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romana-after-dark · 4 months

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Rooms on Fire: Stop Dragg'n My Heart Around

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

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

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Madonna learns more about her role and the dynamics of the household.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

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

Extra warnings for chapter: Anal, oral, love bombing, control

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

A/N: Every chapter will be named after a song from the spotify playlist. Dont forget to commen fitting songs!!

6.2k words

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NEW OC: Faceclaim, Dev Patel

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There's people running 'round loose in the world Ain't got nothing better to do Than make a meal of some bright eyed kid You need someone looking after you~ Stop Dragg'n My Heart Around, Tom Petty and Stevie Nicks

You were the wife of deities. You were blessed, honored. Holy mother. The Madonna, and inside your womb the savior would grow. All four of them were Gods of different patronage, each with their own abilities and passions.

Francisco was the god of nature. He was the god of all that grew in the earth, the soil. the flowers. He was clairvoyant, but also had a gift of growth. Life. His prayers over you would solidify implantation after conception, keep you and your baby safe.

Benjamin was the sun god, god of celebration, and celebrate he did. Ben’s mood often controlled the weather. Most of the time, regular weather patterns took place, Benjamin’s emotions could change them, and he was prone to big emotions. That’s why him and Francisco worked so closely together. Weather and nature, working to keep the crops growing and the people safe.

William was all about duality, you were taught in catechism. God of war, God of medicine. He had the gift of healing, but also impeccable military prowess. This made for a powerful ally and feared enemy. William headed the military and security, but also watched over the medical care.

And Pope, Divine Mothers only child. Pope had the gift of discernment and prophesy. He was incredibly intelligent, and with that came respect. He was not just born into this position, but born for it. God of family, god of passion. You felt that passion so clearly every time his eyes bore into you. He could no more hide it than he could his own beauty.

So why, with all this power surrounding you, did you feel so scared?

Everything just feels so confusing right now. You feel as if you can’t get your head on straight, like everything is whirling. You're married. You might be pregnant. Why was everything so… hard. When Pope waved your bloodied sheet around, he was soon joined by a whooping Ben who took part in the celebrations and dragged Francisco out with him. It was just you and Will.

Naked and shivering, suddenly cold on the cool tile of the altar without the heat of passion to warm you

“Just one minute, I’ll get you dressed once I’m done.” He says quietly, kneeling before you with a wet wipe, gently dapping at your swollen folds. “Damn, really did a number on yuh, huh?”

You don’t know how to respond, so you don’t.

“Well, I think this is as good as it’s gonna get.” Leaning over, he presses a kiss to the top of your puffy parts and gets up, helping you down with a hand. He slides the dress back over you. William was gentle as he caressed your cheek. “You did so good for us, princess.” His hand moved to your belly. “You’re a good girl, and soon you’ll be full with our baby, I just know it.”

You stand there in shock, unable to exactly form a reaction. The lights were too bright, it was too warm. There were too many flowers and incense and candles and oils… to much. You shut down and Will finishes dressing you: shoes, flower crown minus the ropes of vine. He stuffs your underwear in his pocket with a smile. “My little dividend.”

Jonah was outside the room, laying down on a bench with his cowboy hat pulled over his face.

“Wake up, old man” Will spoke with a bite you weren’t used to.

He mumbled under the hat. “I’m awake, damn. Just resting.”

William nudged you towards where he was standing. “Watch her for the rest of the cocktail hour, then bring her in for the entrance.”

Jonah frowned. “She ain’t going to the cocktail hour with you?”

“What’s the point? She can’t drink. She might be pregnant.”

“It’s her wedding.”

Will rolled his eyes. “She’ll have the wedding shit, this is more of a… stag party. Bachelor party sort of thing.”

You didn't know what that meant. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

“Whatever. I’ll watch her.”

“Yeah. You will.” Williams harsh glare softened as he turned to you, holding your face with both hands. “I’ll see you in an hour, my beautiful bride.”

When he left, Jonah mumbled something and began walking you down the long hall. The place was huge, absolutely massive. The worship chapple and sanctuary were attached to the house, originally built as a pool house but refurbished with the establishment of Delta. Divine Mother wanted her home attached to the sanctuary so she could go whenever she wanted, no matter the weather, so a hall was built on. In addition to the several bedrooms, living rooms and so on, there was a ballroom. This is where you would go after. For now, it seemed, you weren’t needed…

You wanted to go still. You were their wife, you wanted to meet the other members of Delta, you wanted to dance, to laugh, to smile with them… but the day's events left you tired, left you hurting, left you… confused. Why had they all left you so fast, save for Will?

“You alright, honey?” Jonah’s voice barely registers in your ear.

You don’t have it in you to answer, simply staring straight ahead as your breathing picks up speed.

“Hey, darl’n, hey.” He stops outside the kitchen. “What’s go’n on, you hurt?”

How do you even explain it, the panic rising up in you, the fear. Why were you scared? You were married to the gods, there was no safer position to be in. You were safe, protected… so why did you feel so on edge? Why was your head hurting, your heart racing, and why did you feel so used?

You stopped breathing before you realized it.

“Hey!” Jonah shook you, but your eyes felt glassy and unfocused. He pulled you through the swinging kitchen doors.

“Dad, what-” You hear Iris say and vaguely register a third person in the room. Iris stops what she’s doing and rushes to you. “What’s happening? What did you do?”

“Nothing! I got her after the ceremony and this just started!”

You were gasping for breath, the light and airy feeling in your head making everything a little blurring. Still, you register hands on your shoulders, calling your name. “You need to breath. HEY! You hear me? BREATH.”

But you can’t. The panic, all-consuming panic clawed at your throat and tightened your chest. Then, a hard slap.

*SMACK*

Iris slapped you, causing your body to gasp in shock. You took the opportunity to breathe in as much as you could get, and once the oxygen settled in, so did the clarity.

Dizzy, you stumble back and nearly topple over, but Jonah catches you. Careful, he sets you down in a chair. “Easy now, darl’n, breath, breath…” his arms were strong and safe around you, but Iris grabs your shoulders.

“Listen to me.” You look up to watch her, brown eyes fiery on yours. She commanded the room. “You need. To get it. Together. Those men out there-” She pointed vaguely out the door. “Are dangerous.”

“Iris…” Jonah whispers, but when her head whips towards him in anger, he backs off.

“You shut it, you don’t know jack shit about surviving here, especially as a woman.” Back to you. “I don’t care how you feel, I know you’ll probably fall in love because you’ve been so brainwashed, but I need you to understand this.” She leans in. “You need to get your shit together. You need to clean up, you need to get out there and charm the fucking dick off of every single person in that room. The only way you get through this is if you want a very thin line. Submissive but not weak. Obedient but not permissive. Have boundaries but keep them loose and never, ever, try to resist sex. This is no time to be weak.”

Her words barely made sense to you.

They weren’t dangerous. They LOVED YOU. You were their WIFE. But still, part of her words range true; you were the daughter of a traitor, a man who partook in an uprising that caused the death of the Divine Mother, and the other high up members would have their eye on you. You needed to make sure there was no reason to doubt your love for your husbands, nor your adoration of Divine Mother.

“Fuck,” Iris mutters something to the third figure in the room about ‘nothing there’ then stands up. “Jonah, go back to the dressing room and get the make-up and hair products.” It was only then you realized you had been crying, make-up running off your face. “Rey, I need you to help me in here.”

He was tall, about as tall as Jonah but not quite the Millers height. “What do you need?” He began to tie his dark curls back. Iris directed him on finishing the desserts while she took out all the food from the oven for the main dish.

When Jonah came back, Iris set to work redoing your face, making it look as if you never cried, never had a single scared thought. She fixed you up nice and pretty, then left you on the chair to wait for your entrance.

After everything was placed on carts to take out, Iris departed, with Jonah following behind shortly and instructing the other man to stay with you. Iris insists she doesn’t need a guard dog, but Jonah say something about not wanting her alone with ‘those drunk bastards’ if he can help it. You’re suddenly nervous, unsure about being alone with a man other than your husbands or Jonah, but you don’t have a choice.

“They’re a stressful pair to watch aren’t they?” The dark haired man says, pulling up a chair beside you. He turns it around, straddling it before sitting backwards and leaning his arms on the backrest.

You don’t want to be rude, so you give a shy smile without meeting his eye. “Are they… um… is uh…” You realize you don’t know Jonah’s last name, and are unsure how to properly address him to others. You don’t want to seem too familiar when you are a married woman now. “Mr. Jonah, is he Iris’s father? I heard her call him dad.”

He chuckles a bit, and you turn to look at him. With a better view, and clearer vision, you are able to take in his features. He’s handsome, but in a almost boyish way -although you doubt he’s younger than 30. Dark curls are still pulled back, but you’d estimate his hair falls about shoulder length, maybe shorter, as chunks are falling out. Strong nose, brown skin, and bright, brown eyes. Strangely jovial compared to Iris and Jonah.

“Yeah, kinda rare that happens. She’s um… well, they’d had… well I guess it’s not my place to say, but they’ve had some ups and downs. But yeah, she’s his daughter.” He extends a hand. “Reyansh Saha.”

You give him your name. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Saha.”

He laughs again, but it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at you; it’s too good natured for that. “Just Rey is fine.”

“Oh, no, no I shouldn’t.” You try to protest.

“Ammayi” (my girl) He says with a glint in his eye. “No one here will understand you if you call me Mr. Saha, I promise you. You can call me Reyansh if that’s easier. Or, well, you can call me Mr. Saha if you’re uncomfortable of course” His tone is good natured, but clearly trying to ease you. You feel like a skittish animal, and he’s a good samaritan trying to coax you to some food.

You give a little nod. “Okay, yeah Reyansh works.”

You felt like you may have another panic attack.

Pope was on your right, holding your arm with William beside him. On your left arm was Benjamin; Francisco was fidgeting beside him.

“Baby.” Ben whispers to Francisco. “You gotta calm down, you're shaking…”

You watch as Pope turns abruptly at the nickname, but says nothing. Benjamin grabs Francisco's hand, squeezing it three times and giving him a little peck on the cheek before letting go. Francisco smiled, just a little.

You were making your grand entrance as husbands and wife, to the whole of Delta, to stand out on the balcony as the masses gathered below. Jonah instructed you on procedure.

“This is the most dangerous point. I have the entire guard in the crowd, both noticeably armed and plain clothes, everyones been searched before entry and theres no reason to suspect a problem, but-” He turned to you. “Anything happens, a gun shot, something is thrown, a fight breaks out, I am grabbing you and we are going. Don’t argue, don’t worry about them-” He gestures to the men beside you. “My only concern will be to get you to safety. Your husbands are all armed and trained fighters, you are not. You have me, understood?”

There would be no need for concern. As you stepped out, leading your husbands in a v shape through the curtains, a stark hush fell upon the crowd. Thousands of people, thousands, here to see your husbands. Here to see them with their brand new bride, the mother of their child. You were humbled, truly, to be honored in such a way that the god’s dained you deserving. Cheers broke out, no doubt to the flag being raised- your bloodied sheets, signifying that you were indeed a virgin, and had been claimed in the name of the gods. The crowd was adoring; how beloved your husbands were to their people!

You focused your hearing not being all that far away, to try and pick out a word or two, and were surprised with the result.

“MADONNA! MADONNA! MADONNA”

They were cheering… for you.

The priestess stood off to the side, raising her arms to hush the crowd.

“Hail Madonna, full of grace, blessed are you amongst women!”

Then, she kneeled.

Behind her, beginning with the front and sending a wave through the back, the entire mass of people knelt, chanting “Hail! Hail! Hail!”

To both your left and right, all four of your husbands bowed to you.

You were the holy mother. You were Madonna. You would bring about the savior and peace on earth. You were divine.

The party went swimmingly. Your new found confidence, it turns out, made speaking to strangers easier. You shouldn’t fear them for being a traitor's child, you shouldn’t feel their judgeful gaze. They should worship you. Not the same as Pope, William, Benjamin and Francisco, and certainly not Divine Mother, but you were blessed.

You never were far from William, Pope, or Benjamin, most moments of the evening were spent with their arms around your waist or holding your hand; you belonged to them.

Pope had pulled you to the dance floor, tender grasp keeping you close as he guided you through the violin music.

“You are just… so beautiful” He whispered, clean shaven face up against your own.

“Thank you.”

“You do understand how stunning you are, don’t you? Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You tuck your head in his neck, smelling his aftershave; or was it the liquor on his breath? You weren’t sure.

“It’s like you were made for me…”

A gentle kiss. “I was. I was made for you, by Divine Mother’s majesty.”

You could feel him smile at that, hands slowly trailing down your back. “That’s right, made just for me…”

You nuzzle against him, signing contently. He loved you, you were so, so loved… “Made for my husbands”

His smile dropped. When his hands grazed over your ass, he gripped it tight, painful, making you yelp. The noise and crass motion was sure to attract attention, and you turn to look.

Pope grabs your face, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t look at them, look at me. I am their god, they are nothing compared to us, what we do is none of their business. I could bend you over right now and if I told them to ignore it, to go about the party, they will. You understand me?”

You nod.

His fingers pinch your cheeks. “Your body was made for me, and it’s mine. Understood?” You realize now your mistake. You had said your husbands. Plural. You must have hurt his feelings when bringing the others into it, even if you meant well. You note that special times between you and Pope should remain exclusive. Don’t make him jealous.

“Made just for you” You push past the force of his hold to kiss him on the lips. “I belong to you.”

Popes body language relaxed, his plush lips smiling again as his grip softens. He runs his thumb over your lips. “So beautiful for me…”

As you spoke like old friends to a woman you’d never met in your life, Benjamin slid up to you. “‘Scuse me, darl’n, but may I steal my wife away for a few moments?”

The woman bowed her head and excused herself while Benjamin pulled you away.

It wasn’t long before you were out the ballroom, down a hall and into a small linen closet, his hands all over you; frantic, needy, a fully hard cock pressing against your skirt. This was to be expected, and you understood your role. At any time, day or night, busy or not, you were to be available to be filled.

He yanked at your skirt. “Yuh know,” Benjamin said between short pants of breath. “It was my brothers insistence that your dress have blue… he said that- mmphh- it was symbolic or some bullshit, but I think he just wanted his color on you.”

You weren’t entirely sure if that was true, but you didn’t want to make a committal answer so you attempt to kiss back, unsure of the movements still. “Mmm, Benjamin…”

“Call me Benny, darl'n.” He rucks up your skirt, only to find no underwear. He stops, blue eyes looking at you with a steely ferocity. “Will take your panties after he cleaned you up.”

Lie, your first instinct told you. He’s dangerous,lie. But he wasn’t dangerous. He was your husband. “Yes” You wanted him to touch you again, you liked the way he explored your body.

His brows pursed together before growling, turning you around and bending you over a small folding table. “God damn him, and god damn Pope!” Benjamin grunted, making you scared as he flicked your dress up to your waste. “I should’ve had you first!” Ben spits onto your exposed asshole, shocking you a bit.

You try to turn around when you hear his belt being undone. “What-”

“Shhhh” He pushes you back down on the table, freeing his hard cock. You jump when he slides a finger into your tight ring of muscle. It doesn’t feel bad, but not necessarily good, either. He begins to pump, then adds a second finger and you gasp at the intrusion. “Making me fuck’n wait till last-” You hear him spit on his free hand, beginning to jerk himself off as he begins to scissor you open.

“Ben!”

“Relax, baby, I’m not Pope, I ain’t tryna tear you open, you’ve bleed enough for one day.” You swear you hear him chuckle. What is he doing? You were confused, but also beginning to sink into the feeling of him. “They always do this to me, they always make me wait, and wait and wait just because Frank’s Pope’s favorite and Will’s ugh, Will’s older- goddamn” He stops, lining up the tip of his cock to your asshole and spitting a few more times. He was going to fuck you there?! Ben folds over, encasing your body in his warmth as he whispers in your ear. “Not this time, your ass is mine.” With that, he thrust into you, splitting your hole open as you cried out.

He laughs. “Lot louder than when Pope took you huh?”

Jonah found William getting a glass of wine and sipping it while watching over the party.. “I gotta talk to you.”

William doesn’t even turn to look. “Fuck off, Hanson.”

Will did not like Jonah, he knew. Their history prevented the same rapport that he had with Santiago, but never the less, he know Will was the one for this request.

“It’s about your precious Madonna.”

With that, Will turned.

Benny was insatiable, thrusting into you wildly and grunting with every movement. “So- fucking-tight-god!” He shouts and it takes everything in you not to cry… but that feeling was bubbling up again, despite the discomfort, but that discomfort was slowly slipping into something else.

The slightest moan escapes.

It seems then almost that Ben reminds you’re here, that he’s not fucking a hole in a wall and chuckles. “Oh, you like this, pretty girl? I can make it better, so much better.” He wraps a strong arm around you, toying with that sensitive spot that William was playing with earlier illiciating a much louder moan from your lips.

“God baby, thats it… gonna cum like this, darl’n? Gonna cum with a cock up your ass like the dirty girl I know you are? Yeah, yeah sure sounds like it…” He replies after your sounds of pleasure grow. “Under all this white, underneath that good girl act and that sweet little face, I knew, I just fucking KNEW your little virgin cunt was begging to get fucked, desperate for cock, huh?” His hips begin to falter, growing more sloppy. “Well now you got 4 cocks desperate to fill you up, to put our baby inside you first, fuck, you gonna be able to handle all that?

You can’t even reply, a mess of moans under his body.

He grabs your hair, yanking you up to look at him. “ANSWER ME!”

“YES!” You scream, so close to spilling over but not quite there, needy and whimpering for him. “I can take it! I want it! I want you all, all the time!”

“I know, darl’n girl, I know, f-fuck, ugghh fuck!”

Pulling out of your ass, you almost whine for him, whine for more, but he thrusts it into your pussy last minute. The intrusion sends you over, clamping down hard on him as he spills into you. “Yeaahh, that’s it, thats- oh my god, perfect little pussy- fuck!” When he finishes inside you, his warmth is all over you again, staying there for a moment with his cock plugged inside you. “Gotta make sure to cum inside your little pussy every time, no matter how good your ass or mouth feel. Can’t waste a drop.”

He caressing your arm as his body language softens, nuzzling his face into your hair. “So good, pretty girl. So fucking perfect.”

“She needs someone looking after her.” Jonah insists. “She’s just a kid.”

Will is dismissive, but behind his eyes hide curiosity. “That’s what you and security are for.”

Jonah signs. “Okay, listen, I’ll be honest here.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“You ain’t fond of me, that’s a given. I get it. But let’s be clear.” Jonah drops his voice low. “Frank’s been mentally checked out all day. He don’t want nothing to do with this. Ben’s a -”

“Watch it.”

Jonah rephrased his next words. “He’s not gentle. He’s not careful, and when he’s high he flat out dangerous, and he buys into this whole delusion and so does Santiago. Santiago is worse, he’s delusional and can flip like a fucking switch. She needs someone to help her navigate them. That needs to be you.”

Will didn’t say anything, but from the way his brows were furrowed, Jonah new he planted a seed.

“Look, here she comes with Ben, she’s fucking stumbling, Will. Go take care of your wife.”

It hurt.

It was hard to walk like this, but Ben’s arms were tight around you. You felt strangely safe like this, like he was going to be there from now on.

“What the hell did you do to her, Ben?”

“Relaaaaax” Ben waved off his brother. “She’s fine.”

Will didn’t buy it.

“Pope got her pussy, I got her ass.” He shrugged.

Disgust spread across his features. “You did anal? With no lube? Jesus Ben!”

“RELAX!” Ben raised his hands in defense.

Will hushed him. “That’s enough for tonight, I’m taking you to bed.”

And that was that. Will’s arm replaced Ben’s and quickly guided you out the door again. Once out of sight, Will scooped you right out. “Ain’t having you walk like that, babygirl. ‘Slright, just rest.” And rest you did, clinging to him and laying your head on his firm chest. You felt like you were almost asleep when he laid you on the bed.

Like how he cared for you before, he cared again, undressing you with a gentle strength.

“Lay down, lemme make sure your okay.” The worry in his voice made your heart sing.

“I’m alright, I promise.” You whisper, but spread your legs anyway.

He tsks his tongue. “Poor little girl… you’re alright, but I know it must hurt, doesn’t it?”

You swallow thickly, nervous with his face so close to your core. “Um… it’s a little sore, I guess…”

“I bet… but it wasn’t all bad, was it?”

“N-no, it wasn’t…”

“I can see that…” A thick finger swipes up your slit. “Got all wet, didn’t you? You sure are easy to work up…”

You shutter at the touch, a little achy but still desiring him. How could you not? How could you not want him when he spoke to you so low, so careful? When carried you and cleaned you and dressed you… he was perfect, fucking perfect.

“Poor little girl…” William spoke in a deeper tone, planting a kiss to your clit and making you whimper. “Gotta be at the beck and call for four men… that can’t be easy, but you’ve been taking it so well…” His fingers move up and down your folds, spreading your cum and the new slick trickling down.

“It’s, mmmm it’s my honor to be found worthy…” You sit up on your elbows, curious as to his actions.

“And worthy you are, Madonna.” His lips glazed over your flesh. “Bless are you, among women” His hand on your stomach. “and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” You watch William, knelt before you, hovering with his mouth open above your waiting mound.

You whisper, “Please”

He whispers equally soft. “As you wish.”

When William latched his mouth onto you, it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before, although you can’t say you’ve felt much. His mouth is hot, wet, messy as he licks you, tongue and lips moving in tandem, like a well practiced team with the sole purpose of reducing you to a whimpering mess.

“W-Will, oh that… oh my god-”

But he didn’t stop, latching his tongue to your clit as his fingers entered you, and despite the overstimulation of the day, compared to the large phalluses that had breached your core, his fingers merely provided pleasurable stimulation. His free-hand remained busy as well, taking your private moment to explore the rest of your body. You didn’t understand what pleasure he could find in your thighs, your stomach, or playing with your fingers, but you relished in his closeness, the emotional and physical and sexual intimacy compared to the coldness of the deflowering.

But it had to happen this way, you thought as your hips bucked; William had begun swirling his tongue around your clit, causing a surge in pleasure. This afternoon was a ritual; systematic, calculated, precise. There was no room for intimacy, for love. But you’d seen it now. You’d seen it in the way Pope danced with you, in the way Ben caressed you after sex and praised you, the way Will touched you now… the only thing missing was Frankie.

It wasn’t long before Will had to gushing on his face, crying out his name in a hedonistic moan, a orgasm so blinding that the revelation that you existed to pleasure and be pleasured by these men until you were swollen with child seemed like a gift of godhood itself.

He pulled three more out of you before he was satisfied, making come on his face and fingers thrice before your final orgasm was only singled by an tired “Mmmmmmmph” and your contracting walls. Finally, he pulls back. You can’t see him, eyes too tired they won’t open, but you imagine his beard is glistening with the way he soaks you when he kisses you cheek.

When you’re situated in bed, where you can only assume is your room, you ask Will to stay, ask him to hold you while you fall asleep. He obliges.

You feel dwarfed in his grasp his body so large it makes you feel small, but also secure. You don’t have to be brave, you don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to think or to worry. Everything would be taken care of for you, you’d give birth to the savior and how many other children, and redeem your family name from your fathers betrayal. You would find redemption in this house, right alongside love, family, and maybe even friendship for the first time since you were twelve…

Everything was falling into place.

So why didn’t it seem like Francisco loved you?

Knock knock.

“Honey?”

Knock knock knock

“Honey you in there?”

Jonah.

“One moment!”

You open your groggy eyes and take a look around the room, finding a luxurious, long, white robe on the dresser. You put it on, covering your nakedness, and timidly open the door.

“Yes?” Jonah stood before you, gun slung on his hip as usual.

He looks sympathetic. “Sorry to wake you, but Santiago wants to see you, I’m here to escort you.”

Hearing someone refer to Pope as his given name is jarring, but something about Jonah is just… very different. He seemed so serious when talking to you about safety, about making sure only his most trustworthy men watched you and how determined he seemed at the balcony… but it seemed he took everything else so unserious to him.

You didn’t like that he referred to your husband by his name, it was much too informal, but you cared about Jonah, so you don’t mention it.

After dressing, Jonah takes you down stairs. You’re thankful for him, the house is too big for you to know your way yet.

“How you feeling?”

“About what?” You ask genuinely.

Jonah turns to you, a curious look on his face. “About… everything. Yesterday was a big day. A lot happened.”

Of course a lot happened. You were still leaking their cum. “Nothing that Divine Mother didn’t intend.” You say as if its obvious.

He sighs. “Right.”

Pope was waiting outside the door of the intended room. His smile grew when he saw you, walking over to place a hand on your cheek and kiss you. “Good morning, my beautiful wife.”

Wife… something so magical about that word.

Pope thanks Jonah and dismisses him, turning you to the doorway and opening it. “I have a surprise for you, bebita.”

When the door opens, you gasp as you’re led inside. Canvases fill the room as did papers, paints, pencils…

“How… how did you know…” You whisper in awe, your heart swelling at the gesture. He loved you, he really loved you and wanted you to be happy here. You were so lucky, so lucky to be adored like this, to be adored by him especially. Pope had worked his way deep into your heart in a matter of days. He was everything to you now, he was your world. You belonged to him, every single inch of your heart, your body, your mind, your faith was him.

“I’m the god of love, I know what mi amada needs… I’ll always know.” He stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your body, the body that belongs to him, and kisses your neck. “I can’t wait to see what you paint, Madonna…”

***************

PLEASE TELL ME UR THOUGHTS I THRIVE ON PRAISE

I feel like im doing ass at writing Ben here. I my normal fics on my main he's a consent king and so so so so soft so this is strange to me. BUT he can be tender and loving, dont you worry

SO, THE GENERAL CONCENSOUS IS YOU ALL WANNA FUCK JONAH. Lmfao, horny sluts. HE'S OUR FATHER FIGURE. Imagine having daddy issues. COULDNT BE ME (this is a joke lol)

But! Thoughts on Iris, and our new boy, Reyansh?

Not a super eventful chapter and i felt like Madonna have said like 10 words this whole fic but this has been the set up, now we can move forward! If you read TWW, LO was practically silent for the first few chapters.

Now they ceremony is done and she's married and already v attached and brainwashed.

How to keep up with the story!

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wardenparker · 4 months

Text

Summer Rose

Professor!Santiago Garcia x female OC Co-written with @julesonrecord

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 6k Warnings: OC is named (Daphne Antonelli) but has minimal physical description. Age gap 10+ years. Both parties are consenting adults. Alcohol consumption, mutual pining, professor/student, oral sex (f and m receiving), 69, sexy mythology references, vaginal sex, protected sex, fingernails/scratching, a bit of biting. Summary: Daphne is having an absolutely terrible day and has missed office hours to turn in her final paper to Professor Garcia. When she turns up on his doorstep to turn in her assignment, the professor she's been crushing on for ages offers her a supportive ear -- and help relaxing. Notes: A little collaboration between myself and my beloved Jules featuring a character we've working on (Daphne) and today's wet daydream of college professor!Santiago. Honestly this is just a bit of porn with the barest thread of a plot, and we're not sorry. Also, just a disclaimer that I have no clue how one finishes a masters degree, but it doesn't matter. We're here for the porn, not the threadbare plot.

Twilight is beautiful on campus. Santiago has always thought so, even before he had the letters after his last name that demarcate him as faculty. He enjoys the blush of the sun fading, the purple of the dusky sky fading to blue-black, indigo, then glitter with starlight.

He likes walking home after class this way; a quiet moment to ease his mind after lectures and before grading. This late in the semester, it will be one of the last walks before the summer term. As he passes through the quiet neighborhood and climbs his front doors, he glances up, spies Orion's Belt in the heavens. He thinks about introducing the story next time he holds his Mythology and Myth-Making class. Did he include it this year? He can't remember. He'd been... distracted.

His phone pings with a text as he sets his messenger bag on the dining room table and undoes his cuff buttons, rolling them up. Too damn hot for this, damn dress code rules... He peers down at the message, and notes it's from an unknown number. His students know to text him if they have an emergency, so he opens it straight away.

Hi, Professor Garcia. I know that it's after office hours, but the fact is...I missed office hours altogether. Would it be an inconvenience to call you and explain? Otherwise I'm not sure how to get my final paper to you. Thanks, Daphne Antonelli (Mythology and Myth-Making)

Santiago lifts an eyebrow. He recognizes the name. Oh yes, he recognizes it. In fact, he's called it to mind more often than is probably appropriate, along with the image of a very beautiful graduate student with a focused stare and drop-dead gorgeous eyes. She was an attentive student, responsive, ready to answer questions but never one to hog the spotlight, making insightful, empathetic, and razor-sharp questions. It was unlike her to miss anything, never mind not visit office hours. They'd spent many such visits over the semester. Short. Professional. Of course.

So why does his heart rate increase, his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he thoughtfully taps the phone screen, spelling out a careful, professional text?

Hi Daphne. As this is your final paper, I would really like to have it ASAP as I am required to submit grades on Monday. Why don't you swing by my home to drop it off?

Feel free to call, he types, then deletes before sending. He wanted to hear her voice. He did need that paper. No reason why he couldn't do both in person. No reason at all.

He had had his graduate students over for a spring dinner after midterms so they know how and where to find him. The bonfire that night had lasted for ages, as tipsy grad students who were feeling feisty with a full meal in their bellies debated the cultural implications of different myth origins and the similarities of some creation myths that they had just been discussing in class. Daphne had been amongst the students that night, animatedly defending her points with unmatched ferocity that was impossible to ignore.

The text that comes through a few moments later takes a while for her to decide on, judging from the continuously undulating bubbles indicating how long she was typing compared to the brevity of the eventual message.

Thank you for understanding. I'll be over shortly so the rest of your night isn't interrupted.

Satisfaction. He tosses the phone down and leans over the table with a slow sigh, taking a look around the room. The same old familiar wall-to-wall bookshelves line the tidy bungalow. The same pendant lamps up, tacky, that he'd meant to change when he bought this place... four years ago. His degrees might be hung in his office upstairs, his clothes are here, he shaves here, but who does he have here, really? Nobody. Warm sheets for a night and then no one. Nothing. There was no reason to bother, really—

And then Daphne. Daphne with her slowly blossoming smile that melted from shy to beaming when he said hello to her on campus. Daphne with her neat notes in the margins, Daphne with the legs that had so often been tucked primly next to his as they leaned over a book or paper together, never touching but so close, close enough so that he could smell her perfume: cinnamon, orchid, incense.

"Fuck," he mutters to the table. There's no way of hiding from himself, not really. He pushes off the wood and stalks to the kitchen for a beer. He cracks it open efficiently and takes a long swallow, Adam's apple bobbing. He wants her. That much is clear. How could he not? She was intelligent, fierce, gorgeous. He could fool himself all he wanted, her coming here was a bad idea. It's been a long semester, keeping her close but not too close.

But, he realizes with a jolt, she's about to graduate. This is her final, his course is over. He is... well, technically by Monday, no longer her professor.

"Fuck," he mutters again, this time to a magnet of a catfish, his only catch from a weekend out fishing with the guys.

It's twenty minutes later precisely when his doorbell rings. There was no sound of a car outside on the street or dramatic slam of a door, but when he opens the door there is a bicycle leaning against his front gate and a frazzled looking student on his front step.

"Hi, Professor." Daphne stands on his step with a mix of anxiety and embarrassment on her face and she digs into her bag right away to pull out a manila folder with his class name and number written on it alongside her name. "I'm so sorry about this. I know it's technically late and that you'll have to dock points for that. It's completely my fault."

"Hey, hey, easy." He lifts a palm and lowers it soothingly, taking the manila folder gently. "There's no need to be sorry, accidents happen." Then, as he knew he would, he asked, "Would you like to come in? It's the end of semester, though. Maybe you have a party you'd rather get to?" He smiles fondly, bumping his shoulder against the doorframe and folding his arms to show off his tanned forearms, shirt sleeves straining slightly.

Yeah, he's still got moves. And he wants to show them off. To Daphne. Who is no longer his student. Who's staring up at him with the anguish slowly sliding from her face. He wants to remove it, stroke her stress away with his thumb, ease it out of her slowly—

Fuck, he's screwed.

"I'm not really – I mean, I haven't –" She doesn't get invited to parties, is what she's trying to say. Not that she doesn't enjoy parties, because she does. She absolutely does. The night they spent here at his house just sitting around the fire talking and sharing a meal was one of her favorite graduate school memories. But she isn't great at socializing with the other students in her program, she's found. There is something a little odd about Daphne, and it has reverberated through her life to keep her just a little on the outside of normal.

Maybe that's why she nods, accepting the invitation with swallowed thanks, and steps inside her professor's house. Her professor who has more than a decade on her in terms of age but has never held his years of experience or knowledge over her head. If they were colleagues, she might have even considered him a friend. As it is, being his student, she's stuck in a sort of limbo with a useless crush and fond memories. "I've had kind of a crazy day," she admits sheepishly. "Even if I had been invited to any of the parties on campus, I don't think I would be going."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Daph," he says, with real sympathy. "Is everything all right? I just opened a beer, would you like anything?"

"A pipe burst at my place and my landlord is claiming I'm liable, then my computer crashed in the middle of doing one last edit on your term paper and the tech office gave me grief, it's just...it's been a long day." She barely even nodded in agreement that a drink would be a huge relief, but he is immediately retreating to his refrigerator to grab her a beer. "Oh, and my summer plans fell through today." Her shoulders sag, the stress of the day dragging her down and determined to keep her there. "I'm just lucky I got up to take a shower first thing this morning or else the day would've been even worse."

"Oh, Daph, that's a rotten one," he says, placing the opened beer on the coffee table and settling his hands on her shoulders. "What happened to your summer? Surely you're going off to some incredible internship, you're more than qualified." And she is. He'd have recommended her to any program she wanted, and had, in fact, written her a letter of recommendation earlier in the year. "You know I'm not going to dock points, right?" he asks more quietly. "None of today was your fault, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. That shouldn't burrow into her chest and bloom into warmth like it does, and Daphne's eyes drop to the floor immediately to carefully focus on the toes of her boots instead of looking him in the face. That's your professor. Don't be creepy. "I had that internship lined up in London with the publishing company but they pulled the rug out from under me." She shrugs, feeling more vulnerable in the moment than she wants to admit. "Apparently the CFO's kid decided all of a sudden that he wants to be an author, so they rescinded my offer. He's going to get it instead."

His chest pangs. He hates that there is nothing he can do to fix this for her -- because she's right. That's the cherry on top of an extremely long day, and all he can do then is what feels most natural, which is to lift her chin up with the crook of his finger, his voice soft, gentle. "Hey."

When she meets his gaze, he watches them flicker slightly, scanning his face as he drinks in hers. Her eyes are so pretty. Like fresh honey dripped from a spoon.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says again, and means it. "You deserve that spot, but you'll find something better, okay? Hey, look at me." She had turned away slightly, embarrassed or perhaps made shy by his praise, but her eyes fix on him again, golden and fringed with thick lashes. "I promise, you will. There's lots of ways into this world, and you're too talented not to break in. Okay? You want to sit down, tell me about it?" His fingers clasp around her delicate elbow, ready to guide her to the couch.

"There's not a lot more to tell, to be honest." Two people with two beers steer almost mechanically toward the couch, and Daphne finds herself being seated on his plush leather sectional just before he sits down beside her. This spring has been chilly and he still has a throw blanket out, which he pulls close to them as if to have it at the ready. "No summer in London means I'm going to have to either go back home and figure out my next step there, or find a new place here and do the same. Because I'm sure as hell not staying in the place I'm in now. As if the landlord weren't bad enough, now the plumbing is going."

"Huh." He trails his arm over the back of the sofa, sipping his beer thoughtfully. "What kinda guy is this-" Asshole, he wants to say, but quells it, "Fellow? Any chance he'll back off? Perhaps once he... calms down, he can be reasoned with." He's approaching the boundary of reason himself. He can see it, taste it, the drip of something sweet down his throat. "Beautiful woman like you? You could convince a man of anything."

The pffft sound that comes out of her mouth goes with a wave of her hand, but she does accept a sip of the beer that he's brought her with a grateful sigh. "The apartment is a piece of shit anyway, if I'm honest. I hate it there. It's just that it's affordable." There's a moment's pause where Daphne's eyes widen in panic and she deflates again with a groan. "I already put in my notice at my job, oh my god."

"Hey, hey, Daphne." He puts his beer down and reaches for her, wrapping one arm around her waist, cupping her flushed cheek with the other hand. "C'mon, it's going to be okay, I promise, but for right now, I need you to relax, okay? Can you do that for me, bebita?" They're so close now, almost nose to nose. He's lost in her eyes again, but he can feel the burning heat of her little cheek in his palm.

She had been so sure she was going to start crying instantly with that realization, but two searing hot hands on her skin steady her. His touch is grounding, pulling her away from the edge of panic and drawing her into his aura so effortlessly that she didn't even realize how close he was until she felt his breath on her skin. "O—okay—" He can't know that the thing keeping her from having a complete panic attack on his couch right now is the fact that all the blood in her body has rushed to her aching clit, but damned if it isn't working. Daphne nods vaguely, trying to keep her head from swimming, but all she feels is his hands on her and the way his coffee brown eyes have turned to oceans in front of her. "Okay," she repeats softly.

"Okay?" Santiago nods, his breath coming a little fast. "I'll help you. I'll help you relax, sweetheart. You tell me to stop any time, okay?" He leans closer so slowly, their breaths mingling. He can almost count her eyelashes. Her nose is sweet and soft as it brushes his, but it's nothing compared to her plush lips. They seal against his and he feels the world fall out from under him. Something deep and ravenous unlocks and spills out all over his inside. He barely chokes down a groan.

There is no doubt that this is the most surreal moment of Daphne's life, and it isn't as though she hasn't been in some weird situations before. It's a miracle that she managed to get her beer bottle onto the nearby coffee table without spilling or knocking anything over, but she needs her hands for this. For a year and a half she's been working on a master's degree and avoiding too much contact with the one professor who makes her mind fog up and her daydreams wander, until finally she had landed in his classroom.

And now on his couch.

Kissing him.

If it were anything besides the most surreal moment of her life, she might have jumped backward or at the very least, pulled away. But Daphne has imagined kissing Santiago Garcia far too many times to do anything but sigh in response and open up for him like a summer rose.

"It's okay," he repeats soothingly between kisses: to himself, to her, to the waiting tension in the room. "I've got you, cariño. I've got you now, there you go, so sweet for me. So pretty. Beautiful, smart girl." He deepens the kiss, tasting her lips slowly, reverently, one hand sliding slowly down her soft sweater to rest on her waist and squeeze gently. He brushes his thumb over the soft material and then flicks it open, wanting closeness, to drag his palm up her thin blouse, wide and slow across her back.

The sound that bubbles out of her is a plaintive moan, unsure but wanting, and one of her hands grasps for steadiness on his arm even as the other instinctively sinks into his curls to keep him close. The battle is want versus wisdom, and it takes longer than she's proud of for Daphne to drag her lips from his and pant for a breath that still has no prayer of clearing her head.

"But." The fog in her mind has settled thick and heavy like the arousal in her core, and even as she's trying to straighten herself out she's still clinging to him with digging fingers and sharp nails. "You'll get fired," she manages to breathe out a few seconds later. Her only real protest being that she doesn't want him to get in trouble over a whim – which is surely all this is to him.

"Baby, no, no," he shakes his head, almost laughing with relief that that is her only concern. "No, you're graduating. I'm not your teacher any more. You handed in your paper. We can finally do what I – what I've been—" Shit. This is going to sound so bad. "What I've been thinking about since I met you," he admits.

Santi leans his forehead against hers, sighing. "I'm sorry. It's so inappropriate, but it's true. I've been waiting so long to kiss you, baby girl. Let me kiss you." He brushes his fingers over her knee, lifting her skirt just a little. "Let me make you feel so good, my little nymph. Do you even know how long you've been haunting me?" His mouth brushes her again, gently, over the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, the flutter of her pulse, which smells delicious, deep and floral, her scent.

His cock aches against his zipper.

"Fuck." This time Daphne groans, sinking further into the couch, and feels herself giggle softly in disbelief more than she's actually aware of making the sound herself. "You've been haunted?" She challenges, eyes burning with courage now that she's heard his confession. Heard him beg. Did he really just beg for her? "Do you know how long I put off taking your class because I didn't know if I could even concentrate around you?"

Using the opportunity of her gently reclining body, Santiago leans in for the catch. "I never could," he murmurs into the hollow of her throat, his hands sweeping her skirt up, revealing her pretty legs, and god her thighs, so plush and luscious in his hands. He takes a moment to stroke there, brush the hem of her panties with his thumbs. "Never. You came in with Eros and made me Apollo." One thumb slips gently under the gusset of her panties. "Are you running, little nymph, hm?"

"Fuck—I—no, I—I don't even think my legs work now," she huffs, all at once tense as a bowstring with desire and measurably more relaxed as the reality of the man she's wanted forever finally touching her exactly where she wants him.

Well, not exactly. But it's not going to take long to get there at the rate they're going.

"What should I..." Daphne's head falls back on the sofa cushion as his thumb strokes her slit and she moans. "Santiago is a lot of syllables to moan."

"Santi. You can call me Santi from now on," he murmurs, removing his thumb from her panties only to twist the thin white cotton things, Jesus, so fucking wet, around his fingers and slide them down, down. He tosses them to the side and shucks off her high heeled boots while he's there, his eyes locked on where she glistens for him, needs him. "But you can call out any god you want to, bonita." He flicks his gaze to hers and smirks. "Show me how much you were paying attention, yeah?"

If she can even remember a single name from his class at this point she'll be shocked, and the cool air of his house on her overheated cunt is enough to have her squirming instinctively underneath him. Her brain has pretty much given up the ghost already, overstimulated in the very best way possible far before the rest of her body feels the same. Although she has a feeling that it will get there. "Santi..." Trying it out, there is a sweetness on her tongue and heaviness in her core that really is just a whine waiting to break free. Daphne's hands have found their way to his shirt front, fumbling to free the buttons even while she's nearly shaking with desire. "If you get to touch me, I want to touch you, too."

His lips find hers again, almost impatient to taste her again. "You can touch me, I want you to," he mutters against her lips, lifting her blouse hem from her skirt as she takes care of his buttons. Santiago doesn't pause, doesn't make it easy for her or for himself, drowning himself in the touch of her, the sweet little noises emanating from her throat, the ones taking a running leap on the way to begging for everything he's ready to give. He lifts her shirt over her head and begins tugging down her skirt an inch at a time, his fingers dragging slowly over her hips, her now bare legs.

Nothing is exactly torn away, not specifically, but the pile of clothing that collects beside his living room sofa accumulates quickly and haphazardly — shirts and sweaters and everything else discarded blindly as they drown in kissing each other and swallowing those moans that make their way to the surface over and over again. With that building freedom Daphne finds a buried courage — not that she is a timid lover by any means, but there is an eagerness below the surface here that she hasn’t felt in so long. When the only thing left between them is the flimsy pair of boxers that do nothing to disguise how achingly hard he is, Daph bites down on his bottom lip to pull a groan out of him and soothes it away by sucking on the same spot as her fingers slip under the waistband of his last remaining piece of clothing.

"Fuck," he hisses, hips jumping forward so that the weeping tip of his cock brushes against her hand and he groans. He sits up straighter, caught in a web, aching to touch her – at least take his boxers off, fuck – but loathe to move away from her curious little hand. He settles for sitting up on his knees, staring at the place she's touching him, watching her explore him as though in a trance.

Taking advantage of the momentary shift, Daphne sits up along with him and nudges Santi backward so that he is on his back now instead of her. His curls are mussed and his eyes are so black with lust that he looks positively debauched before she’s even had a chance to touch him very much. Once he’s on his back, though, Daphne hooks her thumbs in his boxers and peels them away, groaning at the sight of him. Harder than diamonds and leaking precum like an eager teenager, a sly smirk rides across her face knowing she did that to him. “I want to suck your cock,” she admits, gaze flickering between his length and his blackened eyes. “You have no idea how many hours I’ve spent imagining sucking your cock under that desk in your office.”

Santiago closes his eyes a moment. Is he fucking dreaming? Or is his most fucked fantasy coming true before his eyes?

"Probably almost as many as what I've spent imagining what that wet little pussy tastes like." His voice is a low rasp, but he pulls himself together enough to halt her hand on his throbbing dick. His fingers squeeze around hers, gliding over the rigid shaft slowly, with control. His breath fans over her forehead. "You want this, baby? Hm? Gonna have to give me something in return. Come here," he urges, a low purr, her very own siren. "Come here and give me a little taste, cariño."

“Even Kama had to worship a lover in order to find his release,” Daph breathes, having spent an entire semester doodling images of the Hindu love god’s sugarcane bow and bird companions in her notes while thinking of all the various ways her professor could be worshipped.

"Kama was burnt alive by Shiva, sweetheart, and I don't plan on doing any different to you. Come here, that's it." Santi helps Daphne turn in his lap, both of them facing the wall. He guides her hips over his face as he lies back on the couch. Thank fuck it was big enough, for this and more, and then her perfect pussy is hovering over his face, tantalizing him. At heart? Santiago likes torturing himself, loves the thrill of giving into pleasure. Perhaps that too, is why he waited so long to take this girl into his bed. Perhaps that's why he's slow and sure as he spreads her lips, flattens his tongue, and tastes her indulgently, from clit to hole.

Daphne's momentary flash of composure is gone again as soon as he tastes her. Her legs shake on either side of his head, thighs pressed to his ears so her moans are muffled but it isn't on purpose. It's just been so long since she had a man between her legs who knew what the fuck he was doing that just having her clit noticed is a vast improvement. Daphne's body sags momentarily before she is shifting all her weight to one hand and wrapping the other around the base of his cock to stroke his base with the pressure that he showed her – the pressure he likes – while she takes as much of him as she can into her mouth.

When he moans it's with a growl into her pussy she can feel vibrate all the way up through her lungs.

She's not fucking sitting, and he knows it's because she's still, however minutely now that her moans are ringing sweet and clear across his living room, in her head instead of fully in her perfect body the way he wants. Licking up her slick almost lazily, he drags his nails lightly up the outsides of her thighs before firmly catching her hips in hand and pressing her into his waiting mouth, his evening stubble scraping across her folds. Only then does he give her a real reason to moan, encouraging her to grind while his laps at her clit with his tongue, filling his hands with all the gorgeous skin he can reach.

"Sit," he grunts, "Fuck, baby, I wanna to go to the field of fucking reeds with this pussy on my face, come on, you can do it, give it to me."

Come on, carińo, I know you can come for me, such a good fucking girl, he thinks, his brain a hazy lightning storm at the sensation of her hot throat squeezing around him as she swallows. Fuck, he could let her do this all night, but he's hungry for her pleasure and he's so close, he can taste it. Santiago lifts her hips with a final loud suck and trails a finger around her slit, teasing, almost pressing, but only just, his thumb running circles around her clit. With a deep breath he lifts his mouth, slips his tongue and a single finger inside, fucking into her with slow, measured movements.

The overwhelming pleasure of having more than just the tip of his tongue inside her pussy has Daphne moaning so earnestly that she pulls off of him cock with a lurid pop. "Dammit—I—fuck, I'm going to cum—Santi, baby, oh my f—" The shaking of her legs and the coil in her core twist down on each other so her thighs tighten and he breathes into her like he's going to devour her whole as she falls apart at the seams.

Oh yes. He really likes hearing her moaning that, but not more than the way she gives in as her orgasm rocks through her, grinding her hips down, into his waiting, eager mouth, helping her ride him through it until the aftershocks ease. His voice is barely a scrape when he lifts her up, his aching cock swinging between his legs as he presses forward, eager for her mouth. "Did so good, baby, such a good girl for me. I need to fuck you. Need to fuck you, baby. How do you want it?"

"Any way." Daphne gasps, trying to wrap her head around any kind of how that's more artful than just sinking down on him right here and now. When she does wrap her head around it, though, she groans in a less ethereal tone. "Let me grab a condom." Like any sensible, sexually active college girl, she carries one in her regular purse. Emergency cock wrap, if you will. She just never thought she'd actually need it.

"Wait, I got it." He scoots up a moment, digging into the small table beside the couch. From the drawer Santi draws out the foil pouch and rips it open, quickly rolling it on before turning his attention back on Daphne, who's watching him with drowned eyes, eyes deep and longing and still so lovely.

"Lie back, sweetheart. You ready for me?" He slowly glides the head over her silky wet folds, smearing her slick across his tip.

Deciding she absolutely does not need to know how many other girls have been fucked on this couch -- possibly at the end of their own courses -- Daph pushed herself up on her elbows to kiss him fiercely. Tonight is not to be wasted. Tonight is to be a fantastic memory. "I'm ready." Her nails drag down the base of his scalp, having caught a near purr from him earlier when she did the same. "I want you to fuck me, Santi."

Almost before his name is out of her mouth, he's pushing inside her with a low rumble, his head falling back slightly into her hands. Her nails scrape sensation over his scalp and down his spine, and her cunt is licking flames over him, so warm and perfect he almost comes right fucking there, but halts, breathing damp against her lips, his teeth nipping her lip possessively.

They hold like that, frozen together in the heat of the moment as he regains his composure and she adjusts to the stretch and fill and thickness of his cock inside her. The only movement, in this long moment of coming together, is the languid slide and tangle of their tongues together as they drown in the intimacy of feverish kisses.

Gradually, Santi comes down enough to get restless, eager again. He nips and bites down over her jaw and descends on her throat, sucking a mark low on her collarbone as his hands pay some long overdue attention to her pretty, heaving tits. Mine.

When the mark on her neck is soothed with his tongue, he sits up slowly, his eyes a glittering black, his lips parted. He looks like he's about to devour her. He takes one of her calves in his hand, eyes never leaving hers, tipping her knee up towards her head and then out, spread wide for him. He grips her ankle in a warm hand. Then, with a grunt, he's pulling back and pitching forward hard enough for their skin to clap obscenely, fast enough to make them both soon begin to tremble.

The position that he's in has him almost entirely out of her reach, just close even to graze her nails over his chest as he thrusts into her at a pace frantic enough to make them both pant and heave. Her back arches off the couch with a keen and her hands grapple with the couch cushions for purchase to hold on tight as Santi fucks her so deeply and insistently that she can practically feel him all the way up in her throat.

"Gripping me so fuckin' tight, baby, Jesus," he says through his teeth, his jaw tight, streaks of pleasure raking down his chest with her sharp, clinging nails. Keeping his relentless pace, he bends forward, pushing her thigh up, testing her limit. When he's low enough he seizes her mouth with his, grinding deep.

"One more for me, pretty girl, one more," he whispers huskily, his other hand skimming down her body to rub at her clit.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, so good baby, oh my fucking god—" Something in Daphne's mind short circuits, and the rambling begins in earnest the higher and higher she climbs toward a second orgasm. Tripping over her own tongue and throwing her hands up over her head as he slams into her so hard that either they are moving up the length of the sofa or the entire sofa is moving, Daph is completely lost in her pleasure. That volcano of pleasure building in her core is damn near ready to explode and the only thing she wants more than to erupt is to take him with her.

The second her expression breaks and she cries out for him, he's gone. He thinks he's done even before she clamps down on his cock like a goddamned vice, ripping his orgasm from him in a half dozen hard but increasingly languid strokes.

His upper body grows heavy, and with a groan he grinds in deeply just once more – never mind why – and leans his forehead on her soft breast, pulling out of her with a sigh. His entire body is basking, floating. If she puts her hands in his hair again he might even fall asleep.

There's a moment of quiet as he ties off and disposes of the condom, and for a split-second Santi disappears around a corner but he comes back with a warm, damp kitchen cloth to clean them both up with before curling back around her on the couch. "Goddamn," she huffs, giggling softly to herself as his arms come around her.

"Tell me about it," he says sleepily, flipping the throw blanket over the two of them as they settle, kiss, explore lazily what before had been greedily consumed. "Still not sure I'm not dreaming," he says, only half-joking, tracing her lips with a smile. "Did I really get so lucky?"

"I'm not sure how you're the starstruck one out of the two of us," Daphne teases, even though it's through a thin veil of honesty.

"Bonita, I've been increasingly starstruck all semester," he chuckles. "You have so much to look forward to. Shit, you're definitely going farther places than I am. I'm just happy to be here," he presses a kiss to her left tit, "To enjoy-" to her right nipple- "The satisfaction of being right." He kisses her forehead and studies her, his lids heavy. "Do you need anything before you fall asleep, baby girl? You wanna sleep here or in bed? I can't let you bike home this late, querida, so don't even try. Besides, you can shower here, my plumbing is fine." He smirks here, as if anticipating the swat he's earned himself.

"It's not that late." Daphne wrinkles her nose at herself. The protest was just good manners. She doesn't actually want to leave. She wants to wrap up in him and breathe in this comfort for as long as humanly possible. When he levels her with a disapproving look, Daph just ends up grinning. "Let's go to bed," she suggests, catching his lips as he drags them along her jaw. "And when I wake you up in the morning with my lips wrapped around your cock again, you'll be glad your back isn't sore."

The laugh bursts out of his chest with delight, easy and real. "All right, baby, all right, and what makes you think I won't beat you to it?" Santi pulls her to her feet, wrapping the soft blanket securely around her shoulders before guiding her upstairs with a hand at the small of her back.

No matter which one of them beats the other two it, they both know they aren't done. Whether it's a weekend, a week, a month, or even more. This night is just the beginning.

______

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

My Masterlist!

#Oscar Isaac #Oscar Isaac character fanfiction #Oscar Isaac fanfic #Santiago Garcia #Santiago 'Pope' Garcia #Santiago Garcia x OC #Santiago Garcia x female!OC #Triple Frontier #college professor au #professor!Santiago Garcia #pwp #really there is barely any plot here #and we're not sorry

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femmeanonymelives · 8 months

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Isn't it lovely? (Santiago Garcia x OC)

Santiago Garcia x Singer/Songwriter!OC

Mentioned platonic Frankie Morales x OC

(Santiago refers to her as the nickname "Songbird," but real name is Valerie) Inspired by the song "Lovely" by Billie Eilish (with Khalid)

Series Masterlist

Ari's note: This is pure angst and fluff. Some adult language, usage of alcohol and some spoilers for Triple Frontier. This song somehow keeps showing up on my Spotify rotation. It is very beautiful and heartbreaking. I wanted to write something that deals with this song and somehow it reminds me of Santi.

The rain putters on the window seal.

Seattle.

The warm air fills the room with comfort from the cold, rainy weather outside. Started playing with the keys of the keyboard that someone that I loved bought me for my birthday. Pulls out a small yellow notebook with song lyrics. A familiar tone that I used to play around with when we hang out together.

“Happy Birthday, songbird. You can finally become the real Piano Man,” he joked before taking another gulp of beer as he played with my then-shaggy, long black hair. It was my birthday a few years earlier. A few days before the boys went down to South America and fucked shit up there. Santi hosted the festivities at his house. The boys, their partners, and a few of our mutual friends met up and had dinner. Santi wanted to make his present special.

“Honestly, Frankie could have made that joke, but you honestly made the joke somehow shittier,” laughs softly as I play my legs in his lap. He gives the classic “you know you love me” smirk as he gives me a soft kiss.

“Frankie would have requested Sweet Caroline, but knowing you,” he holds my chin in his hand as he makes look at him in his sweet brown eyes, “you would be performing in stadiums soon, not in a bar. I will be by your side when you headline your first show.”

I moved to Seattle a few years back after the guy I last loved left me for a trip that, according to him, “broke him from the inside out.” I did music before I met him. Choir and piano lessons since I was six. If you are talking to my mother about my musical talents, she blames my father who was a musician that performed at the family bar. Started writing some wanderlust type songs, but never really got anywhere in Florida.

Frankie was the one who introduced us. I am the girl “who can sing Taylor Swift better than Taylor Swift without making it annoying.” He was the pain in the ass that Frankie would constantly tell him to ask me out. He saw I brought out a softer side to Santi, even though Santi is a horrible singer.

When he broke it off with me, he blamed how the fucked the mission was from the beginning, how Tom fucking died, how he was worried what was going to happen to him and his squad, and he was worried how we was going to explain this to me. He wanted his share of the money to go to me so we could move and start my music career.

“Songbird, I fucking love you but I need you to understand that I am doing this to set you free. You don’t need me anymore. I am sorry.” He kissed me like this was the last kiss that he was going to ever take with me. Four years of passion, long-distance phone calls, and stale beer thrown away like Tom’s body near the Andes.

That was the last time I saw him.

Three Years Later

I am back in humid Florida, visiting family and Frankie and performing at a local music venue. I step up on stage. Getting a warm welcome from my hometown crowd. Under the bright stage, I see Frankie and the boys… and then I see him.. Drinking a Bud Light in one hand, and wearing an old baseball cap. His hair and stubble is more gray. He looks tired, not wanting to be there. Worried that Frankie brought him to a trap. I move towards the piano and start playing the song that somehow people are recognizing themselves to. My soft, yet powerful alto voice sings the lyrics when I was alone by myself in Seattle.

“Thought I found a way

Thought I found a way out (found)

But you never go away (never go away)

So I guess I gotta stay now

Oh, I hope someday I'll make it out of here

Even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near

Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear

Isn't it lovely? All alone

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone

Tear me to pieces, skin to bone

Hello, welcome home”

As I look up into the crowd, I stare into his eyes like I did years ago. Making me realizing that the song is hurting him the same way he hurt me all of those years prior. I tried to focus on anyone, but him. Tears swell up as I think of us at our happiest as I sing aloud.

“Walking out of time

Looking for a better place

Something's on my mind

Always in my head space

But I know someday I'll make it out of here

Even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near

Wanna feel alive outside I can't fight my fear

Isn't it lovely? All alone

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone

Tear me to pieces, skin to bone

Hello. Welcome home

Whoa, yeah

Yeah, ah

Whoa, whoa

Hello, welcome home”

I hear a mass applause from the crowd as I quickly wipe my tears as I look towards the crowd.

I see Santi and Frankie gone. I focused on the rest of my set that focused on songs from my album and a few covers of Fleetwood Mac.

After the show, I head backstage towards my dressing room. I see Santi standing there, mad and regretful at what he did to me. His knuckles are bloody, which he fought with Frankie in the parking lot.

“Songbird, listen to me-”

“Don’t… just don’t call me.. the bullshit you pulled forfeits the right to call me that.”

“Valerie, I am sorry. I fucked up. I should have told you the truth from the beginning.”

“Santi, it is not that… you fucked up this relationship by using Tom’s fucking death for a reason to end it… That is not a good enough excuse for me. Why are you here?”

“When Frankie told me that you were coming into town, I was scared shitless. The money was for you.”

“Santiago Garcia, don’t be fucking with me about this. The one time I see you are telling more bullshit.”

“Val, that money for you and I to spend a life together.” He takes a deep sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. “That money was for you to actually start your career.”

“Bullshit… absolute bullshit! Stop lying to me just to save your own ass.” He grabs my arm and pulls me back in my dressing room. He locked the door.

“That song.. You wrote that about us…”

“I was hurting. Frankie was the only of you assholes to reach out.” Santiago is shocked; he knew Frankie and I were close, but never knew the impact that our relationship had. “Ben couldn’t even look me in the face when I saw him in Seattle.”

“So you wrote a fucking break-up song, Val? I know I was a dick by how I treated you, but I am telling the truth” He sounds more hurt than angry. The song made him seem like the biggest asshole in the world.

“I wrote it because you left me the minute you came back. I was angry. I was in a town by myself, wishing you called and said that you made a fucking mistake, but you didn’t.” Santi grabs me by my now-long dyed red hair and kisses me like he did three years earlier.

“I love you, Val.. and I am sorry for what I did.”

I walked out of the door; not being able to stay there another second without crying. As I head to my rental car after grabbing my stuff, tears stream down my eyes as I whisper to myself in the car, “I love you too.”

#triple frontier #triple frontier boys #triple frontier fanfic #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #oscar issac characters #santiago garcia x oc #santiago garcia x reader #oscar issac x reader

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souurcitrus · 4 months

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Earth-18104 - The Inner Circle

Talking about some of my OCs and one of the important groups of my original Marvel world, as I have wrote a lot about them in my time-line.

The Black Inner Circle is a group or coven created by Elsa Santiago in 1652. At first, Santiago was loyal to the ancient mutant Apocalypse and faithfully followed his teachings and ideals of mutant superiority, believing that mutants (or Enriched) should be above the humans, as they were the first to appear in the world.

The Circle is formed as a cult, all members are mutants, but there are still others such as werewolves and some individuals endowed with magic and special abilities. They are all trained by Santiago and educated in the "ways of Okkara", basically indoctrinated to erroneously follow the ideals of Apocalypse.

The Black Circle is divided between three parts:

• Pawns - the "lower" members do not have a very important role in the coven/clan and serve more as soldiers.

• The Pillars - the five Pillars, who arr mostly children chosen by Santiago for their powerful mutant abilities, as telepaths or carriers of dangerous mutations. They are known for being Santiago's true "children" and can give orders to the Pawns. They are all made immortal by Santiago using Apocalypse's powers.

• First Pillar - Deianeira, the first member of the coven, found by Santiago when she was a child. She is a telepath/empath, she can enter people's minds, but only through eye contact, which is why Elsa makes her wear a band over her eyes or glasses. She is the most loyal among her sisters and follows her mother's orders faithfully.

• Second Pillar - Initially the title belonged to Amélia Smith, a witch trained by Agatha Harkness and member of the Daughters of Liberty. After being expelled from the sisterhood for using black magic, Harkness took her to Santiago and Amélia gained the position, becoming very loyal to Santiago and equally obsessed with Apocalypse and Okkara.

Amélia had a daughter with a mutant, Theodosia Salazar, and tried to use her to gain more power. She died at the hands of her own daughter and her tittle was passed down.

After Amélia, Beatrice Carvalho, known as Lullaby, was chosen as Second Pillar for her ability to control minds with her voice, which sounds like a whisper, hence her codename. Additionally, she can also fly and has a supersonic scream.

She is the shyest among her sisters and the most humble, taking care of the youngest children in the coven.

• Third Pillar - Theodosia Salazar, daughter of the former Second Pillar, she is called Inferno by her sisters because of her power to control fire and suck thermal energy.

Theodosia is brutish and cruel, Santiago always tasks her with heavy work. She was a member of the Avengers and an ally of the X-Men for a time, and they called her Firestarter until they discovered her involvement with the Dark Circle.

• Fourth Pillar - At first Tereza Márquez, known as Sanguinária, was the Fourth Pillar against her will. Santiago has a deep obsession with Márquez because of her fire powers, which she inherited from her ancestor, Etana of Okkara, Apocalypse's right-hand woman.

Tereza is not loyal to the Inner Circle and left the group a long time ago, but Santiago still tries to bring her back.

Santiago had a son for the sole purpose of using his powers, created with the help of Lady Sinister in her laboratory. Despite having her own name, she called her son Praga and gave him the rank of Fourth Pillar.

He is not endowed with a powerful mutation beyond the manipulation of his cells, which allows him to change his physical form; however, he trained in magic and became Master of the Mystic Arts. Like Lullaby, he is quiet and seems to be the least willing to follow Santiago, as he fears her more than anyone else.

He was a member of the Avengers and trained in magic with Scarlet Witch, until the Darkhold incident.

• Fifth Pillar - Umbra does not have a name. She is a teleporter and can move through shadows, which is why she has no face and cannot be seen in the light as it hurts her. She is rarely seen, so Santiago uses her as a spy for his plans. She is the youngest of her siblings.

• The founders -

Elsa Santiago is at the top of the coven, she is called Mother by the members and chooses only those with strong and useful mutations for her. She is over 400 years old and was chosen as Death Knight by Apocalypse, until she betrayed him and sealed him in her sphinx.

Her mutation allows her to steal the abilities of others through consumption and blood. If she consumes a small amount, the mutation she stole will disappear within a few hours or minutes. But if she consumes more, the mutation will be hers completely.

Santiago is very selfish, manipulative and cruel even towards her children, whom she brought close after isolating them and offering them a false sense of belonging and security. She is obsessed with mutant superiority and anyone who is part of her coven she views as her own property.

Selene Essex, Lady Sinistra, is not an official member of the coven, but she and Santiago have been in partnership for many years, ever since Santiago gave Selene immortality. She often uses the lowest members of the coven as experiments, with the Mother's permission.

The Coven has existed for 300 years. They had relations with the Akkaba Clan and followed the same rules as them, however, with the fall of the Clan, the Inner Circle had to hide, having countless sanctuaries connected across the world. The Inner Circle's greatest goal is to bring world conquest to the mutants or bring about the Judgment Day promised by Apocalypse.

I mentioned about them in parts of my time-line

About Okkara, Apocalypse and the Enriched, the first mutants.

#x men oc #marvel oc #original universe #marvel comics #my ocs #tereza marquez #the inner circle #world building #x men #lady sinister #mister sinister #elsa santiago #ocs #citrusart #citrus writing

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somethingeden · 6 months

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Book help - Series + Characters and Love Tropes

[Firstly, here is post for the fandoms]

Hello, I am a writer on Wattpad and I am trying to think of a story. I do get writer's block so I have old books but I am to lazy to rewrite them. Okay so I have a few ideas but may you use about a minute to vote or even give me suggestions, it would be appreciated! I could also do a cross over.

Series and the characters that I am considering of doing is (I am also okay with character x character and oc x oc:

Narnia (Edmund Pevensie/Peter Pevensie/Caspian X/Lucy Pevensie/Susan Pevensie/Aslan/Eustace Scrubb)

MCU (Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Wanda Maximoff/Peter Parker/Harley Keener/Hope Lang/Scott Lang/Same Wilson/Natasha Romanoff/Pietro Maximoff/Tony Stark/Thor/Loki/Stephen Strange/Wade Wilson/Peter Quill)

Harry Potter (Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood/Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini/Pansy Parkinson/Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Bellatrix Lestrange/Ginny Weasley/Fred Weasley/George Weasley/Bill Weasley/Charlie Weasley/Cedric Diggory/Tom Riddle/Mattheo Riddle)

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (Albus Potter/James Potter II/Rose Granger-Weasley/Scorpius Malfoy/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Hermione Granger/Ted Lupin)

Marauders (James Potter/Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Bellatrix Black/Marlene Mckinnon/Mary Mcdonald/Dorcas Meadows)

Doctor Who (9th Doctor/Jack Harkness/10th Doctor/Donna Noble/11th Doctor/Amy Pond/Clara Oswin Oswald/12th Doctor/13th Doctor/Yasmin Khan/Ryan Sinclair/14th Doctor/Donna Noble/Rose Noble)

Heartstopper (Ben Hope/Harry Greene/Imogen Heaney/David Nelson)

Grease (Danny Zuko/Sandy Olsson/Kenickie Murdock/Leo Balmudo)

Disney (Ariel/Maleficent/Briar Rose/Ursula/Prince Eric)

Greek Mythology (Medusa/Hades/Poseidon/Apollo/Ares/Hermes/Demeter)

The Mortal Instruments [I haven't read all the books] (Jace Wayland-Herondale.../Alec Lightwood/Raphael Santiago/Isabelle Lightwood/Magnus Bane/Jonathan Morgenstern/Maia Roberts/Jordan Kyle)

Percy Jackson [I sadly don't have the books but I am going to base it off the tv series that'll come out next month] (Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase/Grover Underwood/Luke Castellan/Ares/Poseidon/Hades/Clarisse La Rue/Medusa/Hermes/Hephaestus)

Enola Holmes 1 and 2 (Enola Holmes/Tewksbury/Sherlock Holmes/Mycroft Holmes)

Jurassic Park (Ian Malcolm/Alan Grant)

Jurassic World (Own Grady/Zach Mitchell/Maisie Lockwood/Gray Mitchell/Ian Malcolm/Alan Grant)

Little Women (Theodore Laurence)

Lord of the Rings (Frodo Baggins/Legolas Greenleaf/Aragorn/Eomer/Faramir)

The Hobbit (Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield/Kili Oakenshield/Fili Oakenshield/Thranduil Greenleaf/Bard/Legolas Greenleaf)

Uncharted (Nathan Drake/Victor Sullivan/Chloe Frazer)

Supernatural (Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester/Jack Kline/Claire Novak)

Mamma Mia 1 and 2 (Sam Carmichael/Harry Bright/Bill Anderson/Sky)

Love tropes:

Enemies to Lovers

Friends to Lovers

Forbidden Love

Secret Identity/Billionaire/Royal

Best friend's Brother/Sister

Second Chance

Soulmates

Fake Relationships to Lovers

Wedding – Runaway Bride/Runaway Groom/Jilted/Arranged Marriage

Strangers to Lovers

Amnesia/Mistaken Identity

Holiday Romance/Flings (Can lead to a baby)

Already Together

Hero x Villain

Sworn off Relationships

Opposites Attract

Secret Baby

Two Person Love Triangle (Mistaken Identity)

Reunited

Fairy Tale Retelling

Bet

Blind Date

and more...

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artemiseamoon · 2 years

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One day at a time

Dad! Santi x ofc | ft TF guys and original characters

Status: hiatus (may be back in the summer)

An A03 fic - link here

Updates

8/22 - prologue one is live!

Link to more Moodboards

More Santi

#Santiago pope Garcia #dad Santi Garcia #Santiago Garcia x ofc #single mother ofc #black oc #triple frontier fanfic #ao3 fic

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artemiseamoon-ficart · 1 year

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Take me to the sky

A post-fic one shot for A Little bit of hope

Status: coming soon

Santiago Garcia x Ofc | minor mentions of past Santi x f reader & reader x bf Billy Russo

Moodboards

#Santiago pope Garcia #santiago x black oc #upcoming #fic: take me to the sky #artes moodboards #santiago garcia fanfiction

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insomniac-jay · 2 years

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OC Wedding Headcanons (Part 2)

AlEva (Silver Tongue x Panoply)

Right off the bat, this wedding would be the ultimate goth vampire weird girl theater kid who never left that phase as they entered adulthood dream.

Their wedding is the most gothic vampire shit anyone has ever seen. I'm talking the fact that Alfred hired someone to play a whole ass pipe organ as Eva walked down the aisle.

She'd be so on board to wear a vampire bride dress with a black veil and red roses holding a bouquet of some in her hands.

In addition to the pipe organ, the two of them would have opera singers perform at their party and then have whole ass plays on afterwards.

The Satirist-Silverstone wedding is just an excuse for Alfred to blow all of his late dad's money on his wife. The deceased elder Silverstone is rolling in his grave as we speak.

All the Muses can do is suck it up and enjoy because Eva is the happiest she's been in years and they don't wanna ruin her special day.

FrostSage (Jack Frost x Scarlet Sage)

Sticking true to her traditional nature, Sarubia is going to have a traditional wedding. Yukito is not opposed to this.

The Yamaniwa clan gets to work with the decorations and food since it'll be held in Ibaraki. Not to mention they have to get the news out to the people of the prefecture.

The wedding is held in winter and is one of the most beautiful weddings anyone in the family has ever seen (1st being Sakura's and 2nd being Hanako's).

Yukito has an ale that his grandmother often made during the winter when he lived in Sweden as a child for the wedding. The family is very impressed by it and it becomes a seasonal dish.

Hanako jokingly puts a mistletoe above the altar and both Sarubia and Yukito basically say "Fuck it. We cube."

Ran is very happy that her eldest three daughters are all married and cannot wait for the younger three.

EuryPhoenix (Iron Phoenix x Euryphaessa)

Off the bat the wedding is going to be huge because Santiago is go big or go home and Rayna honestly doesn't mind. It's their special day after all.

Matter of fact, the wedding is just a way for Santiago to flex even harder than he usually does.

Rayna chooses this as her wedding dress and her family and friends are immediately blown away when revealed.

Santiago has his family flown up to the States a few weeks before the wedding and is flexing so hard because they're just in awe of his sheer luck.

Invited every other hero except his rival Shocker at first but then Rayna made him invite Shocker since it wouldn't be fair to exclude him.

The wedding made headlines around the country and was trending for many weeks. Rayna's wedding dress made it to the cover of several magazines.

@floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @s0ursop @opalofoctober @elflynns-horde-of-stuff @pizzolisnacks @peachyblkdemonslayer @blondephobicpercy

#jay's bnha ocs #oc headcanons #ship: aleva🎭#ship: frostsage📑#ship: euryphoenix🥇

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astoryisaloveaffair · 2 years

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Fix You - Chapter 12: Free Fallin’

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Read on A03

Spotify Playlist

»»———————►

Chapter Summary: You and Frankie have to look inwards when you get into a fight

Word Count: 9500

Rating: 18+, Explicit, Lemon

*If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature and explicit themes, kinks, and violence. Additionally, you understand and acknowledge warnings may not be present to avoid spoilers for the story*

Chapter Warnings: age gap (10-15 years), cussing, drinking, ANGST, PiV, oral (m rec), exhibitionism, SOFTNESS, Frankie being a dick

A/N: Hello and welcome BACK my friends, I couldn’t leave you hanging that long without posting so here we go! LETS GET INTO IT! Shit’s really picking up now so prepare for multiple scene shifts. We are also getting a Santiago POV!! This chapter does have more of a limitation on where reader lives, but it had to be this way because it’s significant to the story. BIG big shoutout to my babe @musings-of-a-rose for being a cheerleader, sounding board, and for making the chapter moodboard I AM IN TEARSSSS. I also dedicate this chapter to @moralesfish who made an amazing fancam for this fic last week! Go check it out pleassseee!

Suggested Songs: “Free Fallin’” by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, “Yellow” by Coldplay, “Runnin’ Down a Dream” by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, “Let Down” by Radiohead, “Where It Stays” by Charlotte OC

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You freeze, your heart dropping in your chest. Shit. You turn to face him and grimace, sloppily shoving the paperwork back into the dresser without even looking to see where it was going.

It’s hard to look at him. His jaw is clenched so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grinding as the muscles twitch and shift in his cheeks, his entire body is stiff as a board, hands at his sides in fists, opening and closing, fingers twitching. His eyes…are so wide, his brow so furrowed, it makes you look away because keeping eye contact with those hard black eyes staring angrily in yours actually physically hurts.

“I asked you a question.” Somehow, him not yelling made it sound even worse.

You look at your feet. “I was…just trying to help.”

“By snooping through all my shit and trying to find all the things you can fix about me?!”

You jerk back at the jab, the harshness of it making you feel like you were shot in the chest. “No! Frankie…I meant I was just trying to help you with your laundry! I didn’t know there was anything even in there. It was an accident!” You can feel the tears welling in your eyes and you subtly pinch the bridge of your nose to keep them at bay, playing it off like it’s an irritated tic. You heave a sigh and return your gaze to Frankie’s. “Look, I was just putting your clothes away and I got a papercut and I was wondering what —”

He cuts you off, his voice cold and stern. “I don’t need you to clean up after me. I’m not a child.”

“Um. I know that, I thought I was doing you a favor. You don’t need to be condescending. Why the fuck are you being so mean? Throwing the things I told you back in my face? I told you that in confidence, I don’t do that anymore.”

“Yea, you told me in confidence, and I didn’t show you this at all, so if you’re mad, maybe you can understand how the fuck I feel.”

You could never have prepared yourself for how this anger would feel when it was directed at you. It swells and burns, and when the pangs in your chest abate and your chest swells, you realize you're getting angry too. Before you can stop yourself, you snap back. “Well, who hides something in a dresser drawer?! And why are you hiding shit anyways? I don’t have any secrets from you. But I’m starting to feel like you do.”

“Get out.” His eyes are completely hollow, devoid of any emotion whatsoever. You almost don’t even process what he’s saying. Your heart drops into your stomach, throbbing as you stand and stare at him. “What?”

“Get out of my house.”

“...Are you serious?”

Still no emotion. He looks like a robot, but not the cute Wall E kind. More like Hal 9000. Or an IG-Series.

He continues. “I don’t like having to repeat myself.”

Who is this person? You grit your teeth to stave off the tears once more, swallowing thickly before you look up at him and fix him with a glare to match his own. “Fine.”

You push past him to the bedroom, grabbing the overnight bag you’d set down in there when you came to the house a few hours before, not making any eye contact as you stuff your things back in and zip it up. You can feel the tears finally swelling and cresting over your lower eyelids and you would rather die than let him see it, so you stare at the ground and hustle past him without a word. You manage a shaking goodbye to Gabi as you rush past, opening the door and shutting it with a slam just to piss him off as you stomp to your car, get in, and leave.

All you can feel is rage as you drive, and you try to calm yourself by surfing your Spotify shuffle, choosing some vintage Eminem and screaming the lyrics in your car. You feel like you’d never been so pissed in your entire life, the fact that Frankie chose to take something you told him with trust and throw it back at you sets you into such a violent temper that you actually kind of want to drive back over there and barrel your car right into his truck or something.

Okay, so maybe you should just turn the music off. You smack the dial to switch off the sound transmitting through your aux cord to your phone, releasing a heavy sigh. How the fuck did that even happen? Everything was fine, so incredibly domestic, only to devolve into that? You’d imagined how cute he’d be when he came home exhausted to find his things washed and put away, clutching you close to his chest as he presseskisses all over your face.

But instead he flipped out like a fucking psycho over some papers you didn’t even understand, and why? He’d just told you he trusted you. You’d been completely open with him, fuck, you let him tie you up and fuck you rough and raw with the amount of trust you had in him. Why didn’t he trust you? What was he hiding?

You simmer on the drive home, and as your anger abates, the lava of it melts and oozes, sliding off your heart and exposing once again the real source of your ire.

This really fucking hurts.

You don’t text Frankie the rest of the night and none the next day, but he didn’t text you either so it didn’t feel vindictively fulfilling for you. You’d cried yourself out that night, burritoed in your bed, but now you just sit in various places glaring at your phone, hovering between wanting him to contact you and not, you texting him or not. You finally just turn the damn thing off and veg out catching up on shows.

Late in the evening when you finally turn it back on, you feel a rush of happiness to see Frankie in your banners, and you hate yourself for it. You hate yourself even more when you see the messages.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Are you coming for your shift tomorrow or should I find someone else

Frankie 🐈🐟: Please let me know ASAP

You pull your lips into a hard line, the muscles of your jaw churning, seizing with tension that travels down your neck and shoulders and worsens the mini headache already starting to form from crying all day. All business. No acknowledgement of what happened. No apology. No request to talk it out. Just what you can do for him. Fuck. Him. It makes you almost sick to your stomach and you consider telling him to fuck off, but you don’t. You like the job. You love Gabi. You want the pay.

Yep. I’ll be there.

You wait, hoping maybe this would leave the door ajar for him to reach out and say something, but as the seconds slip by and you get no response at all, you finally get impatient and throw your phone across the room. At the exact time that it chimes.

“Son of a bitch…” You crawl back to your phone and flip it over, wondering what he said. A thumbs up. And nothing else for the rest of the night.

You can be petty. You know it. It’s not your favorite thing to admit about yourself but sometimes just being sooooo fucking petty makes the hurt sting less, makes the anger feel like it has been fed.

When Frankie opens the door for you Friday evening, you breeze through without acknowledging him at all, ignoring his hardened expression while he stares at you with an open mouth. You do the absolute most greeting Gabriela, more dramatic than your normal greeting, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care, running towards you with a shout as you lift her into your arms.

“Hi baby” You murmur into her soft curls. After putting her down you start setting up a movie for the two of you facing away from Frankie, who is still standing frozen at the front door.

“Hey..” His voice is low, and incredibly soft. It makes your heart lurch, an uncomfortable twinge radiating through your heart to your arteries and out through your body like you’d been stabbed with a knife and severed them. It would be so easy to relent, turn around and run to him, hug him, tell him it’s okay, but your stubborn streak flares up instead. You did nothing wrong.

You completely ignore him.

He slams the door on his way out.

“Remind me again what it was she found?” Santiago leans back in the booth, flinging an arm across the seat top.

“My paperwork. My suspension, trial date, all that.” Frankie refills his glass with another round of beer from the pitcher.

Will’s brow furrows. “I thought you said you’d already told her about that.”

“I did, but it’s another thing completely to be looking through my things and reading what a fuckhead I am on paper.” The table goes silent, the tension so thick it’s like they can feel it compressing them even as they sit. Frankie has been unbearable the past few days, cranky and irritable, morose and slightly paranoid in a way Santiago hasn’t seen in a long time. Usually he understands. This time, it pisses him off.

“I think you’re creating drama when there doesn’t need to be any, as usual.” Santiago says pointedly, shrugging nonchalantly at Frankie’s answering glare.

“What?”

He puts his hands up, his palms facing Frankie in the universal sign of calm. down. “Consider this. Take one second and use that dumb ass brain of yours and consider the fact that she might just have been cleaning up your house to make your life easier, like a good girlfriend, and she wasn’t snooping around. That what she said is true.”

“I’m not a dumbass.”

“You kind of are, because every time something gets fucked up, it’s you that did it. You sabotage your own damn self and you’re doing it right now. So I gotta call it out.”

Frankie bristles for a second at the insults, but quickly settles back down, slumping into the seat back of the booth, cupping his palms around his mug. “Yea. Yea…I — I know…I flew off the handle and then I guess I dug my feet in and got stubborn because I didn’t want to look like a dick for yelling at her, and now she won’t even talk to me. I did it to myself.”

“You’re fucking stupid.” Says Benny.

“Fuck you Ben, you haven’t been able to keep a girlfriend for more than a month.”

“Not all of us have had the perfect fucking girl dropped right in their lap. And she actually likes you back! You!”

Frankie stands up abruptly, his hips colliding with the table and jostling it, shaking their beer and spilling some of it across the bar top. He slams his palm down on the surface and gets right in Benny’s face. “Hey, fuck you man.”

Benny stands up too, shoving Frankie back. “Nah, fuck YOU!”

Santiago is done. “HEY. SIT THE FUCK DOWN. BOTH OF YOU. AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

Both men turn and stare at him, as well as several other customers in the bar. Their chests heave and swollen like some ridiculous pompous birds that haven’t even attracted a mate yet. Frankie opens his mouth to argue but Santiago cuts him off.

“No. That’s it. I’ve fucking had it. This is absolutely ridiculous. Benny, learn some tact. Frankie, get your goddamn tail between your legs and go fucking talk to her. You’re fucking wrong. Right now. Get the fuck out of here.”

“I —”

“Get out of here or I’ll bitch slap you. MOVE OUT.”

Frankie jerks, an audio trigger response buried deep within before giving him a soft nod, his lips twisting about his face as he throws some money on the table and slides out of the booth.

The drive home is agonizing. What does he even say? How can he even explain how he reacted? How can he explain that sometimes he gets so mad in the moment he can’t see just how completely and utterly wrong he is. That when he realizes it, sometimes he still won’t admit it, because he doesn’t want to feel the shame and guilt of being wrong. That he’s completely fucked up and creates his problems himself, then runs away from accountability because it’s easier. That you should find someone who’s better, nicer, less stubborn, who has a stable temper and doesn’t have all his baggage. That he might never change, but he’s too fucking greedy to give you up.

He doesn’t even get an opportunity. The moment he opens the door you’re up, your crossbody already slung across your chest so you could get away from him as fast as possible. And it shatters his heart. As you drive away he realizes, you didn’t even take your pay. You’d been that desperate to get away from him.

I ruin everything.

Luckily for you, that had been your last shift before Gabi went to Lex’s for two weeks. Two weeks. Maybe enough time to calm down and process what happened. You almost spoke to him that night. You wanted to, but once you realized he was trying to reach out you decided instead to dig your heels in. No you cannot talk to me. Sit in your fucking feelings for a bit, like you did to me.

He texts you for days straight.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Baby

—

Frankie 🐈🐟: Please talk to me

—

Frankie 🐈🐟: I love you

—

Frankie 🐈🐟: I’m really sorry

But after a week, nothing. And not the day after, or the day after that. After several more silent days, you hear from someone else.

Dali🌻: Hey babe, what you up to today? I’m bored.

So were you. You’d done nothing but sit around your apartment watching bullshit. You were growing tired of maintaining the anger.

Not doing anything. Wanna come over?

She does, giving you a tight hug when you open the door for her. “I brought wine, fancy cheese, and Pride and Prejudice!” She declares.

“BBC or Keira Knightly?”

She scoffs. “Keira Knightly, obvs. I can’t be here all week.”

You laugh and hug her again, stepping aside so she can deposit everything on your kitchen counter, not wasting any time before breaking open the wine. She offers you the first glass, then pours herself one, before pulling out all the cheese and crackers she bought, arranging them neatly on a plate.

“I’m such a whore for a charcuterie board.”

“MMmm me too.”

The two of you bring your wine and snacks to your coffee table, settling in a giant blanket together for the movie, only pausing once to order some pizza.

“Thanks for coming over.” You mutter as the credits begin rolling.

Dali smiles softly. “Of course. Are you okay? I know you and Frankie are in a weird place, but you haven’t answered anyone else either.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. We just care about you. Benny’s pretty beside himself though. Look…we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want but I love you and I’m here for you—”

“I think I ruined it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He…he reached out to me last week, a lot. I ignored him. And he isn’t anymore. I was just so mad. He told me to ‘get out of his house’. I…that really shocked me. He’s never talked to me like that before. It was like he was a different person. Who talks to someone they love like that?”

“Maybe a rough mess of man who cares so much about what you think of him that he has completely irrational reactions to stupid shit he thinks will change your opinion of him but he did that on his own by being an asshole.”

You stare at her. “Dali…what the fuck.”

She shrugs, taking the last sip of her wine. “I’m dating someone very similar. But I don’t think yours choked a guy out in the grocery store.”

“No— but. Wait WHAT?!”

She widens her eyes, her lips resting on the rim of her wine glass as she nods, then takes a big gulp. “You didn’t know? I’d figured Frankie would have told you.”

“No. I mean, I could tell there was something in Will’s past but Frankie thought it should be up to him to tell me, and I never asked. Now the barbecue we had on the Fourth makes so much more sense.”

“He wanted to keep that side of him a secret from me too. I mean, I get it. His fiance’ left him soon after that. But he’s getting better, and I don’t give a shit what he did in the past. I care about who he is now. And he’s never going to be perfect.”

“I didn’t ask for perfection, I asked for honesty. And I want respect.”

“I know…”

You sigh, leaning back against the back of your couch. “Fuck.” You pause, pursing your lips as you try to articulate what you’re thinking. “I think…I probably pushed the ‘ignoring him out of spite’ too far and he’s done with me anyways.”

“I can tell you with absolute certainty that he is not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. He is so fucking in love with you, talks about you all the time. Quite annoying actually.” She teases. You stick your tongue out at her.

The two of you end up crushing almost two bottles of wine and watching movies late into the night, finally collapsing in a giggly heap in your bed, dead to the world.

What only feels like minutes later, several loud dings yank you right back out of that sleep, and you moan dramatically as you flop onto your back, rubbing your face. Dali is sitting up next to you, texting furiously.

“Hey, morning!”

You groan. “You are way too chipper for this morning.”

“Hangover?”

You groan.

“I have a remedy. You like pancakes?”

You and Dali meet up with Will and get breakfast, the sweet carb and protein goodness doing wonders to settle your head and stomach. Maybe it’s Will’s presence, or maybe it’s the pancakes, perhaps it’s even both, but by the end of the meal you’re feeling much better. There’s something about Will that is just so comforting to fold into when shit hits the fan. He just seems so solid, so mentally strong, you can see why Frankie confides in Will the most about his sobriety.

“I don’t understand how you can get shot in the stomach and just be like, ‘okay well that was a small annoyance, let me continue on with my day.’”

Will smirks, lifting his shoulders in an uneven shrug. “Non-vital organs. That time. Headshot was worse.”

“Fuck.” You murmur. “I…don’t really know what to say to that other than that sucks and I’m really sorry you had to go through that.

“It is what it is. I’m here. That’s all I can ask for.”

Dali reaches out her hands, threading her fingers through his. You look down at your plate, not wanting to intrude on an intimate moment, lifting your eyes when you hear him speaking again.

“We’ve all been through a lot. Shoulda died many times. Fish too. Kinda puts stuff in perspective that some shit just ain’t that important. He made a mistake. He’s really sorry. You should talk to him.”

You scrub your face with your hands. “Yea, alright. I know. I’ll go over there after this.”

After several hugs and more words of support, you jump in your car and head to Frankie’s. It’s a rainy day, somewhat gloomy, and a light fog permeates the semi swampy neighborhood Frankie lives in. His truck is there when you pull up, but the lights are dark, so you decide to knock on the door rather than just burst in.

It takes a few knocks for him to answer the door.

“God dammit Pope— oh.” The irritation on his face shifts immediately, eyes widening into that puppy dog look like his eyelids are just drooping down his face. “Hi.”

“Hey. Ummmmmm can I come in?”

He blinks several times before almost jumping out of your way. “Yea! Yea…please come in, you don’t have to ask.”

You step inside and lean against the back of the couch. “Well, last time I was here, you kicked me out.”

He swallows. “Yea…look I’m really sorry. I thought something else was happening and I completely overreacted. And then I didn't wanna admit I was wrong. But I was.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I dunno. I guess I think you’re gonna find something you hate about me and be done with me.”

You bite your lip, raising your gaze to look at him. He looks like shit. Still handsome, but also like shit. His hair is disheveled and slightly matted, he’s got huge bags under his eyes, and it looks like he may have been wearing the pajamas he was in for an entire week.

You bring his attention back to you. “Look, Frankie. I know it’s hard to trust people but please try. I’m not trying to find a defect in you. The only person that can push me away is you. But when you flip out like that, it makes me think you’re hiding something. Are you?”

He looks at you, the hurt so plain on your face, the sheer disappointment, and he can’t bear to ever see that look from you again. It’s too much. Too similar.

He lies. “No.” He steps forward, lifting your hand from your thigh and holding it in his. “There’s nothing else, I swear.”

“Okay. I’m sorry too.”

“For what?”

“For ignoring you. That was wrong too. I shouldn’t have done that. I was just really hurt, and mad.”

“Oh.” He looks down, not able to look you in the eyes. He can’t even understand why you think you would need to apologize to him, but here you are, doing just that. He glances up at you again, starts towards you then halts, hovering awkwardly in front of you instead. “Baby, can I…please hold you? Is that okay?” And fuck, when he looks like that you just can’t say no, you can’t resist that sad, droopy face and those pouty lips, those warm brown eyes, the coziness and warmth radiating off him. You step into his arms. He releases a stuttered breath, his arms wrapping around you and molding you into him, burying his face into your neck. He definitely has not been showering regularly, but you find you don’t much care. He still smells good. He smells like home.

He says your name. “...I love you. So fucking much. I’m really sorry.”

You thread your fingers into his matted curls. “I love you too. But please don’t ever talk to me like that again.” He nods and squeezes you harder.

Today was super important. Not as important as the suspension review next week, but definitely very important. Frankie was going to take you on the best date ever. He can’t stop beating himself up over your fight and how he talked to you, so he decided that he was going to make a grand gesture to show you how much he loved you and how sorry he was. He can feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins when you pull up to his house, bright and early.

You open the door of your car dramatically with your leg, heaving yourself out of the car. “Alright! I am here! At 8:00 AM! On a Saturday! Now tell me what we’re doing.”

He’s already bounding down the steps of the porch and all but skipping to you as you shut your car door, again with your foot. “Nope!” He opens his arms to you, bending at the knees and wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, lifting you up with a squeal as he rumbles with love-sick giggles. As he puts you down, he plants wet kisses all over your face and your neck, suckling one little spot and releasing it with a pop. He has stupidest grin on his face. It’s adorable. “It’s a surprise.”

His mood must be infectious cause you giggle back and step towards him, pinching his little tummy fat with your nails before swirling them out towards his hips.

He pushes you back with a chuckle. “No no no! None of that. Come on, hop in the truck, I’m almost done loading up.” On your way, you stand on your tiptoes to look over the bed of the truck and then the cab backseat, which is completely full, a blanket resting over everything and hiding it from view. Whatever he had planned, you knew it would be worth the wake up call. It was Frankie. If you were with him, you were going to have a good time.

The two of you stop at Starbucks for your caffeine fix, then hit the road. You spend the two hours chatting, arguing amicably about TV shows or movies, and singing along to a playlist that Frankie made for the trip that is solely made up of Tom Petty songs.

You’re not from Florida, you don’t really pay attention to where you’re going or the signs that pass, content to relax in Frankie’s beloved truck with your feet up on the dash, the sun shining on your bare legs and your hair tousled about by the wind, humming along to “Runnin’ Down a Dream.”

When he finally pulls to a stop with an ecstatic grin, you’re even more unsure of where you are.

“Frankie, why are we in front of a random house?” He says nothing, letting you figure it out, which doesn’t take long because there’s a sign on the lawn saying exactly what it is. Your mouth drops when you notice it, your heart lurching up into your throat and you jerk your gaze to Frankie, who is watching you with the softest fucking expression, and you just can’t help it, you start crying because Frankie has driven you to Gainesville and has brought you to Tom Petty’s childhood home.

A broken sob of joy and disbelief escapes your lips as you fling yourself to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and crying into the fabric of his shoulder. “Baby!” He chuckles. “Why are you crying?!”

You pull back, not even caring your face is a mess as you sniffle. “Because! You brought me to his house?! This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me!” You press yourself back into his neck, and he reaches an arm over to undo your seatbelt and drag you the rest of the way over to him and into his lap. He cups the back of your head and presses his nose into your hair, inhaling and exhaling with a sigh. “I love you so much babe.” You talk back to him but your mouth is still muffled by the breadth of his shoulder and the fabric of his shirt, and the only thing he hears is the cutest little muffled mumbling sounds. He slides the hand from the back of your neck to your cheek, cupping the other with his other hand, and pulls you back a little to look at your tear-stained face.

You’re starting to calm, and he swipes a tear away with his large thumb. “What was that?”

You sniffle. “I love you too.”

He pulls you to him with a hum, not caring about the salty taste of your lips from your tears. “Well, do you wanna get out and look around or not?”

The home is small and modest, with light gray paneling and a dark brown wooden door, a steel column on each side completely covered in pretty cascading ivy vines. The entire property is overflowing with plants, whether it’s from whomever lives there now or someone maintaining how it was when he lived here.

After leaving Tom’s house, Frankie takes you into downtown Gainesville, a pretty main street with little shops and even a Farmer’s Market. He’s patient as you meander up and down the aisles to visit every booth, even though you know he is bored out of his mind.

“Here.” You turn to him as you walk side by side. “Open your mouth.” He does, and you pop the most delicious and warm apple cider doughnut into his mouth.

“Oh fuck.” His moan is absolutely sinful, and you can feel your body responding to the sound as he grabs the baggy from you and stuffs two more into his mouth at one time.

“Frankie!” You chide, yanking the bag back. “You’re going to make yourself sick.” He whines like a baby and you laugh, ending up returning to the donut stall to get a bag for the house.

As the day fades to evening, Frankie hustles you to the truck to take you to your final destination. If you weren’t a blubbering mess before, you certainly are now. Frankie pulls into the parking lot of a massive park named after Tom Petty after he died, handing you warm insulated tote bags and ushering you forward deeper into the park. He urges you to sit as he whips out a picnic blanket and then starts emptying the tote bags with a ridiculous amount of food. Fried chicken, salad, biscuits, his world-famous mac and cheese he’d been promising to make you, and a homemade pie. You’re so overwhelmed with emotions you can’t even say anything.

After stuffing yourselves silly, you pack everything back up and put it back in the truck before taking a slow walk around the park, observing the sunset and just enjoying each other’s company. You tell Frankie about how your dad introduced you to the music, and it reminds you of him when you listen, a welcome comfort living so far away.

Your heart sinks as the sun disappears and the darkness falls, because you know that must mean it’s time to leave. But Frankie surprises you again, spreading some blankets for cushioning into the bed of his pickup, and he helps you up into it, strong hands squeezing into your waist and leaving goosebumps on your arms.

It’s where you are now, lying back in the truck, whispering and giggling to each other while eating more pie directly out of the tupperware.

“I ate so much I got my pregnant belly.” Frankie observes, patting his puffier than normal stomach.

“I told you not to eat all those donuts.” You tease.

“I thought you loved my tummy.”

You roll towards him, your hand resting on top of his belly as you skate your fingertips around his belly button and hip dips, eventually slipping your hand under his shirt and running your fingers through his happy trail. “I do.” He relaxes under the attention, letting you rest your head on his arm as he gazes at the night sky. The quiet is comforting and welcome, like with the closest of friends, you could simply be together without having to talk.

You realize that this man has ingrained himself in you so deep that you consider him your best friend, as well as the love of your life. You don’t think you’ve ever had that before. You scold yourself once more for being vindictive and almost ruining this. You turn to look at him in the dark, admiring the way his profile cuts into the darkness of the night. He is so fucking handsome.

“Do you know any of them things?” His voice is husky from disuse.

“What things?”

“The astrology.”

“Constellations?”

“Yea.”

“Kind of, I had this cool little app that would tell you where everything is when you point your phone at it. Did you not have to know them for the Army? Er—Delta Force?”

“Some. The North star and the Little Dipper.” He points to them.

“Mmmhmm and Ursa Major is attached to them.” You trace the line of it with your finger for him, temples pressed close together.

“Do the app thing.” You oblige, pulling out your phone and re-downloading the app, then spend the next hour letting Frankie aim your phone at different sections of the sky, revealing which constellations lay hidden there.

“What’s your sign again?”

“Catfish.”

You roll your eyes, poking him in the side. “No, I mean your zodiac. Your sun sign.”

“I don’t know what all that means, but I'm a Virgo.”

“Oh yea. September. Hmmmmm. Reliable. Logical. Hard-working and observant. Completely accurate.” You scan the sky for his constellation and show him, then find yours, as well as Venus and very weak Mars, your favorite constellation Draco, and Orion’s belt. When you’ve had enough of stargazing you snuggle closer against him, closing your eyes and just taking in the sounds of the night, of the crickets and frogs, of Frankie’s heartbeat pressing against your ear.

“It was my stuff for my suspension hearing.”

“Hm?”

“What you found. It’s my original suspension and the notice of the hearing, and some letters of recommendation. The hearing is next week.”

“Suspension of what?”

“Um, my helicopter license.”

“Oh. OH! Of course! Frankie, I already knew you were suspended.”

“Yea, I know. It’s just…the paperwork is just really…damning. I didn’t want you seeing it. And I’m nervous about the hearing too, so I was a dick. I’m sorry.”

You wrap your arm around his waist. “That makes sense. I wouldn't worry about it though, I’m sure you’ll get it back.”

“You think?”

You nod. “Yes. And you better take me in one when you do.”

He raises his eyebrows, thankful for the topic change, and he uses his strength to flip you so his body is pressed atop yours. “Oh yea? Can’t wait to get in my cockpit, hm? You know, the joystick vibrates.”

“Oh my god you are such a dork.”

“Mmmm but you love it.”

You wouldn’t have even argued that even if you could, because your attention is completely taken by the feel of Frankie’s stubble rasping against your cheek down to your neck as he lays a trail of soft kisses from behind your ear to your shoulder blade.

“Cat…” You sigh, and he takes advantage of your open mouth and sinks into your lips with a groan, massaging your lower lip with his tongue, then sliding it in to meet your own. You wrap your arm around him as the kiss deepens, tugging on his hair with the fist of your hand as you whine into his mouth. He tastes like pie, and salt, and Frankie.

He wriggles against you, pressing himself in between your thighs, and you open for him instinctively. You can feel him rising for you, and he starts to lightly grind against your thigh as he tries to find some relief. You can already feel that familiar tingle, your body always so reactive to his. But this time it’s just…not right.

“Frankie…we can’t. It’s a public park.”

He lifts his head, looking around in the dark. “There’s no one else here. We’re fine.”

“No, I can’t explain it. I’m not comfortable. It's just too open.”

He halts his kissing immediately. “Oh. Truck?”

You pause, considering as you rub your arm up and down his toned forearm. Plenty of room. The car is facing a dark mass of trees. His windows and the back cab window are blackout tinted. And you haven't fucked in it yet. “Yes.”

He takes your hand with a grin, pulling you up off the blankets on the bed of the truck, holding your waist once more as you jump down, landing so close you're pressed together and you can feel his hot breath caressing your face. He lunges for your mouth, can’t help himself, and you whimper at the ravenousness of it as he slides his hands up the back of your thighs, grasping your ass with his hands. You’re wearing incredibly short shorts that expose just a tease of your plump cheeks and sliding down the truck bed didn’t make them any longer, the fabric riding up so your cheeks are almost entirely exposed. He hums appreciatively at your lack of clothes and presses you into him so he can show you just how bad he wants you, the fat bulge of his cock against your stomach, belt buckle pricking into your soft tummy flesh.

He groans as he pulls away and looks at you, taking in how disheveled you probably look but you’ve never felt sexier, and you swear, even in the dark, you can see his predatory eyes blown out black with lust, looking you up and down, licking those pouty lips until they’re wet and shiny. You want to suck on them. Bite on them.

“Look at you…” He husks, before taking you by the hand and pulling you to the cab, helping you up into the seat. He hops in right after you and you reach for him, tracing the line of his zipper. His hips buck up toward your palm.

“I want to suck your cock.”

“Jesus.” He exhales sharply, chest heaving as he pretty much rips open his belt buckle, the metal jingling as he pulls his pants down just enough for his dick to spring free. You slide your shorts off too, the lights of the dashboard emitting enough of a glow that he can see the wet spot gathering where your juices are leaking out of you. It’s almost too much, he squeezes his cock to calm himself down, but the sight of him touching himself is doing something you never thought could be so fucking hot.

You urge him on. “Don’t stop. Keep touching.”

His breath hitches and his eyelids are hooded and he rests his head back on the headrest as he lazily slides his hands around himself, slow tugs morphing into longer strokes. His eyes never leave yours as he touches himself, breathing in and out heavily with how good it feels. The eye contact makes you nervous with anticipation, but you don’t look away, and you can feel yourself clenching involuntarily at his expression. You join him, sliding your hand into your panties and rubbing your clit, the sound of the wetness between your folds commands his attention, and he can't stop staring at you. “Hey. C’mere.”

He sounds so pretty and you don’t want to make him wait, so you pull your hand out of your panties and slide forward again to reach for him. He hisses as you grasp him, his eyes slamming shut and his head thumping back against the headrest. You bend down, making sure he would be able to see himself in your mouth before poking your tongue out and swirling the tip of your tongue around the head of his cock, continuing until your tongue dips into the little hole and you lick up the pre-cum already gathering there. His right hand grasps the back of the flannel shirt he put on you when you got chilly and clenches it in his fist as he struggles not to thrust up into your mouth, to let you take control while he just takes.

In the safety of his truck he feels comfortable to be loud, the beautiful sounds of his moans, pants, and whispers spurring you on as you slide the head of his cock in between your lips, suckling it like a lollipop, the salty tang of more pre-cum oozing into your throat. After torturing him a few minutes you finally take his cock fully into the heat of your mouth, enveloping him, slowly bobbing up and down as he continues to struggle not to buck up into you. You moan around his cock every once in a while so he can feel the vibrations around him, can feel just how much you love sucking his cock, because you do. You wrap your hand around the parts of him you can’t reach, pumping him slowly, then twist up his shaft in a corkscrew and back down. When you look up at him through your eyelashes he is a vision, eyebrows tilting up, mouth slack, eyes heavy lidded and trained on the sight of you. He licks his lips when you make eye contact with him, groaning loudly and bumping the back of his head against the seat’s headrest again, giving you a nice view of his strong corded neck muscles. He pulses beneath you, and suddenly you feel his fingers taking you by the hair and gently tugging. You sit up with a hum and wipe your mouth.

“You gotta stop or I’m gonna blow my load in your mouth, and I want to fuck you.” He gasps.

You chuckle softly and he grabs you around your ribcage, pulling you to him and settling you in his lap. You can feel him hard and waiting underneath you, pressed against the small strip of the thong’s fabric covering you from him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his hat off his head and throwing it to the side. He leans in and nibbles along your jawline, your neck, nosing at your ear.

“Can you ride me like this?”

“I think so.” You whisper back, and you lift yourself to hover over his lap as you reach for him, pushing your panties to the side, sliding him through your wetness and sinking down on him.

His head tilts back once more, a low, guttural “Fuuuuuccckkkk.” releasing from his mouth as you take him to the hilt. He pulls you to him as close as he can, your back arcs into his body as he burrows himself into your chest, pushed towards him from the bend of your spine. He nuzzles into you, placing open mouthed kisses all over the tops of your breasts, occasionally squeezing them over your tank and bra. When it’s no longer enough, he pulls your flannel, tank top, and bra down your arms and chest to rest on your stomach, exposing your breasts to the air of the cab.

He pulls back and watches you as you rise and fall slowly onto him, your tongue between your lips and your eyes screwed shut as you figure out your rhythm. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing softly, thumbing your nipples as you start moving faster, eventually pushing them together so he can take both nipples in his mouth at the same time.

“So fucking beautiful.” He lathes and suckles, nips and pulls, your moans pitching higher, your pace increasing. The sensation soon becomes too much and you lean back, resting against the wheel, careful not to hit the horn. Frankie helps support you, one arm around your back, the other runs flat up your stomach in between the sweaty valley of your breasts as he watches you impale yourself on the thick girth of him.

You never knew “Mmmmmm”s and “Yea”s could sound so fucking sexy but you also knew that Frankie’s deep rumbling voice made anything sound hot as fuck, and you whine against him as you slide back and forth on his cock, basking in the sound of his coos and praises. He’s transfixed by the sight of himself entering and withdrawing, more of your juices on his cock each time he slides out, and he grips your hips and tilts them so he can see better.

Your thighs are growing tired and he can feel them quivering against his own, so he gives you room to lean forward once more, your arms braced on the headrest, and he eagerly resumes touching you all over your chest. He helps relieve some of the work, his hands placed firmly around your waist as he bounces you on his cock, your tits jiggling in his face. He pulls you forward even more so you’re pretty much smothering him in them, but you can hear how much he enjoys it as he moans against them, tasting you wherever he can reach as he thrusts up to meet your hips with his own.

He suddenly has to kiss you, and he angles his head up and pulls you into him by the back of your neck, kissing you frantically as your bouncing shifts to a grinding roll of your hips while you chase your peak. You return the kiss just as fiercely, licking into him and moving your head so he can delve further into you, your whole reality becoming only this kiss and the fullness of him inside you.

“Frankie…m’gonna cum.”

He hums under you, taking you once more by the hips as he all but yanks you back and forth on him, grinding your clit on the coarse hair above his cock. His belt buckle is jingling and the metal is cold against your ass and his hair is soft and wet from sweat as you finger it, his mouth gaping open as he watches you take your pleasure, and just the idea that watching you can fuck him up so much, the constant desire to always make sure you are taken care of first causes you to shatter over him, lurching forward into his chest as you quiver in his arms, your slick gushing out and soaking his lap.

You don’t even notice him flipping you to your back onto the seat until you’re already there, your mind hazy and mouth gasping to regain your breath. When you open your eyes, he is on his knees above you, or as much as he can in the space of the truck. His cock is stilled partially inside you, and he’s just looking at you, your heaving chest, your wet hardened nipples, your pussy being split open by him. He meets your eyes. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Your cheeks burn under his warm scrutiny, and you squirm under him hoping to spur him on. But he takes his time, his hands leaving your hips down to where you’re joined. He circles your clit softly with the pad of a thumb, the other hand opening you up further to him. He sighs. “So small. So fucking pretty.” He presses down harder on your clit.

“Frankie…please move.”

He meets your eyes again and smiles shyly. “Sorry. You’re just so fucking pretty.” He starts moving slowly, the heavy slide of him allowing you to feel every ridge and vein. “And mine. Yea?”

Your eyes roll back in your head as his hands move back to your hips, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as you reply purely on instinct. “Yes. Only want you…don’t want anyone else. Ever.”

He moans, his heart palpitating like a million butterflies exploded out of it. “I fucking love you. I love you so much.” He drops his head to watch himself fuck into you, the white creamy buildup of your cum gathering along his shaft. His pace is leisurely, he can feel the grip of your pussy and the way it tries to pull him back when he withdraws.

“Love you too…please don’t stop. Just like that. It’s so good.”

“Yea? Want me to keep fucking you like this?”

“Yessssss.”

“Tell me. Tell me I’m the only one that fucks you this good.”

Your brain suddenly switches back on and you look up at him and bite your lip with a smirk, your hand reaching down to touch your clit, thinking of what things you can say to make him explode. Frankie loves praise. He likes to hear how big he is, how much better he is than anyone else. How you’re his. It’s all true. “Mmmmm no, no one else has fucked me so good. They were all little boys. I needed a man.”

He whines and moves faster at the praise, the tops of his thighs hitting the back of yours as he pulls you onto his cock. You can hear the squlching of your slick as he slides in and out, the sound seeming so much louder in the small space of the truck cab.

You bite your lip. “Yea…a big, scruffy older man with a thick cock. Takes such good care of me.”

“Oh shit. Ho fuck…”

You smirk as you deliver your coup de gras, hoping the risk lands. “Give it to me, fuck me daddy.”

“Oh-my-god-jesus-fucking-christ!” Frankie pulls out of you with a roar, pushing your ass down flush to the leather of the seat. You hiss at the loss but he doesn’t make you wait long, bending your knees up to your chest as he pushes back into you all the way to the hilt, the new position allowing him to amp up his pace, punctuating each word with a thrust. “You fucking…filthy, dirty little girl. FUCK!” He can see everything. The slide of his fat cock forcing itself into your tightness, your body expanding just for him, pulling him and hugging him into your warmth.

“Frankie has a daddy kink.” You whisper, a light giggle escaping as he pinches your ass.

“It’s…about the care.”

“DILF.”

“Dad you love fucking.” He laughs with you, his hips stuttering a little before you both regain your rhythm. You rub your clit furiously, determined to cum again. He loves how you’ve become so comfortable taking what you need, how vocal you are now and how you fit him so perfectly. He can feel you clenching around him, you are impossibly tight, and he finds himself slowing down to long strokes so he doesn’t cum before you can. You’re hovering on the edge, your body tensing and your back tics up into a mini arc as you try to get there, but he can see you need more. Frankie pushes your legs into your chest further, allowing him to grab your jaw and make you look at him. You open your mouth for him, he pushes his thumb into your mouth for you to suckle as he presses deep into you. Your eyebrows are pinched and your eyes slam shut as you sloppily chant his name over and over.

“That’s it baby doll. Come on. Take daddy’s cock.”

Your eyes snap back open and he’s sending that shit-eating smirk right back to you, but you can’t even say anything snarky back because you are suddenly fucking cumming hard. You throw your head back, exposing your neck as you wail for him, waves of pleasure exploding from your core, rushing out onto him until you’re shivering and shaking under his restraint, and in the back of your mind you tease yourself. Holy shit, that made me cum, that actually, really made me cum.

He swallows the end of your cry with a kiss, you hadn’t even noticed he’d settled between your legs to cover you, his broad body and comforting weight pulling you back from the brink to the present. The weight should be too much but it isn’t, it’s warm and exquisite, and safe, and overwhelming, and the smell. It’s just Frankie.

He grabs your leg and pulls it up to his plush waist, his pace relaxed but the sound of wet slapping still permeates the entire cab of the truck. You reach down and grab his little ass, pulling him deeper into you as he buries his face in your neck, his hot breaths prickling the skin there. His other arm rests beside your temple, a soft flannel sleeve pushed up to the elbow to anchor him as he moves. You turn your head and lathe your tongue against the flexing muscles. The sweat of your back pulls against the leather of the seats with each connection and withdrawal, but you find the prickling sensation welcome. You pull his face to you, cupping his cheeks as you bring him to your lips to kiss him sweetly. “Wanna make you cum.” You whisper against his lips. “Want you to cum in me and make me stain this leather.”

He can’t even speak, just lurches forward with a groan as his hands curl around your shoulders for leverage. You wrap your legs around him as he focuses on himself, his cries hitching higher and louder, his hips lifting and rutting back into you one, two, three more times until he pushes in deep, his hips pressed firmly against you as he tries to burrow his cock in you as far as possible, spilling himself inside you with a low groan.

He collapses into your arms, nosing at your neck, his panting breath causing goosebumps to rise along your skin. You drop your legs to the seat and wrap your arms around him, your fingers sinking into his sweaty curls and carding through them just as he likes while he catches his breath.

You’re about to relax and doze when a single thought rushes to the front of your mind. We are in a public park. In the dark. Naked in a truck. “Frankie!” You hiss. He whines grumpily, you can tell he’s shaking his head in your neck, his nose dragging back and forth across the skin there. “Frankie, We should get dressed. We’re pushing it. And I don’t think getting arrested for public indecency is a good idea for you especially.”

He responds to that, jerking his head up to the window to peer into the dark. The two of you scramble to put your clothes back on amongst giggles and frantic looks in every direction, settling back into the seat to catch your breath from the rush.

Frankie looks towards you in the dark. “Well, at least we—”

A sudden knocking on the window behind him jolts him upright with a yell, followed by an annoyingly bright light trying to illuminate the inside of the truck. Frankie lowers his window with a sigh.

A park ranger is standing there, but he politely lowers the flashlight once the window is down. “Park’s closed.”

Frankie clears his throat. “Uh yea. Yea, we were just leaving. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Y’all have a good night.”

The two of you nod quietly, sitting shock straight until the ranger gets far enough away and Frankie starts the car. Your eyes creep to his as he pulls out of the lot and onto the main street to head home.“Okay. He definitely knew.”

“Yup. Sure did.” He makes eye contact with you quickly before reverting his eyes back to the road, flexing his pointer finger from the hand gripping the top of the steering wheel. “No one needs to know we did that. It never happened.”

“Aw, what about the daddy thing.”

“No. Especially that.”

You sigh.

“Special occasions.” He winks at you and reaches his hand to yours, intertwining them together.

You’re completely passed out by the time Frankie pulls into the driveway, and he carefully and quietly brings the leftovers inside, shoving them quickly into the fridge before coming back to you. He chucks you lightly under the chin. “Baby doll, we’re home.”

You moan softly and reach out for him, your intention clear. He undoes your seatbelt, grabs your bag, and hauls you up and into his arms to carry you inside.

Oh, fuck does this feel almost as good as sex. Frankie holding you, supporting you, taking care of you, the texture of his tee shirt soft against your cheek, his neck warm against your arms, that intoxicatingly comforting scent of him cocooning you. Musky spice. A little bit of sweat. Cinnamon. A forest. The coconut shampoo of yours he started using since it was already at his house.

You help him with the door so he doesn’t have to put you down and he heads straight to the bedroom, his cheek pressed to your head. He whispers to you, soft nothings and coos, a long press of a kiss to your head, and then you’re on the bed. You pull off your shorts and shoes as he undresses too, ripping your bra off to sleep in your tank and panties because putting on pajamas would take too much effort. The bed dips as he lays beside you.

“Reminds me of the last time.” He murmurs.

You press your forehead to his. “What do you mean?”

“When you fell asleep at my house that time, before we were together. I picked you up just like that and carried you to bed, you were holding me so tight and I kind of wanted to die because I wanted you so bad. I kissed you on the head.”

“You’re so fucking cute…” Your voice trails off as you slip into sleep, a soft smile on your lips.

When he knows you’re asleep, Frankie pulls away from you, sitting against the headboard as he scrubs his face with his hands.

I’m not cute. I’m a fucking liar.

»»———————►

Post A/N: Me - “I’m not going to have a daddy kink in here.” Also me - “here is some daddy kink”. Also, I’m one of those people that constantly makes up new nicknames for my partner at random times so Frankie and Flower doing so isn’t weird for me. Sometimes that shit just pops out lmao.

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #my writing #fix you fic #pedrostories

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inklore · 3 years

Text

— 𝐅𝐀𝐐 ⋆ ˚｡

this blog is strictly multifandom, but that does not mean that i don’t play favorites for certain fandoms/characters. so there will most definitely be more writings for certain characters and fandoms.

requests: are closed, but thots are always welcome!

in no way shape or form should minors be interacting with anything on or posted to this blog. this is an 18+ space. anon hate and celebrity discourse also has no place here, so please respect that. if you are racist, homophobic, bigoted, zionist, islamphobic, judgmental to what people enjoy writing/reading, can’t depict fiction from real life, you will be blocked.

𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞…

rpf, necrophilia, incest, pregnancy, daddy/little play, age play, spitting, kitten, bimbo!reader, foot fetish, animal play, race play, watersports, underage scenarios, alpha/omega, domestic violence, kid fics, male!character x male!oc, i hate the word ‘doll’ as a pet name so i avoid it like the plague.

𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞…

smut (refer to the above list when it comes to this), fluff, age gaps, poly/threesome+, reverse harem, dubcon, noncon, yandere, toy play, cheating (to a certain degree), blood play, knife play, some bdsm, breath play, violence, gore, capture x captive, hunter/prey, praise and degradation, power imbalance, step siblings, supernatural, villainary, choking, mommy/daddy kink (to an extent).

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒.

marvel ↷

miguel o’hara, hobie brown, marc spector, thor odinson, loki laufeyson, peter parker (all variants), yelena belova, joaquin torres, doctor strange, wade wilson, carol danvers, eddie brock, scott lang, hope van dyne, kate bishop, hela, pietro maximoff, logan howlett, wanda maximoff, steve rogers, kraven, cable, druig, makkari, thena, blade

dc universe ↷

dinah lance/black canary, diana prince, clark kent, pamela isley/poison ivy, arthur curry/aquaman, harley quinn, adrian chase, pattinson!bruce wayne, edward nashton/the riddler

top gun: maverick ↷

jake 'hangman' seresin, bradley 'rooster' bradshaw, javy 'coyote' machado, mickey 'fanboy' garcia, natasha 'phoenix' trace, beau 'cyclone' simpson, reuben 'payback' fitch

star wars ↷

poe dameron, finn, kylo ren/ben solo, bo-katan kryze, din djarin, young!han solo

scream ↷

ethan landry, stu macher, billy loomis, chad meeks-martin, mindy meeks-martin, amber freeman, tara carpenter

bridgerton ↷

anthony bridgerton, colin bridgerton, benedict bridgerton, kate sharma, simon basset, phillip crane

house of the dragon ↷

ser harwin strong, daemon targaryen, aemond targaryen, rhaenyra targaryen

american horror story ↷

cordelia goode, tristan duffy, michael langdon, harry gardner, madison montgomery, kit walker, xavier plympton, ally mayfair-richards

etc shows ↷

villanelle, lip gallagher, tommy miller, carmy berzatto, luca (the bear), kate parks, daisy jones, billy dunne, warren rhodes, geralt of rivia, love quinn, max wolfe, olivia benson, roman godfrey, dream the endless, lucifer (sandman), jonathan pine, mira phillips, the salesman (squid game), hwang jun ho (squid game), kim geon-woo (bloodhounds)

movies ↷

john wick, finnick odair, peeta mellark, johanna mason, han lue, cipher, walter de ville, tangerine, dave lizewski, thomas sharpe, james conrad, neil (tenet), edward cullen, millie / molotovgirl, dante reyes, thrandull, steve kemp, charlie swan, marquis vincent de gramont, keys (free guy), akira (john wick), beverly marsh (it two), ben hanscom (it two), keith (barbarian), frank (don't worry darling)

adam driver ↷

kylo ren/ben solo, adam sackler, flip zimmerman, phillip altman, charlie barber, henry mchenry, commander mills, rick smolan, officer ronnie peterson, matt the radar technician, clyde logan, paterson, jude

oscar isaac ↷

santiago garcia, poe dameron, nathan bateman, jonathan levy, william tell, blue jones, rydel keener

pedro pascal ↷

din djarin, javier peña, frankie morales, javi gutierrez, joel miller, dieter bravo

chris evans ↷

ransom drysdale, lloyd hansen, andy barber, ari levinson, frank adler, steve rogers, jake wyler

#faq #who i write for #guidelines #fandoms #dni

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kumkaniudaku · 4 years

Text

Simple Syrup

You asked for Daveed smut and I tried to deliver. At least this one time. Enjoy!

Warning: Sexual Content. 18+.

Daveed Diggs x Black!OC (Olivia Jenkins)(Yes, the MC/ OC is black. Representation is important.)

"Yo, open up!" Heavy fists beat against the door of Olivia's downtown apartment, making her roll her eyes. "I know you can hear me, girl! It's your favorite pop-up roommate!"

"You've been evicted, Diggs!"

"I paid you rent, though!"

Turning the stove on low, Olivia shook her head as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Daveed always found a way to surprise her with his presence. He never texted before showing up at her door but frequently sported a backpack or suitcase full of clothes or Rafael for an extended stay. He and all his baggage were welcome anytime, with or without notice.

Stepping to the door, Olivia bit back a smile before responding. "I didn't receive any payments this month."

"I got it in my bag."

"Bag or bags?"

"Open the door to find out."

Daveed took a step back as the locks began to turn, waiting for Olivia's face to greet him with faux anger the way she did the last time he showed up out of nowhere and stayed for three weeks. Despite stopping by six months ago, it felt like a lifetime since he'd been in her company. Bi-weekly phone conversations weren't enough. He needed to be near Olivia while she watched whatever Housewives franchise had her attention for the month.

When the door opened to reveal the long hallway leading to her living area, Olivia stood with a hand on her hips and a grin on her face.

"Where is my money," she asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Just as she expected, he stood in the hallway with a suitcase that she knew cost a fortune to check at the airport and his worn Jansport full of junk and work.

Daveed laughed and bent to rifle through his backpack for a crumpled white envelope that he handed over with exaggerated purpose. "Here you go, Miss Jenkins. Sorry to be late on rent for, what, 8 months? I hope this is enough."

"Boy, you didn't really need to pay me. You're not on the lease."

"Good," he answered as he pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Because those are just Chick Fil A coupons."

Olivia stood with her mouth open as Daveed brushed her to roll his luggage to the first bedroom on the right.

He listened to her insult his "stupid face" and instruct him to hurry up while he scanned the room he had called home more times than he could count. All of Daveed's belongings were in the same place, with almost unnoticeable shifts to show that Olivia had cleaned once or twice. His favorite throw blanket was folded at the edge of the bed with his initials elegantly embroidered in the corner. The air smelled of the vanilla candle she kept on the nightstand next to a framed photo of the crew enjoying a roller coaster at Six Flags. His favorite trinket, Olivia's homecoming crown from undergrad, sat next to a single gold medal from Daveed's days competing in track and field. To him, it symbolized their bond from the beginning. To her, it was probably just a space to hide old items.

"Daveed, get in here! I need you to cut!"

All at once, Daveed's sense of self returned to center him in reality. He quickly kicked off his shoes once he remembered Olivia's rules and started off toward the kitchen to answer the call for his help.

Even with the windows open, he could smell savory and sweet aromas combining for a smell that reminded him of the holidays. However, the calendar placed them square in the middle of an excruciatingly hot summer. He could see the open bottle of BBQ sauce on the center island next to a mixing bowl full of things he couldn't recognize but knew they would taste great. Bushels of greens sat in a pot on the stove, boiling amid smoked meat and seasonings to complement the food cooking in the oven. Daveed felt excitement take hold of his face and forced the apples of his cheeks up toward his eyes. Olivia looked up from her task at the cutting board and smirked.

"I thought you were vegan now."

"My business is my business, Liv. We talked about this last week."

"We also talked about you heading directly to Toronto after your job in Atlanta and, yet, here you are." She studied Daveed's face for answers but found nothing but a growing smile. "Come over here and cut up these strawberries while I sauce the ribs."

Daveed followed directions without complaint, lazily strolling to the island and nudging Olivia away. He'd been her help in the kitchen before to open pesky jars or stir while she tended to the more time-intensive parts of the meal. On more than one occasion, he had fucked up, and each time she invited him back into her safe space with open arms.

"How's Rafa and the family," Olivia asked with her back turned while she bent to take a peek into the oven.

Daveed kept his eyes on her backside for a moment too long before answering. "Rafa's good. Amy sends her love and says that you are more than welcome for Friendsgiving this year. She volunteered you for pies."

"You volunteered me for pies, Daveed," Olivia corrected, knowing how much her friend loved her desserts. "What about my babies? Is Santiago the best big brother to Emelia?"

"He's...trying. But he did send a gift for the lady with the bald head. His words, not mine."

Olivia ran a hand across her tapered fade and chuckled. "I feel like he heard Rafael say that."

"No, Rafa calls you Thick Mr. Clean."

"Yeah, because that's what you said when you were drunk on New Years," Olivia accused as she gestured toward the cabinet housing her wine glasses. Daveed nodded before answering.

"I said it with love!"

"Mhmm, I'm sure."

Together they watched half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc be transferred into the separate glasses, waiting for the moment they could take a sip. The last time they shared a drink, they ran through two 12- packs of beer with Rafael and ended up dancing with street performers in Times Square. She hadn't been able to stomach the smell of a Budweiser since then and fully transitioned to fruity notes and sparkling Rosé with Daveed occasionally coming along for the ride.

Taking another long sip from his glass, Daveed leaned against the island counter to watch Olivia stir a mixture for skillet cornbread.

"What's got you so stressed?"

Olivia shrugged but didn't look away from the bowl. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"The last time you cooked like this, you were writing your dissertation. And the time before that, it was your mom."

The room fell quiet outside of the spoon, ricocheting off the sides of the mixing bowl. After several seconds, Olivia took a deep breath and looked up at Daveed.

"Daddy's getting remarried. Omari and I are his best-kids," she laughed. "I'm not stressed. Just a bit...sad, I guess?"

Daveed understood the issue without needing more context. Five years ago, he was the one sitting beside Olivia on the floor of her brother's home office after the news came that their mother had in the hospital. He was there for the saddest funeral he'd ever experienced and the months of reconciliation that the family struggled through on the way to some sense of normalcy. The idea that her father had found love again was heartwarming, but Daveed knew the occasion was bringing up old feelings.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She shrugged again and moved the skillet to the oven. "There's nothing to talk about. I said I'm fine. I wish she was here, ya know, but I know she isn't upset. She always told us to move on once she's gone. She sure as hell would."

Daveed chuckled at the idea of Mrs. Jenkin's moving on in the afterlife. "She was funny like that. I remember when she met me for the first time and kept calling me Devante."

"Yes," Olvia exclaimed, a spark of joy returning to her eyes. "She'd call me and be like, that boy Devante is smart! Ask him if he can put me in a movie one day!"

Olivia's voice warped to imitate her mother as best as possible before she burst into laughter with Daveed.

"One of the last things she said to me was that I need to make sure you keep having fun. She didn't want you to stop enjoying life on account of her."

"Yeah…" Daveed watched Olivia down the wine in her glass with her eyes closed, waiting for her to continue her thought. "Well, you're doing a good job. We could work on your definition of fun, but solid effort so far."

"How can I do better? I'm open to criticism."

Daveed kept his eyes on Olivia while he reached across her body to grab the wine bottle for the final drink. Her breath hitched while alcohol buzzed through her system, creating the perfect storm for sudden arousal. She fought her thoughts by shaking her head to recover.

"You can start by grabbing those strawberries and bringing them over to the stove."

"Don't skip the question." Daveed's smirk as he followed her to the other side of the counter made Oliva hot with embarrassment, but she kept a calm exterior. "Are you still having fun with me?"

"I always have fun with you, D, you know that. Who else is gonna play Bop It with me at 2 AM on a Wednesday? The question is, are you still having fun with me, superstar?"

"Don't start that. I come and stay at your house because I miss you, not because I can't find somewhere else to sleep. You're my person."

"For now," Olivia added as a rebuttal, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at hearing the way Daveed felt. "What happens when you get married? You're gonna have to go be a family man like Rafa. Then we'll only see each other on Friendsgiving and Christmas."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Hm." Olivia's short but skeptical laugh effectively ended the conversation. Still, Daveed had already made up his mind to return to the discussion later in the week. "So, how long are you here this time?"

Daveed used one of his large palms to push a few curls off his forehead in search of relief from the heat in the kitchen. "I was thinking a couple weeks. Three or four."

"That's longer than normal! I get to have my favorite guy here long enough to help me put wallpaper up in the guest bathroom?"

"Am I only muscle to you?"

"Of course, not," she answered with a sweet smile, making Daveed mirror her expression. "You're also a taste tester. Open up."

Before Daveed could object, Olivia swiped barbecue sauce across his bottom lip for his opinion. The tip of his tongue appeared to taste the tangy brown sauce, finding an explosion of flavor that reminded him how much he missed Olivia's cooking.

"What's the verdict," Olivia asked over her shoulder as she turned off the eye under her simple syrup mixture.

"Tangy and sweet. I'm not sure why you don't bottle this up for sale. My dad would love some."

"Meh, I like having it as a treat for the people I love. All my hobbies aren't for profit, my friend."

Daveed dramatically threw a hand across his chest and gasped. "Did Mean Ole Liv just imply that she loves me? I-I'm gobsmacked. Utterly shocked and eternally grateful."

"Diggs, you're pushing it," she laughed. "Come taste this syrup before I start on the lemonade."

From experience, Daveed knew what to expect. But he humored Olivia anyway if only to see pride light up her face when he told her how amazing the sweet mixture tasted. After washing his hands in the sink, he skimmed his middle and pointer fingers across the top of the syrup to pick up enough to coat his fingertips.

He eyed the liquid for a moment, watching it slowly trickle down the side of his long fingers while he thought of his next move. Olivia stood at the refrigerator with her back turned, humming a song from The Wiz. At the same time, she gathered ingredients for the beverage.

"Hey...hey, Liv." Daveed had already started to close the short gap between them and stood waiting for Olivia to respond to his call.

"Wha -" A sudden swipe of syrup across her bottom lip confused Olivia. "D, what is your problem?"

Stepping forward, Daveed took her chin in his to bring their lips inches apart. "Is it still cool if I taste?"

Olivia stared at Daveed without blinking, fighting her brain for a competent answer to his question. Instead, she nodded in a daze with her jaw slack. His fingers took gentle meandering paths across the peaks and valleys of her face before using his thumb to part her lips.

Daveed's first kiss was a tentative peck to test the waters. When he received no resistance, he pulled Olivia closer for full access to her mouth.

Neither of them expected to fall into the kiss so easily. Olivia didn't expect to melt into Daveed's body while he dictated the pace and intensity. Daveed didn't expect to feel an overwhelming desire to consume the one person that always felt so close but far away. He wanted to feel and taste every part of Olivia while he had the green light. She reveled in Daveed's attention, even if it was only for a moment.

Taking a step backward, Daveed used his knowledge of the kitchen to guide them back toward the stove. Their lips remained connected to taste the last bits of each other. Olivia was the first to break the lip lock and move her head upward, directing Daveed to choose a spot on her neck to explore.

The cold, sticky simple syrup came next, the thick glob landing on the center of her chest and sliding to her cleavage.

"I've thought about this a lot," Daveed spoke barely above a whisper as he used a finger to spread simple syrup across Olivia's chest. "Kinda wild to say, but I have."

"How long?"

"A year. Maybe two."

Olivia released a shaky gasp once Daveed's tongue began licking from the space between her breast to the base of her neck to catch the simple syrup. As quickly as it disappeared, he replaced the sugar mixture with another round at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He groaned as the tart strawberry flavor mixed with the sweetness of the sugar and Olivia's skin. She grasped the back of his head for stability, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for a few seconds.

"How does it turn out? In your thoughts, I mean?"

Daveed paused to kiss Olivia's lips again and run his hands down her back. "Doesn't matter. We're here now, and I can't think of anything outside of how good you taste drenched in strawberry sauce."

"Simple syrup," Olivia answered, smiling as she sneakily dipped her finger into the pot behind Daveed. "It's simple syrup, and I haven't gotten a taste yet. Open your mouth."

They kept their eyes on each other while Daveed opened his mouth, waiting for whatever came next. Olivia took her time to coat his tongue in syrup, imagining how it would feel to experience the concoction from his mouth.

There started the mad scramble to get closer, taste more and touch longer. Separate but equal desires to completely consume the other person had the pair maneuvering around the kitchen. They remained attached at the lips until they reached the solid wood breakfast table near the large casement window. Daveed was the first to remove clothing, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. A split-second decision had him rushing back to the stove to retrieve the syrup pot. He carefully placed it on the table while Olivia slid the straps of her summer dress down her arms to let the fabric pool at her waist. Daveed watched with a flirtatious smile, marveling at the expanse of her warm brown skin. Olivia returned the sentiment, letting her eyes rake over his broad chest and toned midsection.

One after the other, Daveed and Olivia added bits of syrup to different body parts to lick and suck the skin clean. A handful mistakenly dripped onto Olivia's thigh, and they watched the sticky liquid carry small chunks of strawberries to the inner portion of her leg.

Daveed regarded the sight with wonder before carefully dropping to one knee for a better look. He maintained eye contact with Olivia as he kissed his way to the sweetest spot, lingering in places that earned the most desirable response. The scratch of facial hair combined with his lips and tongue's soft, silkiness made Olivia keen for more. She could feel the blood rushing to pool at her inner thigh for a bruise that would leave evidence of a dream achieved. She smiled at the thought of seeing it when she was getting dressed and how her stomach might feel with butterflies from the memories.

Daveed mumbled praise after praise into the supple skin of Olivia's thigh before starting a journey back to her lips. When he returned, he slowly pushed the waistband of his sweats down his hips and legs.

"Oh," Olivia spoke, eyes wide while she fought the natural desire to let her gaze travel. "I...wow, okay. I feel like I'm violating you."

"I'm kind of asking you to," Daveed laughed as he stepped closer.

"This is so fucking weird. Are we really about to do this?"

"Only if you want. I mean, I want to, but we can stop whenever you say the word."

He was closer now, dropping kisses on her shoulders while he pressed their chests together to reduce the space between him.

Olivia's legs naturally hooked themselves around his waist at the same time that her arms circled his neck.

She leaned forward to speak against Daveed's lips with her eyes hooded in lust, "I want this."

Passion and the hint of strawberry coating their lips intensified the moment between Olivia and Daveed. He held her writhing hips steady while he stood on his toes to push forward. Simultaneous moans of pleasure rang out in the kitchen, surely gaining the attention of nearby neighbors.

Their hips bucked an even pace, repeatedly meeting to build tension in their bellies. Daveed felt the strain of each stroke in his thighs and calves but found the desire to fuck his friend on her kitchen table to override any other immediate discomfort.

"Are you a talker," Daveed asked randomly, making Olivia's eyes snap up from the action below her waist to focus her attention on him.

"What?"

"A talker. Do you like to talk during sex?" His question came between labored breaths and grunts holding a mixture of exertion and indescribable pleasure.

"Daveed, are you trying to have a conversation with me right now?"

"I mean, I like to - fuck - I...I like to talk sometimes. Is that cool?"

A high-pitched moan ripped through Olivia's throat before she could gather her senses to respond. "It's your c-call, Diggs. Just don't stop."

He followed directions without skipping a beat, digging into his strength to pick up speed when he sensed they could move to the next level. He peppered in filthy statements that stimulate Olivia's mind while driving into her with expert precision.

They held on to each other as they reached separate peaks with no regard for the climbing noise level.

"I wanna do this forever," Daveed whispered into Olivia's ear before nipping at the lobe.

"Not look into my eyes lovingly and write songs about me?"

Daveed chuckled and snapped his hips forward, earning a near-silent moan. "Can I use you calling me daddy on the hook?"

"You got a lot of work to do before that happens."

"I'll put in overtime."

Splaying his hand across Olivia's torso, Daveed pushed her to lay flat on the table before leaning to hover over her body. He used his waning energy to give her all the power in his hips, searching for a climax. When she thought she couldn't come anymore, Olivia felt her body jolt off the table once the pad of Daveed's thumb began rubbing tight circles on her clit. Daveed smiled at the reaction but felt it disappear as soon as his hips falter mid-stroke. He rushed to pull out of Olivia, fearing that if he stayed inside for a moment longer, he would expedite his journey to fatherhood.

Olivia helped his cause by curling her fingers around his length and joining his pumping effort while she propped her body up on her elbow. He came with a choppy moan and heavy breathing on her belly, his chest rising and falling rapidly in time with the stove's timer beeping for attention.

Both Olivia and Daveed dissolved into laughter.

"Please, don't let this dry on me. It's sexy now but a pain to get off later."

Daveed's laughter climbed to hysterics at Olivia's mention of the mess on her stomach before reaching across the table to grab napkins out of the centerpiece component.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he helped wipe her clean. "Condoms next time?"

"Or my mouth."

Daveed stood shocked for a split second while Olivia worked to readjust her clothing and hurry to the stove. He followed her lead and pulled up his sweats before clearing the syrup pot and grabbing wipes to disinfect the surface.

The room was silent while they arranged hot dishes on the counter and privately grappled with having sex for the first time. A sense of "now what" hung in the air, which made Daveed more and more uncomfortable.

After plates were fixed, they chose opposite ends of the table to enjoy the meal.

"You know," Olivia started, laughing as she swallowed the last piece of cornbread on her plate. "That simple syrup recipe is my mom's. This whole meal was her favorite thing to cook, and I made it because I was really fuckin' sad and needed her nearby. Then you showed up."

Daveed's eyes snapped up from his plate. He wasn't sure what to say and remained silent in hopes that Olivia would elaborate.

"A couple weeks before she died, she told me that she would still be directing my love life from Heaven. She grabbed my hand and said, 'Dammit, Bean, I'm gone get you a man even if I gotta do it during bingo with the good Lord.'"

"You think she's up there winning the grand prize?"

Olivia shook her head. "I think she forfeited it to send you to me."

Her answer made Daveed still to watch Olivia's eyes meet his set from across the table. She reached a hand across the table with her palms facing upward, beckoning Daveed to place his palm in the center of hers.

"We have three weeks to figure this shit out," Daveed said, smiling before bringing Olivia's palm to rest on his cheek.

She looked at him for a minute to take in the way his eyes reflected the sun before using her head to gesture toward the pot still resting on the counter.

"And all night to finish off mama's recipe."

#daveed diggs #daveed x reader #daveed diggs x reader

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