it for the rest of the day.

“call me that even more, please.”

IN CONCLUSION, THIS MAN IS THE BEST BOYFRIEND EVER.

©️urrsstrully.2024.copyright

#urrsstrully’s #zerobaseone #zb1 #park gunwook #zb1 park gunwook #zerobaseone park gunwook #park gunwook headcanons #gunwook headcanons #gunwook fluff #gunwook x reader #park gunwook x reader #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 x reader

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deltaromeo3 · 11 months

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𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎..? #3 ⋆ Charles Leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: in which the reader does not recognise the famous Monegasque Formula 1 driver; the very same one that was about to change her perspective on the sport and also her life.

— buckle up cos this is a long one yall…. a lil smau at the end? 👀

— you can read parts 1 & 2 here: #1 #2

You went on three more dates after the brunch date. You really enjoyed his company and agreeing to go for brunch with him was the best decision you've ever made.

Charles had popped the question on the third date and of course, you said yes. However, you still kept your relationship private but not secret. No one knew who he was dating and vice versa…. yet.

Today was your final paper for Uni. You had spent the last few weeks focused on studying so you couldn't meet Charles (and attend his races) as often as you wanted to but he was totally understanding and even had flowers delivered to your house to boost your morale.

You went to school with the notes you wrote clutched in your hands. You had a few hours to kill so you decided to have a light breakfast and head to the library to do last minute revisions with Emma.

The clock hits 1:30pm and all the students were gathered in the examination hall, seated in their respective places as the papers were being handed out. You turned to Emma who was seated a few seats diagonally behind you.

She shows a thumbs up and mouths 'good luck!' with a smile on her face.

You returned the gesture and then turn your attention back towards yourself.

Three hours later, you exited the exam hall and let out a sigh of relief. You took out your phone to text Charles, letting him know you were done with your final paper of the goddamn semester.

In the midst of typing, you bumped into someone.

"Oh god I'm so sor- Charles?!" You yelled out.

He laughs but was quick to shush you by covering your mouth, "Hi,"

You were shocked to see him as he was away for the British Grand Prix. You figured you had a few days left before he returns but as you just found out, he was back early.

You hugged him in joy and he embraces you in his arms.

"How was the paper?" He asks as he lets go, the two of you walking away.

"Good- but difficult. I think I'll do well," You hesitantly say.

His eyebrows furrow, "You think? Come on, don't say that! I know you'll do well,"

"Yeah? You think so?"

"Of course! You're my girl, there's nothing you can't do my love," He says as he kisses your forehead.

You smiled in response, feeling a little better.

"Let's go for dinner?"

It's like he was able to read your mind.

Fast forward, it was graduation. You did indeed do well. Your parents couldn't attend as they were miles away so they supported you via live stream. Charles however...

@yourusername posted on their story

@charles_leclerc posted on their story

Monza.

Monza was a particularly important race; Charles loved the Monza GP as much as he loved his home race- it held a very special place in his heart.

This was your first time attending, the atmosphere of the tifosi’s was like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

You were with Emma in the Ferrari hospitality as Charles had paddock & VIP passes for the both of you. Of course, he couldn’t forget Emma. He said if it weren’t for her, the two of you wouldn’t have met.

The both of you were seated at the back of the garage with headphones on, focused on the race.

The race started off well. Charles was on pole, which was amazing, he even managed to maintain his position for the next 53 laps, keeping the two Mercedes drivers behind him at bay.

“Mercedes threw everything at him today- Charles Leclerc has coped brilliantly! He won in Spa, he wins in Monza!”

As soon as his car crosses the finish line and the checkered flag waves, you rushed over to the barricades, waiting for him.

As soon as he parks his car in the Parc Ferme, he rushes to the team donned in red.

He brushed past everyone as soon as he saw you at the front of the line. He runs over to you, immediately embracing you in a hug.

You hugged him back but was taken aback at his sudden action because your relationship hadn’t gone public yet. But today, Charles figured it was time the world knew.

You kissed the top of his helmet, afterwards pushing his visor up, eyes locked with the same set of green eyes you were first met with at the supermarket a year back. His eyes were squinting- he was smiling.

With his hands rested on your waist, he proceeds to place his forehead on yours, “Je t’aime. I love you. Je t’aime tellement. I love you so much.” He says loud enough so you could hear him over the screams and cheers.

You smiled. Your heart melts when the words escape his mouth because prior to this, the both of you hadn’t said your “I love you’s” yet.

“Take off your helmet,” You said and he quickly proceeded to do so.

You placed your hands on the side of his face bringing him in closer, kissing him. Once you let go, you said,

“Je t’aime aussi, Charles. I love you too, Charles.”

yourusername

liked by emmaharper, charles_leclerc, yoursister and others

yourusername I guess I’m a Ferrari fan now…🤭

emmaharper #ForzaFerrari 🤪🤪

charles_leclerc 😘😘 I love you

yourusername I love you too❤️

emmaharper ew

yourusername @emmaharper 🙄

yoursister SO THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT U R DATING CHARLES BLOODY LECLERC???

yourusername 😳😳

charlesleclerclover well now we know who’s the mystery girl…👀

charlesleclerc_fc new wag!!!!!

user1 ooh so she’s the doctor he posted about!

yourusername @user1 yessir🤭

yourfriend y/n you dating a f1 driver was NOT on my bingo card….

yourusername hehehe surprise…?

view all 136 comments

A/N: here it is, the long awaited part 3! and with that, the “and you are…?” series comes to an end!! hehe definitely didn’t expect there to he 3 parts but oh well! i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! thank you for all the love <3

ps. im open for requests :)

— taglist: @charlottemount @fangirlika @lunnnix @maryleclerc

#f1 imagines #f1 #f1 x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fic #charles leclerc fic #scuderia ferrari #f1 x y/n #charles x y/n #and you are..? 3 #and you are..?#charles leclerc imagines #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x y/n

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anniesannex · 5 months

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Dr. Johnny Cage Headcanons

I know it’s not chapter two but I can’t stop thinking about it. In one of the voices lines pre-fight Johnny says “Please, I’ve got a PHD in quantum mechanics, bitch.” And I’m taking this and running with it. Also my asks are open if anyone wants to request anything! -A

Johnny Cage loves science. He is the biggest dork on the planet and he will just go on abt quantum mechanics if you want to listen to him.

I like to think that he originally got a degree in theater bc he’s an actor. That man is a killer thespian.

Once he started to get more famous he decided to go back to school to study quantum mechanics.

He definitely pulled all nighters to study. Especially during exams. During exam weeks he ran off caffeine.

You would try to help him but it’s no use. It’s crazy hard.

By the time he’s entering his doctorate program he’s got a set type of schedule and study flow.

He is IN THE ZONE when studying. Nothing can break his focus

Well maybe one thing.

He’s basically like top of his classes. He’s crazy smart and he knows it.

“Johnny come to beddd. You can pick back up tomorrow.” “Sorry babe give me one more hour and I’m all yours.”

Gets excited to graduate. Can’t wait to hang up his doctorate.

You start calling him doctor just around the house.

“Doctor cage.” “Not yet doll.”

When graduation day finally comes he looks like he’s abt to jump so high he could reach the moon.

“What do you wanna do to celebrate later Doctor?” “How abt a private party?”

You cheer so loud for him when he gets his name called.

“Johnathan Carlton” “woooo! That’s my man! Go baby!”

You guys know that video of Megan Thee Stallion graduating? Yeah it’s that same energy when his name is called.

He won’t admit it but he was nervous abt walking the stage and the reaction made him blush.

After the ceremony you guys share a warm embrace.

“I’m so proud of you baby.” “I’m proud of myself.”

You guys have that private party.

He starts using the doctor prefix. Talks abt it nonstop.

“I’m a doctor.” “Sir this is a Wendy’s.”

LOVES whenever he’s working on quantum mechanics stuff. Whenever he has time to at least.

All and all he’s so happy that he did it and proud of himself for sticking to it. And so are you.

#johnny cage x reader #mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #johnny cage #headcanon #doctor Johnny cage

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panicpixieplaygirl · 8 months

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PRIVATE PORTFOLIO (indiana jones)

synopsis: dr. jones gets the wrong portfolio from a soon to graduate pupil. PART 2

word count: 2k warnings: smut-ish?, age gap, teacher-student

MINORS DNI! 18+

You were giddy, giggling and chatting to your friend, Marjorie. The end of spring semester was here, the weather was nice, and you were finally graduating. You had planned an exciting summer, ready to break loose and embrace the wide, open, adult world, and had already begun as you finalized the last of your exams, projects, and duties. You had crossed the very last task off your list, turning in your final portfolio to Dr. Jones, and were ready to share the daring first step of your liberation with your dear friend.

"They're really tasteful, not even as racy as I wanted them to be. I didn't even get nude. But the lingerie, Marge, oh, it's gorgeous." You spoke to her at your side as you slipped the thin, black, monogrammed portfolio from your bag.

"I always thought only brides did those sorts of portfolios. Do you think I should get some done? I mean, what if someone finds them?" Marjorie was no more a prude than you were, but they were valid questions for young women. But you were women; grown, adult women, about to embark on a new chapter of your lives. There wasn't a more perfect time.

"Just wait 'til you see them. They're artistic. You'd look amazing, when you see what they did for me, you won't be able to resist. Besides, this sort of thing is about us. Better fit for graduation than a wedding anyway. Oh, just wait until you see!" You both squeal and knock into each other excitedly as you close the gap between your shoulders, shielding the portfolio from any lingering eyes that may appear, despite your backs to the wall in the university library.

But when you finally opened the portfolio, the heat from the thrill drained from your cheeks, replaced with a quick, anxious pattering of your heart.

"Oh, shit!" You exclaimed loudly, enough to echo and get a few glares from others nearby finishing their studies. You turn to Marjorie, whose eyes are as wide as yours, and let out a panicked whisper.

"I put the wrong goddamn portfolio in Dr. Jones' office!"

You rush out of the library as quickly as you can without causing a scene, and head straight for Dr. Jones' office, praying he wouldn't be there. It had been less than 15 minutes since you dropped it off. Hopefully he was busy enough around this time that he wouldn't have seen it yet, you could just switch them. Hopefully.

Unfortunately for you, your signature monogrammed folder at the top of his stack was a delight for Dr. Jones. You were a star student all throughout your time in the program, and a competent, thorough display of knowledge and skill would be a perfect break in the half-assed mediocrity he'd been trudging through. He wasted no time opening the portfolio.

And of course, the display he stumbled upon was far from what he expected.

Initially, Dr. Jones’ stomach and mouth twisted at the prospect that this was some audacious attempt to seduce him in turn for a passing final grade, but it just seemed too out of character, and unnecessary for you. He couldn't piece it together.

Worse, he couldn't bring it upon himself to close the folder, or tear his eyes from it. He scanned the first photo, your hair, your eyes, your figure, felt his heart leap at the chance to view you in a new light.

When he gained the confidence to flip through the next images, he was amazed at how artistically they were done, capturing every curve of your body in a way that made his chest and his pants grow tight. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't help himself. The photographs were captivating, and he couldn't look away.

He was ashamed of his reaction, but he couldn't help the way his body was responding to the images before him. He tried to rationalize it, to convince himself that it was just a temporary lapse in judgment, but the more he looked, the more he was convinced that it wasn't just the images that were getting to him. It was the idea of you, his unusually reserved, star student, exploring her sexuality in a way he never could've predicted.

Dr. Jones had never felt such an intense attraction towards a student before. He felt a warmth spreading throughout his body, his blood pulsing, heart racing, thoughts consumed with the images before him. He felt guilty for looking, but he couldn't resist the temptation.

Your knock on his door breaks him from his condemnable indulgence with a start. He clumsily shuffles the photos quickly back together and shuts the slim black folder, clearing his throat before calling out.

"Yeah, come in."

Your heart rate and shame mirrored his when you entered his office, and only worsened at the sight of your portfolio in his large hands.

He saw the alternative folder in your hands, and his earlier conclusions were confirmed. A mistake, not even meant for his eyes. To think, what he would have missed, the sensuality you hid behind that sweet act. He wouldn't miss any more. This could be the last meeting between you. There wasn't a more perfect time.

His silence only stressed your anxiety, your throat dry as you went to speak.

"Have you... opened it?" You ask in a hushed tone. It sends shivers up Indiana's spine, but he hides them too well.

"I have." He says, coming off dismissively to you, and you feel your stomach drop with his words.

It occurrs to you that he probably assumed you did it on purpose- one of many students desperate for the attention of their stunning, charming professor, and somehow you were filled with even more dread.

You were no different than the others; although you wouldn't ever make a move, especially one as bold as this, no one could deny he was magnetically attractive.

And now he was likely to humiliate you. Or worse.

What a way to start the summer.

“Close the door." His voice was stern, pulling you out of your spiraling. You worried your knees may just give out below you with his tone.

Dr. Jones was never especially strict, but he certainly wasn’t forgiving. You could only hope that he would spare you some mercy, understanding, discretion, enough to let you seize your freedom.

You turned to shut the door, taking your time, working up the courage to face him again. When you did he was standing, gazing down at the portfolio he’d opened once again.

"Dr. Jones," you started, doing your best to keep your voice steady. "I really didn't mean for you to see... that portfolio. I was hoping you wouldn’t be here actually."

He glanced up at you only for a brief moment, eyes slowly and deliberately scanning your figure, before returning his eyes back to the photos.

"I see that.” He replied almost humorously, referring to your obvious fright and the identical folder in your hand. “Doesn't change that I have, though."

For a brief moment, you worried about your health more than anything. Your heart pounded with an alarming force, your breath was short and ragged. As proud as you were, it was never your intention for these images to grace the eyes of anyone other than your girlfriends, really. Especially your professor. Dr. Jones, of them all; that was the worst part.

With those dreamy eyes observing your portraits so closely, your embarrassment was accompanied by a creeping arousal, dull but developing. He was studying them, ingesting them, grading them. And Dr. Jones always gave you good marks. You found delight in your dread, being on display for his judgement, wondering what he might think, say, do. The fleeting thought that he may be enjoying them. But you were nearly hyperventilating, and his silence was too biting for you to keep your mouth shut.

"Really, I'm sorry, they're..." Private? Deviant? Pornographic? You couldn't even find the words to express your humiliation.

"They're remarkable."

Your stomach drops with his admission, heat blossoming in your cheeks.

"What?"

He laughs then, deep and slow, like he should’ve expected it all along, sliding his glasses off and setting them aside. He’s still looking at the portraits, and it’s killing you, even after his unforeseen compliment. You can’t believe your ears.

And then he’s coming around his desk and slowly striding toward you, and you can’t believe your eyes either. His beauty was distracting before, but now it was plain intimidating. You rarely considered the man that existed under his professional attire, he was flawless enough, but his bare face compelled you to let your mind run. Even just the tiny, non-obstructing layer being shed has you thirsting for more.

“You’re too humble, doll. Always have been.” His voice is softer now, the pet name makes your heart skip and your cunt flutter.

He closes the gap between you quickly in his small office, now closer to you than he ever had been. Your back meets the door as he towers over you, trapping you in his imposing frame. His cologne is woodsy & sweet, like cedar, strong with the paper-thin distance between you. You’re already beyond words, nearly convinced that you had passed out from the stress and were now stuck in a dream, but the reaction from your body feels too real.

“Everything you’ve ever brought across my desk has been impressive. So don’t tell me you’re sorry.” He speaks lowly and seductively, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. “You didn’t look very sorry in those pictures.”

You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut and your chest heaves as you try to ignore the electric shocks dancing through your body at the feel of his hand on you. Already you’re putty in his hands, melting further into the puddle steadily forming in your panties. He’s not even punishing you, much the opposite, but still he’s managed to disastrously humiliate you with how easily you’re crumbling for him.

Indiana almost didn’t expect you to reflect his attraction. You were smarter than the rest, smart enough not to chase after a man twice to your age. But he could practically smell your arousal, sweetening your already honeyed scent. Maybe he was a fool, but he could only believe your want for him was well-informed, reasoned, real. Your reaction satisfies some unknown, haunting yearning deep within him, emboldening him to go on further, finally admit the truth to each of you.

“I’m not sorry for lookin’ at ‘em.”

Your eyes fly back open and meet his mystical ones. He sees it then, before you even know it’s there, the filth you were nearly ready to unleash on him, the new, lustful look in your eye, making him twitch. But it’s nothing compared to your next words.

“You really liked my photos, Dr. Jones?”

Indiana huffs out a breath through his nose like the question is comical. What was a genuine inquiry for you was received by him as a coy act that he was growing tired of. He’d seen the girl in the photos, he knew how wanton you could be. He lifts your chin so he can speak against your ear.

“Don’t play innocent.” His free hand reaches for yours and brings it to the front of his slacks, and you gasp in surprise to find him nearly fully hard under your palm. He lets out a soft, groaning sigh at your feather-light touch, relishes in your broken “oh” as he presses himself harder against your hand.

For all his experience, you were innocent; a virgin relative to him. What he saw in you was the potential he could bring out of you. But you were ripe and primed to learn, especially from the beautiful, brawny professor pressing you into his office door.

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

His hand leaves yours and pins your full hand to your hips, reaching to your side to lock the door.

#dr. jonesing #indiana jones x reader smut #indiana jones x reader

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astroboots · 1 year

Text

Morning Sunshine

Summary: Once again, you wake up to Santiago in bed with Frankie and you.

Content: pr0n, pr0n, pr0n. This gets smutty.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you) x Frankie

Wordcount: 6,900 words of depraved smut.

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

You have a recurring dream.

It always comes when you're anxious. Back in College it used to happen the night before an exam. Now that you've graduated and joined the workforce, it tends to rear its ugly head before a performance review. But the most safe bet that this dream will always make an appearance whenever Santiago is visiting and about to leave.

Leaving for deployment. Leaving for a private job. Leaving for the sake of leaving.

In this dream, unlike the stereotypical stress dream, you're not standing naked in front of a class. Your teeth don't fall out through a hole in your cheek. In fact nothing much of note happens in it.

You're just standing on an empty tarmac, waiting for a plane that never arrives no matter how long you stand there.

There's no sight of it even as your feet become sore and throbs and aches with blisters. Not even as the clear blue sky turns obsidian dark and stars begin to dust the black canvas above.

Most of the times when you dream you're alone throughout. Sometimes a person you've never met before, with a nondescript face will walk up to you and ask you what you are doing. You'll tell them that you're waiting and when they ask you for what and who, you'll shake your head and refuse to answer.

You never tell them. Because like a birthday wish, there's a chance that if you say anything, your wish won't come true.

You wake in your bedroom. The first of the morning sun spill through the blinds with a warm gentle glow that settles over the cream sheets on the bed, dyeing it in amber.

Peering up, you stare at Santiago from where your head is resting on his chest, chin tucked into his clavicle.

He's here.

He's actually here.

Your eyes roam over Santiago's face, over the golden skin that's baby-soft without a single blemish no matter how hard you try to find one.

Soft plump lips most girls would die to for. Ink-black lashes so thick and long sometimes you wonder if they're fake. They have to be.

His lashes flutter behind his shut eyes in his sleep. It's almost as if he could sense your thoughts from his sleep and decided to rub it in your face. You press your face back into the hollow of his neck, nose brushing up against the lazy pulse you feel there.

He's here, it reminds you as it beats faintly against your skin. Santiago is actually back.

You bite down on your lip, tampering down the jolt of giddiness that rushes to your head at the thought.

It's hard to stay still, excitement is vibrating inside your bones and it wants to burst out of your skin. If it wasn't for Frankie's grounding weight pressed warm against your back, caging you in, you're not sure you wouldn't be floating off the mattress.

Taking a long deep breath, you try to stay calm so you don't wake either of them.

For a moment you try to talk yourself into trying to fall back asleep and catch a little bit more sleep.

But no, that's not happening this morning. Your brain is too wired. You haven't even had coffee yet. But you feel like you've had a dozen of espresso shots injected straight into your bloodstream, ready to run a marathon.

Santiago is here. In your home. In your bed. With you. And with Frankie.

For two whole years, he had stayed gone and didn't come to visit you even once.

The only signs he wasn't buried six feet under in some desert half across the world were a handful of calls, infrequent texts and hastily written postcards that arrived in the mail months apart.

In all that time, you haven't caught so much as a glimpse of his infuriating, beautiful face.

And now he's here, has been here for the last two weeks.

You don't know how you managed this. Don't know how you lured Santiago Garcia into your bed that first morning of his visit. Don't know how you managed the even more impressive feat of not having him bolt barefeet to Tampa airport when the three of you'd woken up together half-naked tangled in bed.

Your fingers linger over the pulse of his throat, making sure that he's real.

And he is. Warm and soft under your fingertips. Your lips are stuck in dopey smile.

Santiago stirs from under you, voice groggy with sleep as he grunts quietly. It takes you a second to register that the garbled sound muffled against his pillow are words. You just can't make out what he's saying.

"What was that?" you ask.

His head lifts just slightly from the pillow. "Said go back to sleep." Then he drops himself back down with a soft thud. "Too early," he mumbles. Those soft riotous curls of his spill across the pillow.

Gorgeous, ridiculously pretty bastard.

Your fingers draw down until you meet the familiar golden chain resting there. The gold glistens against the sun, and you trace the length of it from the back of his neck to his chest, until you reach the end, where the pendant rests. It's the shape of half a heart cracked in half.

You snort with a laugh.

It's been a hot minute since you've last seen this hideous thing. He usually tucks it inside his shirt, hidden from plain sight.

It's one of those ugly and cheap BFF necklaces that were all the rage in the 90's. The kind one could buy from any strip mall in America. You'd know, because that's where you got it, down the road from your first apartment, some ten years ago.

Holding the half golden heart between your thumb and index finger, you smile. It is a heinously ugly thing adorned with a gaudy pink rhinestone to boot.

You'd really taken your time that day to pick the most obnoxiously offensive option, hadn't you?

For all the grouching Santiago did when you had given it to him, all the griping about how "eye-gougingly ugly” it was. How much he "hates it". How he was "going to throw it into the Pacific where it can't do more harm" -- somehow all these years later, it still hangs around his neck.

It just has a bit of wear and tear now, polished from use where it rubs against the collar of his shirt, to the point where the lettered inscription of 'BE FRIE' stacked on top of each other is barely legible anymore.

Older than a decade, this beaten up necklace, and he's still wearing it.

"You have terrible taste you know," his sleep-rasped voice comes from above. He's got one eye cracked half open as he peers down on you, as if the room is too bright at this early hour for him.

His gaze on you is warm, and your chest flutters pleasantly. But you can't resist poking back at his snarky comment, the way that you two always do.

"It was a very heartfelt gift from me to you, Santiago. Don't be an ungrateful brat."

He hums, the tone of it still marred with sleep as he speaks. "If it's such a heartfelt gift, why do I never see you wearing your half."

"Are you fucking kidding me," you snort, as you lift your head from his chest to lean up to his face, "I wouldn't be caught dead with that ugly thing."

Both his eyes shoot open with a pout and his put out expression, has you wheezing with laughter.

You clamp your hands over your mouth and nose, trying to suppress the noise so you won't wake Frankie. But god, it's impossible. Because the more you laugh the more offended he looks, and that's even funnier. It's a self-perpetual cycle of laughter that doesn't end.

You drop your head back down to his chest, burying your face there as you shake with laughter, trying to muffle the sound.

"Are you done?" Santiago asks with that trademark sarcasm, but the fondness creeping into his tone is unmistakable.

Pressing your lips together, you breathe in a long inhale through your nose to calm your laughter before you tip your head back up.

Santiago is smiling at you, eyes squinted and softly crinkling. At the sight of him, whatever remaining laughter you had dies in your throat.

Heart-stoppingly pretty, that's what he is.

His hand comes to cup the back of your neck and he pulls you down to his lips. A soft tender press that ends much too quickly, before he lets you go, smiling wider than ever up at you. It's a little bit embarrassing how dumbstruck that one barely-there kiss gets you. You have no witty retort for him, just stare back at him dumbfounded.

"I get to do this now, right?" he asks with that warm smile of his that you've missed more than oxygen.

It takes your brain more than a few seconds to re-calibrate, to take in and process his question and the full depth of the bizarre but welcomed new reality that is going to unfold.

The three of you have stepped into unknown territory that none of you can take back. It's something you've known since that first morning at the breakfast table.

If something goes wrong. If you screw this up. If Frankie pushes him too far next time. If Santiago cuts and runs, he's going to be gone for much longer than two years.

That should scare you. Even the remote risk of that happening should be plenty of reason to stop this. But you don't.

You drop down your head again to recapture his mouth with yours. His hand comes up to cup your cheeks and it has your face tingling with heat.

His thumb smooths over your cheek, pressing gently as he tilts your face to an angle where he can kiss you deeper, and you know without an ounce of doubt in you that it's a risk worth taking, because, sweet baby jesus, you are kissing Santiago Garcia.

It's messy and slow. Santiago is too sleepy at this early hour to master his usual coordination and you're overbrimming with adrenaline to follow his lead and pace, but you try.

Soft, sweet. Hard, then needy. You let him slide his tongue against yours, as you wrap your legs as best as you can around his waist. Practically grinding yourself against the warmth of his torso.

It's messy, and a bit uncoordinated in the best of ways. Santiago's hands are holding you close, one hand firm on the back of your neck, the other curled around your waist.

It's still early, and everything around you is wrapped in that morning haze of soft sunlight and morning quiet. The only sound you hear is the rustle of sheets and Santiago's subdued low moan against your lips.

His hands on your neck and waist doesn't move, the firm grip, holding you steady and close to him. But you can feel a wide palm, warm and calloused slide against the slope of your stomach. It drags slowly downwards, the rough skin rasping against yours until he cups the apex of your thighs over your panties and presses down. White heat sparks along the length of your legs and you arch into the pleasant touch for more.

It's all the encouragement he needed. You can feel those dexterous fingers slip inside the trim of the cotton fabric, coating the wetness already there, before pushing inside of you.

It's blinding. Sharp electric pleasure sears into your skin. Those curling fingers slides deeper, finding that perfect place with practiced ease and no hesitation. Sparking heat rides along your entire back.

It's so fucking good. You don't understand how Santiago can do that. Know your body this intimately when he's never been with you like this before.

You moan into his mouth at the sensation, pushing back with the bend of your back until you meet the insistent firm hardness pushing urgently against the small of your back.

There's a rasped groan, low and heated in your ear. Soft lips and the slight rasp of a patchy beard dragging against the back of your neck that is so familiarly pleasant.

You open your eyes to the sight of Santiago's hand bridging across your jaw and cheek; then eye his hand that is still on your waist. You follow the line of the third hand buried between your legs, before you finally connect the dots.

There's only ever been one man in your life who knows your body inside out and can make you feel this good, this fast.

It's not Santiago's hand.

It's Frankie's.

Your husband with his thick and practiced fingers curled deep inside, that has you moaning and writhing. It's embarrassing really that you're so far gone that it took you this long to realize it.

Santiago pulls away just far enough to let out a chuckle against your lips with a smirk.

"Morning, Frank, did we wake you up?"

There's a soft hum that reverberates against the skin on the side of your throat as Frankie's presses open mouthed kisses there, the scrape of his beard making everything tingle.

"Mmm," he murmurs, the soft brass reaches into the core of your chest and drips warm and molten. "You two weren't being very quiet."

His fingers curl and press, nudging that perfect blissful spot until you arch back against him. You don't know how long he's been awake. But Frankie's fully hard already. The outline of his heavy cock, push against your back like it's trying to make a permanent indentation on your spine. You can feel it twitching and jerking eagerly against you.

"Sorry 'bout that, Fish," Santiago says, but there's nothing in his expression that says he’s contrite about it at all, cocky and brash as always. His lack of remorse is pretty clear to Frankie as well, because your husband chuckles softly, the breathiness of it skittering up along the nape of your neck.

"You don't look very sorry, Pope," he presses another kiss to your skin, "don't worry about it. There are worse ways to wake up."

The heel of Frankie's broad hand presses down on your clit, and sharp electricity jolts through you as you spasm in his arms. Your fingers dig into the firm muscles of his forearms, but he doesn't stop.

"Shit baby, you're so fucking wet already," Frankie murmurs in your ear, and leaves an indulgent kiss to your temple.

"Wanna see?" Frankie asks.

At the question Santiago swallows and you can see his Adam's apple bob in that graceful throat.

The cocky expression that seems ever present in the man fades. His mouth drops slightly open as he just stares at you and Frankie.

He's more nervous than you thought he would be.

You've always imagined Santiago to be assured and confident in bed. From all accounts and reports you've had from friends and even exes he's stayed friends with that seems to confirm your expectations.

But that first time watching Frankie and you in bed, he'd been hesitant to touch you. Last night, he'd been hesitant. So-so careful not to overstep with you and Frankie.

And right now as he's staring up at you and Frankie with wide and eager eyes, that same hesitancy is etched in every line of his face.

You hate it.

You want to grab his face between your hands and kiss him hard until you can wipe it clean from his face. Until there's not a trace of hesitation left on him when it comes to the three of you.

Frankie must read your mind. Even though Santiago hasn't answered him, he's already slotting his knee between your legs to spread you apart, "Let me show Santiago, baby."

You think he means he's going to show Santiago how easily he makes you fall apart in his hands. But instead his fingers slip out of you, leaving an aching emptiness as your pussy flutters at the loss.

He draws two fingers in front of yours and Santiago's face, your glistening slick coating him to the knuckles.

"See that Santiago?" he says, with a goading tone. He pulls his index and middle fingers slowly apart and you see the silvery thread connecting the tip of his fingers. "See how wet you made her?"

Something in Santiago kicks into gear.

The hesitation in Santiago's face is replaced with a determination as he leans forward.

You think he's going to kiss you again. But he doesn't. Instead Santiago's hand leaves your waist and grabs Frankie's wrist, pulling it towards his mouth. He wraps his lips around those thick fingers, and sucks.

Your brain stalls out at the sight. Tongue heavy and dry in your mouth as you watch Santiago’s throat work and his tongue lap up every trace of you from your husband's fingers.

"Fuck," Frankie utters.

Santiago barely has the chance to pull his lips from Frankie's fingers.

Before you've fully registered what you're doing, you're already reaching forward. Your hand grabs at the back of Santiago neck. You pull him down until those gorgeous lips are back on yours and you lick your own taste from his bottom lip.

It's still messy, but it's not slow this time. You kiss Santiago deep and hungry, trying to make good on your intention to permanently wipe out any hesitation in him he might ever have.

You don't know if you've succeeded, but what you know is that his hand does come to your waist, grabbing on tight as he pulls you close, angling your mouth to lick deeper into your mouth. You can't taste any hesitation on his lips.

You grind up against him, rubbing yourself against his torso, until you can feel the hardness that meets you there, pressing against your lower stomach.

"Fuck," Santiago gasps out between your lips, as he pulls back to catch his breath.

"Shit," he swears again, eyes darting down between your bodies to where his cock is straining against the fabric of his underwear, pulling it taut like the seams are about to rip from its stitches.

The tip of his tongue darts out to swipe at his bottom lip as he looks up hungrily at you.

You both know what he wants, because fuck you want it too.

But he doesn't say anything. Doesn't make any move to touch you. Instead, there it is again, that painful hesitation bleeding back into his face.

It takes you a moment to realize why.

This would be your first time together.

Silly as it might seem, technically, that morning two weeks ago, doesn't count as sex. Frankie, your husband, fucked you. Santiago watched.

Not that a handy and mouth stuff isn't crossing a barrier for your friendship. But this would be something else entirely. This is crossing a canyon and Santiago is peering down from the edge of the cliff and hesitating.

"Santiago," Frankie's voice breaks through the stalemate.

From behind you, Frankie's arm reaches out, wedging it between your bodies, to push down Santiago's underwear with an impatience and aggression that's entirely uncharacteristic of your patient husband.

Frankie is tired of waiting.

He wants Santiago to cross the damn canyon already, before Santiago gets cold feet and run away again.

So Frankie is pushing, and goading and leading Santiago along the edge. Hell if Frankie had his way he'd be shoving Santiago off of it.

It speaks to the difference in the friendship you both have with the same man.

Frankie for all his calmness knows when to push Santiago so he doesn't run the other way.

You for all your stubborn impatience knows when to wait for Santiago. To pull him back and make sure he doesn't fall right off when he's ventured too far.

Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, pulling his eyes to yours. "You ready Santiago?"

His eyes focus with a solemn pause that tells you he's really considering your question. As if he's hearing a thousand layers to your simple one, and needs to consider each implication.

Finally, he gives you a slow nod. "Yeah, sweetheart," he murmurs as he rests his hand on top of one of yours and drags it to his mouth and kisses the palm of it. "Yeah I'm ready now."

His hand draws down between his legs as he pulls the boxers the rest of the way, kicking them off, to reveal his flushed and hardened cock pressing eagerly against his stomach.

Your tongue feels dry even as your mouth floods with saliva at the sight of it. For all the blood that is roaring in your ears with excitement, blocking your hearing, you think you can hear Frankie groan from behind you. Can feel the eager weight of his cock twitch and jerk against the small of your back, dripping and smearing precome along your skin.

Fuck, fuuuck that's-- you're aching between your thighs, feeling much too empty in this second as you watch Santiago's hand grips the base of his cock and positioning himself against your entrance. Everything in you tingles with adrenaline, then he meets your gaze steadily, before pushing in.

The first slide of Santiago inside of you is perfect. Thick and filling, and with every inch of advance, you think you're going to go blind from the pleasure that fills you.

You didn't know it'd be like this.

Slow and careful, wide adoring eyes the way he's always looked at you when it was just the two of you.

It's overwhelming, to have him this way. Your chest feels ripe and overfilled, the pleasure swirling warm and heavy in your belly, until you don't know if you can take anymore and not fall apart somehow.

Your hand grips onto Frankie's strong arms caged at your side. You're moaning and whining, and your husband hushes you comfortingly.

"Shh baby, doing so good. You look so good taking Santiago's cock like this."

There's another choked sob, and you think it's from you at first, until you feel the way Santiago shakes against you. "Fuck, Frank."

He sounds breathless and out of it, eyes dazed, as he continues to push forward, the very last bit, until he's buried deep inside you as deep as he can be.

It's heaven, and you both moan in unison at the deep pressure.

“Does that feel good baby? You like having Santiago’s pretty cock inside you?” Frankie asks, lips pressing softly against the side of your temple and you nod in response with a whimpering keen.

Santiago pulls his hips away from you with a slow and sinful drag of his cock inside you. Searing pleasure swims across every one of your nerves, wild and demanding.

Your hands flies up and clamps over your mouth, trying to keep in the scream that wants to erupt from your throat, because fuck it feels too good. Too much. Like it's not even real.

Frankie's hand comes up to your forehead, brushing an errant lock of hair out of your face. You're so grateful for his sturdy presence and touch.

If he wasn't keeping you grounded to the here and now, encouraging you and Santiago both, in his raspy sleep-thick voice about how pretty you both look, you think you might have lost consciousness and blacked out from how surreal this all feels.

"How you doing there, Pope?" Frankie asks with a hint of amusement as Santiago's eyes squeeze shut, brows knitted in concentration.

He can't answer Frankie with words, just lets out a strained breathless moan before he finally manages a nod. He seems lost and overwhelmed, taking another pause of a second as if he needs one because this is all so much. Then he finally, slowly pushes back inside again. A long measured stroke that fills you all the way before he withdraws again, leaving you empty, only to fill you up again, and again, and again, until you're both losing your mind from it.

Santiago's hand slams down against the mattress, holding himself steady as he stills, half-way inside. He's breathing heavily, with a pinched expression as he rests his forehead against yours.

You can see he's overwhelmed. Can see he's holding on by a thread. But you can't help the neediness that burns thick and addictive in your veins for him, squirming as you try to get more of him inside you. But Santiago isn't obliging you in this instance.

Instead, it's Frankie's deep voice that comes to your help. "Want him deeper? Want me to help querida? Have him fill you all the way up?"

You nod eagerly, and you don't have to wait long before Frankie reaches an arm across the both of you, settling his grip on top of Santiago's hip and pulls him deeper into you.

There's a shattered and wrecked groan from Santiago, a noise that's been ripped from his very lungs, like he wasn't prepared for it, as his cock pushes its way deep into you. It breaks into a ragged sob, as he tries to catch his breath, but he doesn't get any reprieve.

Frankie's hand is already pushing Santiago's hips away from yours, until only the tip of Santiago's cock rests inside of you, and then he does it again. Pulling the man's hips forward, using Santiago to fuck you at a pace of his liking.

And god, it's good, it's so fucking good it has tears sting sharp in the corner of your eyes. The blinding heat from before, simmering hot and insistent in your veins, molten and sweet, as you wrap your arms around Santiago's neck and hold on.

Maybe it's because Santiago had the cards stacked against him from the start, barely half awake before he found himself in this position. Maybe it's the relentless, unforgiving pace that Frankie has set for him, not allowing him to stop even as he's practically whimpering out choked breaths. But you can see that Santiago is unraveling. His curls are a wild mess against the crown of his head. Jaw tense, and eyes rolling back to the back of his head.

His hand shoots out. He clutches and digs into Frankie's arm, fingers curling into the strained bicep with enough force that Santiago goes white-knuckled. His eyes fly open, and there's a pained look in his face, brows pinched in distress with a pleading look for Frankie to ease up on him. Without a single spoken word, you both know that he's close.

Your hand reaches across his cheek to soothe him but it only seems to make things worse because the tense muscle in his jaw tics at your touch. "It's ok Santiago, come. I want you to come."

He doesn't answer you, just squeezes his eyes tightly shut as if he's trying to block out your very voice.

"Santiago," you try again, but there's nothing. He doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes. Just stays there, deep inside you, to your frustration, as he struggles to keep his breathing under control.

You try to squirm against him to no avail, and you decide to hedge your bets. If Santiago won't respond, your husband will. Frankie always indulges you and succumbs to your whims, always spoils you. You roll your hips, angling your back until you feel the heavy and hard weight of Frankie's cock press deeper into your flesh. Until you hear him groan with a low rasp in your ear.

But Frankie isn't moving either. Hips still, pressed firmly against your back.

Shit, shit shit shit, you want more. Need more. Want every inch of Santiago buried deep inside as he thrusts into you, hard and demanding until you can feel him spill every drop he has to give inside you. Want Frankie to hold you down as Santiago fucks his cock into you, until you're pressed so hard into the mattress they will have to dig you out with a shovel after.

You try to arch your back again, to goad Frankie, but this time his hands move down to your waist to keep you still. Frustration burns bright under your skin at being denied. You don't think this has ever happened to you before with Frankie. Have never had him deny you in any shape or form.

But fine, if Frankie's not going to help you. You'll help yourself. If neither of the men, will respond to your encouragement, the only thing you can do is take matters into your own hands. Reaching across, you drag your hand over Santiago's hips, resting your palms over the round perfect curve of his ass, the way Frankie had earlier. Then you pull him closer to you, flush to your hips as deep as he goes. That one single thrust is enough, his eyes burst open, dark and wide in startled shock. There's something vulnerable within those pupils, and you already feel the way him twitching and—

Santiago sobs, actually sobs.

"No, no no. not yet," his voice is strained and tortured, cracking at the edges, as he pleads with you, "Sweetheart please, just—I need—"

Those gorgeous eyes of his flicker away from yours in panic, looking past you. "Please," he pleads again.

He's not asking you anymore, he's asking Frankie.

There's a pause and a silence. You stare up at Santiago, but there's a conversation with no words exchanged between him and Frankie that you are not privy to.

An unbreakable bond between the two men that had been forged in foreign countries you've never stepped a foot in.

Before you can dwell on it, before you can try to interpret and translate what is being said in the silence, Frankie's hand moves from your waist, joining your hand that's resting on Santiago. Then he's lacing his fingers with yours and pulls your hand away. He pulls you back from Santiago.

You whine at the loss, at the torturous drag of Santiago's cock leaving you empty and aching.

"Fran--" you start to protest, but you never get to finish, you can already feel him, hot and heavy pressed against your slick folds as Frankie presses in from behind you and you blank out. His name on your tongue dies on the tip of your tongue. The oxygen in your lungs extinguished as he thrusts into you. Air rushes out of you with no space for anything else but his fat cock. Every single thought is lost at the perfect pressure of his cock inside you, how Frankie completely fills all of you and so much more.

Then Frankie slides out of you, in a sweet and achingly slow slide. His pace is almost lazy, as if he's trying to drag it out to buy Santiago some time.

Your eyes flutter open to see those gorgeous familiar brown eyes of Santiago's staring at you wide-eyed, pupils blown as he bites his lower lip.

You eye Santiago's cock, where it's pressed against your stomach. It's flushed and twitching, shining slick and glistening with your wetness and the precome that's steadily dripping down the head, leaking what must be a comparable mess to the one Frankie's made of your back.

There's a gentle but insistent pressure against the inside of your thighs, nudging them to widen. Then Frankie's gravelly voice brushes hot in your ear, "Baby, spread your legs, just like this okay, so Santiago can see better."

You comply, moving under Santiago's unwavering gaze. There's a heavy weight to it, to be pinned under Santiago's attention in this way. Comforting and intimidating and oh so addictive all at once. You felt it two weeks ago, as he was watching you swallow down your husband's cock. Felt it when Frankie's face was buried between your thighs. It should feel lewd and dirty, something out of a ridiculous dear penthouse letter, but it doesn't.

Because it's not about getting your rocks off to a stranger in a dirty bathroom stall. Santiago doesn't look at you like a dirty John at a peep show. There's too much history between the three of you for that. Too much love spoken and unspoken in every glance, and every touch he wants to reach out for but doesn't. Too many goodbyes and not enough welcome backs.

All you want is to bridge that gap that still exists between you.

From behind, Frankie's snapping his hips up and into you, and his cock hits something shattering. You swear it fills you so fucking deep from this new angle, there's no more space inside you, not even space for oxygen in your lungs. It's a sensation enough to make you lightheaded, as Frankie fucks into you, thorough and demanding, as he opens you up on his thick cock, and that familiar tingle on your spine sparks in alarm to warn you that you're going to come.

And Frankie knows it too. His voice is in your ear, low and gravelly, “You want to give the first one to Santiago, baby?”

It simmers insistently inside. Sweet heady pleasure that is about to crack and fracture across your veins. You're trying to say yes, but Frankie's not stopping, his cock dragging slick and hard inside you, robbing you of any words. “You want that, baby? Let him feel your perfect pussy come around his cock?”

You open your eyes to look at Santiago (and fuck you don't even remember closing them again). The man seems more out of it than you are. Eyes glazed, and lost, with a look in his eyes like he wants to reach out but isn't. Like he's standing on the precipice of a cliff, looking down at the abyss.

You want to reach out and hold him. Want to lace your fingers together and tell him it's okay.

You don't have to. Frankie's reaching over from behind you, one strong and sturdy hand cupping over the back of Santiago's neck. He's pulling him closer until the whole of Santiago's torso is pressed along every inch of yours from your knees to your chest. Until you're compressed between the two men with not an inch of a crevice of space between. Then Frankie leans over your shoulder, pressing his lips to Santiago's.

All you can hear is the slick sound of their mouths, the wet slide of their tongues meeting, and the gentle dreamy hum from Santiago as Frankie moans into his mouth. Then Frankie's quiet, gentle voice. “You ready to go again Santiago?”

You can't see it, but you can feel Santiago nod. It's all that's needed before Frankie slides you off. You don't even get the chance to properly mourn the loss of Frankie's cock inside of you, because before you've even taken a single breath Santiago is already there. Hand wrapped tight around the girth of himself as he's pressing up against your dripping and slick cunt in a slow, easy slide until you've taken every inch down to the root of him. Pressing forward, until all of him, as far as he can go, is inside of you and both of you sigh with relief at the pressure and weight of him inside you.

His forehead rests against yours, and he smiles at you and it's fucking everything. It doesn't matter that he's done this a million times. Doesn't matter that his smiles are nothing rare in all your years of friendship. It's different now, and he knows it too.

This is a gentle smile, not the rakishly charming one he reserves for the gorgeous women he meets at an nondescript bar, 60 seconds before he walks out with them on his arm. Not the smug "I told you so" grin he wears when he knows he has won one over you. Just a simple smile on his lips as he looks into your eyes. Right now, he sees you in a way that Santiago only does. A smile that was reserved for just you and no other women or men. This smile is yours.

It's a promise that he'd always come back to you, no matter how far he went or how long he was gone for.

A smile worth standing alone in an abandoned field for as long as it takes.

You feel dopey and content, head buzzing with endorphins as you stare up at him. You love him. You love him so much you feel stupid, and you don't know how to tell him.

And maybe you don't need to.

He moves, long, drawn out strokes as he pushes his cock inside and there it is again, your orgasm flickering awake as it licks up your spine with its adamant presence. You don't last long.

Your toes curl into the sheet, hand grappling for something to hold onto, until you feel the familiar warmth and weight of Frankie's arms wrapped around you. "Right here, baby. I'm right here."

Maybe it should feel strange. Maybe it should feel wrong. To have your husband hold you in his arms while you're about to come on your best friend's cock. The same man that your husband has been in love with for as long as you've known him.

But it doesn't. What has always felt wrong was the wait. What was wrong was not having Santiago in your bed. Not having this man right next to the both of you in your lives together of supposed married bliss. It's why no matter how many rooms you donned up and filled up with furniture and trinkets and photos and memories, it always felt empty.

A space that would never be filled until Santiago came home to you both.

"It's okay, go ahead and come," Frankie whispers.

And fuck, with your husband's loving voice in your ear, you do.

It's consuming, streaks out in pulse after pulse across your nerves as the pleasure fills along every nerve. From the tip of your nose, to the air in your lungs, down to the aching muscles of your calves. Your back arch, your mouth parted with a moan or a scream, you don't even know. All you know is that it's bliss rushing to your head and blots out everything else as you come on Santiago's cock.

You're surprised you can even hear sound, when Frankie's lips are pressed to your temple and that familiar voice rumbles across your skin, encouraging and sweet. “Doesn’t she feel good Santiago?”

It's a bit distorted, too blissed out in your post-orgasmic bliss to understand what's being said even as you can hear Santiago's breathless voice and make out the words he's saying. “So good Frank", he moans, a strained, quiet little sound, "so fucking good. I think I’m losing my mind over it.”

“Yeah I know the feeling.”

Santiago's still hard inside you, still thrusting slow and measured, to drag out your climax, even as you're coming down on him, but you don't even know where to fit the warm buzzing pleasure skittering across your skin as he bends down his head and presses adoring kisses to your lips and cheeks. “You feel so fucking good when you come on my cock, sweetheart.”

You're so fucking out of it. Can barely hum in approval as you feel Santiago slip out of you and Frankie takes his place inside you. Gentle fingers come to your forehead, smoothing out the sweat-drenched locks. You don't know if it's Frankie or Santiago, but that's okay, because you don't think it matters.

Because he's here now. They both are.

“Let’s try to come together this time, okay baby?” Frankie asks and for the two of them, you do.

You fall asleep after, tucked and nestled between the two men you love the most.

You dream of standing in a field. Sun set high across the azure blue sky, with not a plane in sight. Across the tarmac, there's a silhouette standing against the blaring sun. It doesn't matter that you can't see him against the blinding brightness. Your wait is over.

It's the last time you have this dream.

Dedication & Credits: To my prawn clown sister @thirstworldproblemss because she is the best and I looooooooove her the mooooose-test

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#oscar isaac #pedro pascal #santiago garcia #frankie morales #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #tiple frontier #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #homecoming #telltale heart asks

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