#benny miller x will miller x santiago garcia x frankie morales x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedge-page · 4 months

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Happy Hour

Part 1 to the Sharing is Caring series

Frankie Morales x F!reader free-use with the triple frontier boys

Summary: Frankie loves using and abusing his free-use pass with you. He’s got no problem introducing it to the rest of the guys.

Warnings: Exhibitionism, Voyuerism, Cucking, free use, unprotected sex, male masturbation, oral m-receiving, assisted masturbation, using beer bottles as dildos, indirect pussy eating (?), slight breeding kink, language

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Frankie invited the boys over for the summer kickoff Barbecue in your backyard. You spent all day preparing snacks and side dishes, setting up yard games and helping clean the pool, all the while getting praises by Frankie who found every opportunity to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you all over.

"You get enough beer for tonight?" He asks, nuzzling his nose against your neck, pressing kisses over your shoulder.

"Yup. I almost cleared out the shelf. You boys gonna have a good time, I’ll take care of everything else.” You lay your hand over top his which were caressing your lower tummy affectionately.

With how busy things had been getting recently, you wanted Frankie to get together with his friends again. He had thrown you such a wonderful girls night-in when you had your girl friends over last month, so making sure he and his buds were well taken care of tonight was your top priority.

“I think you'll have some fun too."

Frankie continues to nip at your exposed skin, his hand drafting up to the exposure of your off-shoulder frilly blouse, tugging it down with one finger. "Frankie, stop, I'm still cooking."

He ignores you, slipping his hand inside the elastic band and palming your breast, his hips pinning yours to the counter as he rubbed his hard-on against your ass. "Gonna do everything I ask of you tonight, aren't you?" His breathes huskily into your ear.

You remained tight lipped, unsure of what he had planned tonight, but having some ideas as to the sexual acts he'll want to get away with. You felt heat pool in your lower stomach at the idea of fucking in the powder room while the boys were outside, or having him finger you under the table while they ate. He's been pushing his free-use license further and further, making you simultaneously nervous and excited at how far he intends to use you for his pleasure.

"They'll...be here... any minute..." you whine, your body caving in to his touches as you breathe heavier. You feel his fat fingers dip below your naval, through the lining of your skirt and down your panties, fingering your clit softly to work your arousal.

"Nothing they haven't seen before, baby mamma," he groans. He removed his hand from between your thighs, bringing its stickiness up to dance on your lips. Your mouth happily parts at the intrusion and suck your arousal from his digits. He lifts your skirt above your hips, splaying your panty-clad ass on display, his lips never leaving your neck or cheek.

"Not a baby mamma yet, that's your job to make happen remember?" You smile, turning your head to lock your lips together. You feel a tap on your thigh and lift your leg to aid in his removal of your panties. He stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans.

"I'm keeping these, need you nice and wet for us tonight."

The doorbell rings, and Frankie backs away from you abruptly, leaving you wide eyed, back now cold. The faint breeze from the open window whistling under your skirt and between your damp, exposed pussy. "Us?"

- - - -

Frankie greets each of the guys with a long awaited hug as they enter your home together. You tried to act like you're not dripping between your thighs as you kiss and cautiously hug each of them. It was Benny who scooped you up in his arms and twirled you around, your skirt lifting enough to show the lower half of your bare ass.

Santi bit his lip at the sight. “Keeping Fish good company I hope?” He asks as Benny set you down with a fat kiss to your cheek.

You hastily bring your skirt lower, tugging it down. “It’s been pretty smooth sailing since the wedding, hasn’t it?”

Frankie's hand skims the back of your rear, hand lifting your skirt back up over the side of your thigh, pulling you in to him like a little prize, fully well knowing everyone got a good look at you. “It’s been more than great,” he says. You could help but blush at the way he beamed at you with adoration. "Beer anyone?"

They pile into the backyard, sorting through the cooler of assorted bottles and cans while you sift through the kitchen drawers for an opener. You could overhear indistinguishable chatter from the group, their occasional glances back towards you in the house.

"Found it!" You call out, skipping out to the yard. "Let me," you offer, grabbing each beer from their hand and popping off the lid.

"Sweet of you, baby, thank you." Frankie kisses the side of your head. Then his voice changes an octave lower, whispering lowly into your ear: "Go sit on the chair right there and put your heels on the seat."

You shiver, pulling away to stare back at him incredulously. His face told you he wasn't playing, that this was the first of many things he'd be asking of you tonight. You gulp and did as he said, settling uncomfortably in the plastic lawn chair and bringing your knees up to your chest, desperate to keep your ankles together and closed so everyone couldn't see right your bare pussy behind your ankles.

Frankie leans next to you, bottle in hand. "Don't be shy. Spread 'em."

Your face felt hot red as Benny, Will, Santi and Frankie eyes bore down on your anxious figure. You muster up your courage and boldly spread your legs wide, skirt falling from your thighs entirely to your hip, glittering cunt now open wide for the entire backyard.

Benny whistles lowly. "Never gonna get tired of that pretty view. Damn. Lucky bastard.”

Frankie grimaces proudly, his hand cupping your jaw affectionately like a pet. "Keep 'em spread for us, okay babygirl?"

You nod, clit twitching at his praise, not even noticing when he hitches the rim of his bottle at your entrance. Your brows furrow, never breaking eye contact with his beautiful brown eyes as he pushed the bottles neck into your pussy, your arousal making it easy for the object to slide right through.

"Holy fuck," Will coughs, watching the way you cunt greedily swallows the tip with ease.

Frankie thrusts it in a bit, making you stutter your breaths with the increased fullness pressing inside, hands fisting the chair's armrests. He was coating the bottle and its contents inside with your juices, fucking you like it was a toy. He notices the resistance when your walls squeezed around its neck, smirking to himself, knowing you were comfortable and enjoying this with him.

Too soon, he slips it out of you, your hips slightly canter forward to chase the object that was just buried inside you. You felt empty, needy, denied.

Frankie smirks at your helpless state ad he brought the beer to his lips and titled back, chugging the new flavor of alcohol. "Tastes better like that," he says, licking his lips clean of your taste.

----

Frankie watches as you eagerly spread your legs further, leaning back in your chair with confidence so that your cunt hangs out in the open off the edge as each of the guys line up to coat their drinks in your pussy. The way your breath quickens, with each intrusion, how you lick your lips and look down at the sight of it disappearing into you, the mix of gentleness and roughness that came with each boy’s individuality—it drove him crazy how much you let him do this.

Santi rubs your cheek soothingly, very passionately fucking his bottle into you while never breaking your eye contact. You giggle along with him, rocking your hips with his steady thrusts until he pulls out and takes a long sip.

Will is far more gentle, rubbing the inside of your thigh with the pad of his thumb. He nudges your pearly clit with the rip, only swirling the top at the most shallow base of your walls. He likes the way you whine, wanting more, but his hand on your thigh is quick to keep you in your place. He slips the edge of the bottle along your folds to gather your dripping juices before retreat, giving you a little wink.

Benny dropsy to his knees, excited to have you so open for him.

“Be nice, Ben. That’s my wife you got there,” Frankie warns.

Benny rolls his eyes, pouting as his visible excitement tones down. You cup his face, knowing Frankie’s threat is a load of BS. “Don’t worry, Benny, you have your taste the way you like it.” You spread your legs even further, ankles now dangling over the arm rest, the cool breeze of the backyard swooshing through your folds.

Benny pushes his beer in as far as he can, making you gasp. You grab his shoulder to steady yourself as you rock your hips back and forth, letting his hands remain where it is while you fucked your exposed pussy on the neck of the bottle. He rams further inside, the body of the bottle beginning to stretch your cunt.

Benny’s eyes were wide, unsure if he wanted to watch your facial expressions or the scene between your legs. After a few more playful dips, he pulls out, immediately mouthing around the bottle and suckling every drop of your juices around the neck, with little interest of the actual liquid in the bottle.

The boys spend the evening standing around the grill, all taking turns to use you like a glorified bottle opener. Frankie keeps your panties tucked in the back of his pockets the entire time. He occasionally checks in on your reactions, making sure you’re still laughing and accepting their actions.

They came back after each sip, some taking extra care to fuck you with the bottle, hoping to get you to cum, other times just to get a fresh coating. Frankie watches your expressions each time, the way your jaw hangs open slightly, biting your tongue, quiet moans making their way to his ears. And each time, he forces the boys to stop, leaving your clenching around nothing, frustrated but wet beyond belief. He wanted you dripping, needy all night so they could get the most out of your gushing cunt.

At one point, you had to get up to serve their food, making them all sit around the rounded patio table and dishing their plates one at a time. Frankie helps place the portions on each plate as you take it to the table before sitting down himself. His hand runs up along your smooth thigh, skirt lifting with his wrist as he inches high and higher, before squeezing your ass possessively, looking up at you. You pinch his nose and move around the table, making sure all the guys have filled drinks.

You didn’t have your own “seat” at the table, instead going around to each of the guy’s laps and eating bits off their plate. While they ate with one hand, the other held a bottle, thrusting in and out of your spread thighs over their leg.

You currently had your arm draped over Will’s shoulder, spread open next to the table as he bounced you in his lap, his bottle nudging the sweet spot inside you. He split his attention evenly between Frankie and you.

The copious amount of alcohol in everyone’s system, including Frankie’s, made the rules of your use a little more lax. That—and they were all so pussy drunk off your juices mingling on their tongues, they couldn’t keep their hands off you.

You kissed along Will’s cheek, nipping his jawline and tracing patterns on his throat with your tongue as he fucked you on his beer. His languid thrusts making you feel hazy. The man had an exceptional talent at knowing the exact pace and pristine jolts to hold you on edge forever. He gave you soft smiles with sincere eye contact that made you flutter. “You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers in your ear.

Santi was a little cheekier, eagerly pulling you down on his lap. He taps the inside of your thigh, urging you to spread fast so he could get his drink between your legs. “This cunt is still so tight, hermosa. Frankie Papi not taking care of you enough?” he asks brow raising with a challenge towards Fish. Before you can deny him, he blows hot breath against your ear before biting the lobe, making you squeal quietly as he quickly thrusts his 11th bottle of the night into your waiting heat. He continues to dot his lips against your skin, nipping your collar bone. You can see Frankie’s eyes narrow on you two but he doesn’t say anything, letting his conversation with Will continue. His aligns his head perfectly over your top, peering down at your tits. He groans softly at the little jiggles of your supply mounds with each little thrust in to you.

You look over to Benny, who’s got no care to Will and Frankie’s convo and is instead anxiously bouncing his leg, dying to get you on him for his turn.

“Oop, I gotta take care of the baby boy,” you say quietly into Santi’s ear. He pouts briefly, rubs your clit with his thumb under the table so no one else can see. You bite your lips, wide eyed but aroused. He eventually lets you up.

Benny grabs your waist with strong hands and lifts you on to his muscular thigh.

“Eager?” You tease. You rub your hand over his strong abs and chest, grabbing his beef for him and putting right along your folds, waiting patiently for him to take charge. He doesn’t. “Want you to do it for me,” he says, smirking. You kiss his cheek and notch the beer into your cunt, moaning wantonly right in his ear. He shivers with arousal, bouncing the knee you’re perched on, the bottle neck slipping deeper inside you. His hand gropes your ass cheek, keeping you upright on him while his other arm feeds himself potato salad. he makes a poor attempt to shovel it in his mouth, dropping bits of it along your chest and down your tits.

“Making a mess on my girl, Benny,” Frankie chuckles.

Benny shrugs. Conveniently left with no more free hands, he dips his mouth down to your chest and licks a long stripe along the skin, slurping up the remnants of sticky food on you. You tilt back and laugh drunkly, fisting the bottle and shoving deep inside your cunt, panting breathlessly as your other hand messily rubs his blonde curls like a dog.

You suddenly glance back at Frankie, who is shaking his head at you in disapproval. Not from one of his buds eating food off your tit, but from your less than sneaky trial of trying to finally make yourself cum on the bottle. You pout, draw the neck out of your messy cunt, feeling your little nub twitch with remote. You’re making a big show of innocent eyes at your husband who’s been simultaneously ensuring you are both taken care of and neglected all night.

Frankie raises his hand and curls his finger at you in a come hither motion. You slide off of Benny’s lap guiltily, striding over to him in the sexiest walk you could muster. Chatter had died down as all eyes rested on you standing over Frankie.

He stares up at you, rolling your skirt over your ass so everyone could see. He presses a soft kiss to your throbbing clit, tasting a mixture of your sweet juices and the different brands and flavors of beer that have been inside you all night. You whine, trying not to flinch too hard at how desperate you need him to make you cum.

He pats your ass assertively. “You been good tonight so far.”

The power he possesses over you was something to behold: despite standing over him, and looking down upon him, his voice and eyes carried such a dominant force against you that it was clear to everyone else how much you not only submit to him, but how much you like doing so.

“Everyone else getting taken care of real good except me. That doesn’t seem right, does it, Querida?”

You shake your head. You knew the drill, knew the devious look in his eyes. His darkened expression points down to the ground only once.

Without missing a beat, you sink down to your knees on the grass, delicate hands immediately rubbings along his sturdy thighs in his khakis until you came upon the bulge in his pants. You rub your palm over, pressing your face to it, feeling the scratchiness of the material roll against your cheek. You give it a chaste kiss before unbuckling his belt and pulling the zipper down, freeing his erect cock.

When you finally push his tip past your tight lips, Frankie sighs relief before starting up the group’s conversation again. The boys shifted in their seats with their evident respective bulges pressing uncomfortably between their legs. They tried to respond respectfully to Fish, occasionally darting glances at you between his legs, working his length in and out of your skilled mouth. The little sucking noises from you interrupted his speech but he made no show of acknowledging you while you sucked his fat cock deep into your throat.

You could hear little coughs and grunts from the others, none of which sounded perturbed. They were all entranced by you, your obedience, submission to Frankie. Santi “dropped” his fork below the table, hunching over to get a good look at you with his mouth agape at the sight: resting back on your haunches, your glistening pussy dripping into the grass as you bobbed your head, hands resting on his knees to keep you from taking it all and choking on it.

He licks his lips and sits up, worried he took too long. Frankie catches his eye and mouths Does she look good?

Santi nods energetically.

Fish smirks, taking the opportunity to push the back of your head further onto his cock, making you gag loudly in surprise. Benny and Will’s voices go quiet as Frankie starts slowly forcing his cock deeper in your mouth, making you more verbal in your choking. When he releases the pressure, you pull up so that just the tip is suctioned between your lips, moaning obscenely. Your eyes are closed in bliss, taking him back down and returning your rhythmic bobbing.

After a few minutes, Frankie’s breaths are coming out short. He’s having a hard time paying attention to what the guys were saying. Just between the two of you, he gently caresses your jaw, letting his cock fall out of your mouth. You stare up at him, slightly teary eyed but full of lust and obsession. “My perfect little whore of a wife,” he mumbles affectionately. “Get up here and make me proud.”

You giddily climb to your feet and throw one leg over his strong thighs, sighing loudly as you straddling him. The texture of his pants feels heavenly against your neglected clit, rubbings your slick folds along his thighs with an arched back, ass peaking out for the boys to once again get a nice show.

Frankie taps your ass again, making you sit upright. He positions the swollen red tip of his member at your wet entrance. You sink down, taking his cock entirely in one motion. The hot, fat pressure of his cock stretching you fuller, deeper than any of the beer bottles could ever reach immediately has your eyes rolling, moaning out loud like a fucking whore as your body shakes, squeezing his dick tightly while your first powerful orgasm of the night washes over you.

He holds you tight as you spasm through it. “Oh shit—she just came,” Frankie laughs.

“Oh fuck. Didn’t even have to fuck that delicious cunt.”

“That’s hot, Fish. She was so desperate for it.”

“Fuck I’m jealous. I want me a wife like that.”

You continue to gently hump him, their praises falling deaf to your ear. His large, strong body felt good to relax in, putting your weight on top of him with no care as you chase your pleasure Hips swaying of their own accord as you whimper through the aftershocks, arms thrown wrapped over his shoulders.

He strokes your back soothingly. He wants you to settle from your much needed orgasm first. Frankie sits back a little bit, letting you lean forward. The guys are practically standing over the table, desperate to see the space where their friend’s well endowed cock is joined to his wife’s tight and pretty cunt.

He has the audacity to ask the guys if they’d seen the game this past Sunday, resuming their conversation as you continue to pickup pace. You roll your hips along his length, the delicious drag of his cock sliding in and out of you leaving you dumb on him, face pressed tight against his collar while he talks casually over your shoulder.

When Frankie starts to clench the meat of your hips and pull you down on his length a little harder, neither he nor anyone else at the table cares to talk anymore. He makes sure to fist your skirt over your waist as he drills his meaty girth up into you. They all stare, unblinking, at some point all having whipped their stiff cocks out and stroking furiously.

Frankie gets lost in your tight heat. You couldn’t care about the fact that the boys were jerking off to you and their best friend fucking—your focus was entirely on making your husband spill his sperm deep inside you.

The squelching sound of your pussy slapping down and your breathy moans can only be heard in your private backyard among your closets guests. He can feel the dampness seeping into his pants, darkening the fabric with each splatsplatsplat of your ass slamming down on his thighs.

“Did I tell ya’ll? We’re trying to get pregnant,” Frankie boasts proudly. He doesn’t stop the way his hips canter up overly excited to share that detail, hitting that spongy spot he had been purposely avoiding all night. A surprised yell escapes your lips, tightening around him in a vice grip. Soon after, you’re both cumming together, releasing long drawn out satisfied groans into each other’s open mouths as your sweet pussy milks him, the pulses of his member filling your womb with his milky seed.

The rest of the boys cum hardly a second later, pumping their veiny cocks furiously at the sight of Frankie’s pearly spend dripping from where the two of you are still connected. Through gritted teeth, they wring out the last dribbles of their cum before everyone is sitting back, panting hard, softened and relieved dicks resting against their full bellies.

- - - -

Notes: I just wanna say don’t fuck yourself with objects that aren’t specifically designed for sex, especially foods or alcohol, because you know… infections. That should be a given.

Permanent Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse

Please let me know if you would like to be added (or removed) from permanent taglist--which applies to any fic that I put more than 2 ounces of thought into.

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 5 months

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Sooooo…….how do you think Benny boi would handle being caught half-naked from out the shower by his darling?? He’s showering after winning his match-up she thought he was finished but to her surprise…….. this scenario has been stuck in my brain 💀💀

Adrenaline.

oh baby... thank you for this.

warnings - smut. cursing.

Masterlist. Inbox.

"Ben? You in here?"

You walk through the locker room, looking for your partner as you go. Eventually, when you reach the showers, you hear the water running.

"Babe?" Benny yells from behind the curtain. "That you?"

You pull it back and pop your head around, trying to keep your eyes on his.

"It's me. I'll just wait for you on the bench out here."

Before you can blink, a strong hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you into the shower, water drenching you immediately. You shriek, swatting at his chest to try and escape.

His palms find your hips, plastering your bodies together.

"Need you," he murmurs into your ear, brushing your hair away from your face. "Can't wait until we get home."

"I'm soaked," you whine.

"You will be."

"Asshole," you laugh, resting your forehead on his sternum. "I like this dress. Dry."

"Stop worrying," he soothes, rucking the material up and over your head, throwing it onto the tiled floor. "Let me take your mind off it, hmm?"

He pulls your underwear down your legs, chuckling when you step out of them willingly.

Benny places your hands on the wall, kicking your feet apart. Pressing kisses down your spine, he sighs softly, grabbing handfuls of your ass as he goes.

"Fuck, this is what I needed. You, all pretty and pliant for me. So good, baby. Such a good girl."

Benny lines himself up and slides home in one smooth movement, both of you gasping in unison.

"That's it," he coos. "Take it, baby. Like you know you can. Like you were made for it."

You drop your head onto your arm and let him mould you however he likes, clearly needing the outlet. He gets like this, after his fights. He vibrates with the energy of it, looking for a release in any way he can get it.

You've become his favourite solution.

"Ben," you whine. "Fuck, babe."

"Yeah, honey. Keep saying my name just like that, please."

Benny's rhythm is frantic, frazzled, rushed, but he still manages to hit exactly the right spots. He knows your body like the back of his hand, that much is clear.

"Close," you choke out, trying not to swallow the water that still beats down. "Benny."

"Come for me, pretty girl. Give me all you've got. Please. I want it baby, that's it."

His honeyed words send you over the edge, muscles tensing and eyes rolling back. Benny joins you, groaning lowly against the wet skin of your back.

You both try to catch your breath for a moment, Ben reaching over to turn off the water. You spin and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

"Better?"

"So much better," he chuckles.

You're about to respond when you hear the locker room door open, the sounds of multiple heavy footsteps filling the room.

"Benny! Champion! Where you at?"

You look at him with wide eyes, both of you realising the hilarity of the situation. Benny reaches out of the curtain to grab his dry shirt from the bench, tossing it to you and wrapping a towel around his waist. You throw it on and follow him out towards the boys sheepishly, knowing you're not about to get away with what you've just done.

"There you are!"

The boys look between you and Benny, putting the pieces together.

"You two are ridiculous," Frankie laughs.

Santiago winks at you as you bury your head in Benny's shoulder, laughter bouncing off the lockers around the room.

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flightlessangelwings · 9 months

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FlightlessAngelWings Kinkotber 2023 Prompt List!

Here it is, the Kinktober Prompt List!!

Compiled by myself and edited/peer reviewed/approved by my bestie @the-purity-pen who had made fantastic prompt lists in the past (and who also made the beautiful graphics for me)!! This list has a little bit of everything from more vanilla to more hardcore prompts so there’s a little something for everyone, or to branch out and try something new if you feel like it!

Write fics, make art, graphics, gifs, moodboards, whatever your heart desires!! Any type of creations are welcome too: reader insert, oc, ships, original works, anything!

Have fun and be creative!!

Below the cut are 31 days of prompts for the month of October! Each day has 3 choices with a free space day on the 31st!

Because of the nature of the event, this is 18+ ONLY! Minors interacting or participating will be blocked!

Please tag me @flightlessangelwings and use the hastag #fawktober2023 and I’ll share your works!

Please use proper warnings in your posts with this event as some of the prompts may not be for everyone. And if you’re doing a reader insert, please work to be inclusive of your writing/art!

No kinkshaming please! I made this list to be varied so there may be things on here you hate. That’s ok! There’s things here that even I don’t like but I designed it that way so there’s something for everyone! But that’s also why tags and warnings are so important!!

Reblog this post so others and find this list and to share the fun!! And don’t forget to reblog other people’s work too throughout October and support each other!!

If none of the prompts for the day speak to you, feel free to pull from another day if you want! Don’t feel pressured at all! Have fun with it!!

List under the cut in graphic and text format!

Banner free to use for your posts with credit to @the-purity-pen 💖

Both dividers by the lovely @saradika ❤️

Love bites * Overstimulation * Impact play

Bath/shower * Public * Knife play

69 * Exhibitionism * Monster au

Thigh riding * Sex pollen * Forced orgasm

Table sex * Threesome * Sensory deprivation

Sexting/phone sex * A/B/O * Bondage

Slow and soft * Partner swap * Spanking

Cockwarming * Temperature play * Rough sex

Role play * Pegging * Hunter/prey

Stripping * Anal * Double penetration

Seduction * Blindfold * Degradation

Formal wear * Glove kink * Gun play

Body worship * Being recorded * Anonymous sex

Tit/nipple play * Object insertion * BDSM

Against a wall * Size kink * Free use

Lap dance * Role reversal * Whipping

Praise kink * Rimming * Tentacles

Masturbation * Squirting * Dacryphilia (crying/emotional release)

Hand job * Voyeurism * Somnophilia

Sex toys * Orgy/group * Corruption

Romantic sex * Piercings * Hate sex

Voice kink * Virginity * Fisting

Dirty talk * Begging * CNC

Lingerie * Edging * Leather/latex

Mirror sex * Orgasm denial * Breeding

Face sitting * Deep throating * Choking

Food play * Period sex * Wax play

Blowjobs * Intercrural sex * Cock rings

Fingering * Cream pie * Gagging

Cunnilingus * Costumes * Breath play

FREE SPACE

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intheorangebedroom · 5 months

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Tonight you belong to me, prologue

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.

This is the beginning of what you wished had no end.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 See series masterlist for extensive a/n blurb and especially for trigger warnings. Tread carefully. Ily 🧡 Please be gentle, I'm terrified 🫣

Word count: 5.1k

[series masterlist] * [next]

Prologue: In The Beginning

He comes to you every Friday.

He gets in after dark. He is gone before dawn.

In this shady motel on the outskirts of town, where no one will recognise your car. The curtains are yellow, and the carpet is brown. There’s a dollar store painting of the Appalachian above the bed, and the tap runs either trickling and scalding or high pressure and cold.

You hated that in particular, in the beginning. Now you don’t care. You don’t wash him off your skin anymore. Not until you’ve got no other choice.

Because he can’t mark you, you’d been firm on that point, he likes to come on your skin.

When he’d finally spoke, that very first time, he’d told you he was Frankie, but you assume it’s not his real name. Which is fine, you didn’t give him your real name either.

“Frankie” had been far subtler than you, regretful, perhaps, you like to entertain the delusion, when he’d hinted that you couldn’t leave any trace on his body.

And, in the beginning, you couldn’t imagine that it would ever matter.

You were wrong.

You were wrong about a lot of things, in the beginning.

—

Friday night. Again.

The swinging door creaks on its hinges to let in the regulars at random intervals. Mostly men, mostly middle-aged, mostly unshaven. Mostly clad in the working-class uniform of jeans, boots and t-shirt. Few of them sit around the round wooden tables. The bar isn’t large, there’s only four of those.

When they come in small parties, the men favour the two pools on the right. They’re lined with blue felt. The casing is made of plywood. No one ever plays darts, no one ever feeds the jukebox. Its electric cord lays unplugged on the floor, coiled like a sad sagging tail.

If they walk in alone, they tend to sit at the bar. Head turned toward the giant television screen hung on the wall to their left, where younger men in more colourful uniforms fight, run, kick or throw balls in all shapes and sizes. Its noise is at the forefront, the middle-aged men’s conversations a low humming sound that falls into the background.

The long and angled bar itself takes up most of the rectangular room’s space. The counter is stripped-down to the bare minimum. Stainless steel, easy to clean, practical. Four beer taps and a gambling machine and beyond the counter, a large mirror with three rows of dusty liquor bottles.

Food is served, occasionally, as evidenced by the paper napkins dispensers and the two yellow and red plastic condiment bottles on each table.

The barman runs the place on his own. You drink here every Friday evening, and you’ve never seen more than six customers at once, you included. Admittedly, you might not be very observant.

Being observant requires endurance, far more than you possess and are willing to deploy and direct towards others. You’re not selfish, not in the least. But you’re tired. You’ve been tired for years. There’s no rational explanation for your exhaustion. No honourable, awe-inspiring, valid ground. You don’t even know what wears you out. It might be sadness, disappointment, or boredom. Or all three in equal parts. All you know is that, come Friday night, your head needs the support of the gray wall behind you.

The creaking noise on your left signals the arrival of another customer, stomping in with a sure gait. Your eyes stay shut. You don’t come to the very aptly named Hole in The Wall seeking the company of other people, whoever they may be.

You come here to hide for a few hours, between the styrofoam ceiling and the dusty carpeted floor. To drink your week away in peace, but not in nerve-racking silence. Alcohol, you found out at a young age, has interesting properties: it blurs out the sharp edges of your dark thoughts in just the right amount.

Back in spring, when you stepped in here for the very first time, you looked comically out of place in your corporate attire, and you did raise quite a few eyebrows from the other patrons. Five months later, they must have learned to see past the charade of your overpriced clothes, because none of them pays you any mind anymore. It’s better than anonymity: it’s casual indifference.

You loosen your grip around your tall cocktail glass and let the condensation drip down onto the cardboard coaster. Reluctantly, you lift your weary eyelids to locate the square napkin lying somewhere on the table and dry your fingertips on it.

That’s when you see him taking a seat at the counter, directly across from your small table.

Years from now, you will still remember the precise circumstances of your first, brief encounter, even though you’re not fully paying attention yet. Nothing indicates tonight will be any different. Nothing suggests you are about to live through a pivotal moment in your existence.

Details will stand out, however. Mostly visual, surprisingly, given the dim lighting of the place. The back of his trucker hat, midnight blue plastic mesh, flattening the dark curls on his nape. The washed out denim of his shirt, worked-in, greenish in the diffuse artificial light, pulled taut across his back, as he sits facing away from you.

The square shape of his shoulders is backlit against the bar’s mirror. Your empty gaze finds the solid slope of his broad silhouette, and you let it rest there, lazily following his movements whenever he picks up his glass. It’s the same comfort you find when you rest your empty head against the hard wall. It’s aimless, inconsequential.

Later, on different kinds of Friday nights, the sight of his muscles bunching as he tugs off his shirt will bring you back to this very moment. The thought will reshape into a sharp, wistful ache deep inside your heart. What would have happened, to you, to him, if he had chosen to stop for a drink at another bar, somewhere further down the road? What if you had done the same, back in April?

For now, your mind is blessedly blank.

Does he catch your reflection in the mirror? Does he feel your gaze on the back of his head?

After a while, how long, you cannot tell, he pivots slowly on his stool, grounded and dense. Slowly, like a mountain would if a mountain came to life and decided to walk into the ocean. He doesn’t turn around completely, just enough to look at you, one of his arms still propped on top of the counter.

The right side of his face is darkened by the shadow from the brim of his hat, but you can make out the pronounced crease in his brow. His eyes are black, and unfathomable, like the ocean at night, but alight with a bright glimmer. They find yours instantly.

Something shifts inside your rib cage, something close to the heart, close to pain.

You feel exposed, entirely bare. Your breathing subsides, you cannot move, trapped in a nightmare-like stretch of time as he glares down at you, immobile, impressive, gigantic. Dark eyes boring into yours. You’re drowning in them.

You don’t want it to end.

Inevitably, he breaks eye-contact, and swivels back toward the mirror. He sits still for a few seconds, before grabbing his glass to finish his beer in long gulps.

You watch him lift his hat and brush his hair to the side with a large hand, and he’s out the door less than a minute later, without so much as a glance in your direction, a conscious choice, given the minute proportions of the place.

He leaves you sitting there, with your brow pinched and your empty drink, struggling to understand the rippling effects of his massive presence on your body and your brain.

You bring your fingers to your chest and rub them over your sternum, where the shifting sensation continues to prickle.

Neither a second drink nor a third helps dull the feeling, but a fourth one is not an option if you want to get home without a DUI.

It follows you into the darkness of the deserted parking lot, on the drive home and into the glass prison of your clinically clean apartment. It’s there when you get into bed, when you lie wide awake at 3am next to your sleeping fiancé, and it’s still there when you wake up, hungover and sore, four hours later.

Nestled between your lungs. The memory of his cold hard stare. Of his soft sad eyes.

It bypasses your most foolproof diversions of painful pleasure and pleasurable pain. Your attempts at hard work and your compulsive distractions. It robs you of your appetite, of your lucidity, of your ability to rest. It corners you in the first floor toilet of your office building on a Thursday morning, on the verge of a panic attack, until you consider calling your sister for help.

Ava would figure it out. She’d get you out of that loop in which you’ve locked yourself up, she’d know what to say. With her crude words and her unforgiving formulations, she’d admonish your silly overreaction and dismissively rebuke your daydreams over a mundane interaction, probably throwing in something about your heteronormative fantasies.

Dude, you’re all worked up because of a staring contest with a rando in a dive bar? she’d say. She’d toss the rhetorical question at your face, you can hear her as if you’ve already sweated through the conversation.

She’s often harsh but she’s always right.

And normally, you’d be seeking that out. For your little sister to bully some good sense back into your nebulous brain.

But something has shifted.

Dark curls, thick fingers, flexing shoulders. Solid arms. Cold, hard stare.

He abraded something on the surface of your skin, and you don’t think you’re capable of withstanding Ava’s sarcasm in your current state.

By the following Friday, you feel so vulnerable you consider going to another place, or not going out at all.

Only, the alternative is worse.

You walk into The Hole in The Wall convinced that your unsteady gait is betraying your apprehension, squinting to adjust to the dim light of the place. The bar is nearly empty, as always, save for a couple of bearded graying men you vaguely recall having seen here before. They all look the same to you, anyway. Another thing you hate about yourself.

The barman tells you to sit while he prepares your drink. The gesture is kind but uncustomary, and it only serves to increase your uneasy feeling.

Within an hour of waiting, because that's what you've been doing, you register with an icy trickle of shame dripping down your sides, you realise he won’t be coming.

That man’s presence here last week is the very definition of sheer happenstance. Nothing more. Nothing else. If anything, you’ve been a nuisance to him, ogling him while he was simply trying to unwind with an afterwork drink.

You’ll never see him again.

And it’s fine. You’ll move on, drift back into drifting, avoiding at all costs to process what happened to you when you met his gaze. The tree hiding the forest.

When you walk up to the counter to order your second drink, the question slips away from you.

“Can I have the same thing the man in the trucker hat had last Friday, please?”

The barman looks up at you from the tray of clean dishes he's pulling out of the dishwasher and he huffs. He’s handsome, by most standards, you notice for the very first time. Very tall, and broad, green-eyed with a three-day stubble. He’s probably a couple of years above forty. His head is shaved bald. He’s manly in a burly, albeit fatherly way.

“Oh sweetheart, d’you know how many guys with a trucker hat I see here every day?”

It’s not meant to make you feel small, his tone is gentle. It’s a straightforward, factual answer.

“What do you wanna drink?” he asks when you don’t answer. “Tired of that G&T yet? Cos I got good beer. This is a beer place, you know? Wanna try a light blonde, to start? Something stronger? An IPA?”

What do you want. You’ve been drinking gin all your life because that’s what your mother always has. Starting at 5pm in the afternoon. Would you, indeed, like to try a light blonde? Something stronger? An IPA, to start?

It’s a brand-new world unfurling in front of you, a yellow brick road paved with what-do-you-wants.

“Sure,” you nod, “I can try an IPA.”

—

The barman goes by the name of Mark. He’s also the owner of The Hole in The Wall, you learn. Bought the place two years ago, after a painful divorce. A cliché, he adds, with a charming, self-deprecating smile.

The interaction’s short and altogether not unpleasant, and the beer, to your surprise, is fresh and enjoyable. It’s much tastier, in fact, than the cheap, tepid gin you’ve been sipping so far. It gets you drunk just as fast, but this time when you leave the bar, your mind is quiet, if not at ease.

The following week, a heatwave hits the Tampa Bay. The melting asphalt sticks to your leather soles, like your sweaty clothes to your clammy skin, like your brooding mood to your dampened dreams. In a couple of days eventually, August will draw to an end, but the summer won’t end with it. It never truly does. It taunts you all year round, a sweltering reminder of how much you hate living here.

And if it wasn’t for the humidity, you’d be jogging the short distance between your car and the cool haven of the air-conditioned bar.

You push the swinging door forward, eyes shut in anticipation of the blinding darkness and you stand in the entrance for a few seconds. The familiar and comforting smell of moldy dust mixed with beer yeast greets your senses as you take in the chill air grazing your naked arms.

And then you reopen your eyes.

He’s here.

Trucker hat, blue jeans, gray T-shirt. Different clothes, same silhouette. He’s sitting at your table, his position a magnified echo of yours two weeks ago, hand loosely wrapped around his pint, seemingly asleep with his head propped against the wall.

Mark looks at you and tilts his head in his direction, wiggling an eyebrow with a silent question of “Is this the guy you were asking about?”

Your breathing’s so loud you think everyone must hear it over the droning television. Mark’s brow furrows with incomprehension at the alarm widening your eyes, and you anchor yourself to his face, walking toward him in slow motion, climbing on the first high stool you reach.

“Hey. You ok?”

You stretch your lips in a wince of a smile.

“So? What will it be today? Wanna try a Free Dive? It’s local.”

You nod in silence, but then he grabs a large glass, and you ask tentatively, “Can I have only half a pint?”

Fuck, your mouth is so dry.

Behind you, to your right, you feel more than you hear the man shift in his chair.

Mark sighs, his left hand paused on the tap handle.

“I don’t have beer glasses this small, sweetheart. Get a pint, the first one’s on me, okay?”

You reiterate your silent nod. He places the beer in front of you, and you swallow the first swigs too quickly. The back of your throat throbs with the fast flowing intake of the cold liquid, or perhaps it’s because of the frantic beating of your heart.

He’s getting up now, you can tell by the friction sound of the chair dragging on the carpeted floor, and your frightened expression turns downright pleading as you hear him close the distance between you.

He’s at your back, sliding his thick naked arm past yours to return his empty glass to the counter. His movements are slow, deliberate. You get a whiff of his scent, a masculine musk, with a faint smell of laundry detergent, it’s wholesome, safety, comfort. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Looking at you with intent.

He’s so tall you have to lift your chin to hold his gaze. Hard cold stare, soft sad eyes, it’s swirling violently inside your exhausted chest and he’s leaving again already, walking toward the door like nothing just happened.

He pulls it inward and you watch him exit the bar into the dusk light.

Did he come back for you? Are you going insane?

Sixty-seven seconds. Sixty-seven seconds is the time it takes you to decide your next move. The one that’s going to forever change your life. The one that could be everything or turn out meaningless.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Mark, sliding your handbag on the counter and you stand up to follow him outside.

The sunset sky is a pink shade of orange. Shadows are stretching long onto the asphalt, drawing a distorted world upside-down.

He’s not here anymore, you waited too fucking long. You quickly scan the parked vehicles on the other side of the road to your right, and the parking lot in front of you, but it’s empty, save for your anthracite sedan, a black truck and what you assume must be Mark’s old SUV, because you see it every week.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, pressing your fingers to your sternum.

You look to your left, where the parking ends. There’s a white utility vehicle advertising a plumbing service and a dark blue city car. Beyond them, the lot extends into a narrow stretch of gravel behind the small rectangular building. There’s a pile of junk, and the tailgate of a red truck.

Your hand drops to your side and you start walking toward it, going around the white van.

He’s there. He’s waiting for you by the front of the red truck, behind the building. His hands propped on his waist, head down, hidden under his cap.

You keep walking toward him, the sound of your shoes on the dirty ground grating your ears, but you stop short when he raises his head, fuck he looks even taller at this distance, with his elbows spread.

It’s like he senses your apprehension, or perhaps he shares it, because he folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself.

For the very first time, you can fully make out his face. Strong features, a strong curvy nose, a patchy beard peppering a sharp jaw, and plush lips. Your gaze follows the solid column of his neck down to his suprasternal point peeking above the V-collar of his worn-out t-shirt, before it’s drawn back to his eyes.

He stands there perfectly still for you to detail.

Above you, the sky has turned a rusty blue. The humidity is stifling. It’s Friday the 30th, 2019, 8.17pm.

“What do you want?”

His voice is deep, and low, barely louder than a murmur yet intense, his words full and round.

The question, however legitimate, hits you square in the solar plexus, right under your aching sternum. You fear that if you don’t speak fast enough, he’ll leave you again, alone with the memory of his soft sad eyes and his hard cold stare.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, and god, if it’s true, what are you doing here?

He huffs, and it’s the very sound of disillusion. His eyes grow dimmer, you think you’re not the one darkening them. Unfolding his arms, he removes his hat and takes a step closer, then another. You could touch him, if you reached out with your arm stretched.

He looks at you like he’s already seen how your story ends.

You could back away. You don’t.

He moves slowly, thick body thrumming with undiluted strength and unreleased tension, eyes searching yours, giving you the time to leave, should leaving be what you choose, should you turn around and run before the hanging threat breaks like dark stormy clouds and drench you soaked.

He slowly moves forward until he’s towering over you, until his chest touches your breasts, until the pilled cotton of his t-shirt catches at the satin material of your blouse. His scent floods your senses, he leans down into the curve of your neck and inhales you there, long, deep, unhurried. You hold your breath, still, in turn, for his exploration, nails digging into your palms, heart tripping.

And then, he touches you. With his lips, a feather-like caress over the soft skin under your ear. Your eyes flutter shut, your thoughts are suspended.

“This what you want?” he murmurs.

His words sink under your skin, they harden your nipples, raise goosebumps on your nape in the muggy evening heat.

“Yes.”

The cap falls onto the gravel. His hands go to your hips. Clutching you there with a rough grip and he’s tugging you closer, flush to his chest. He licks up a broad stripe along the line of your throat, pivots with you in his arms and backs you into the side of the truck, you have to grab his forearms to keep your balance.

A guttural sound catches in his throat, like a grunt he tries to hold back, for your touch, for the taste of your skin, for your pliant docility.

Your head rolls back, you’ve gone weeks without a skin on skin contact, and now this man is hunched over you, his body swallowing yours, this stranger who’s infected your dreams with his cold hard stare and his soft sad eyes, his mouth roaming the expanse of your throat, short beard prickling your skin, and the shifting sensation inside your chest drops to your core where it catches fire.

His kisses are lips, teeth and tongue, rough and scraping at you raw in all the right ways, they trail up along your neck, under your jaw, and when they find your lips, he presses you harder into him. He tastes like beer, unfamiliar, you want to get used to it.

The seams of your blouse strain when he pulls it out of your skirt with an impatient tug. His hands slither under the hem and find the naked skin of your back. His palms are strong, rugged and scalding and his fingertips calloused, they make your skin sizzle underneath their pressing, crackle like snapping wood, like fireworks at a summer county fair, like sweet candy wrapping.

You're leaking hot and sticky between your hips, responding with your entire body, opening up for him, letting his tongue in past your lips with pathetic grateful little moans, winding your arms around his shoulders, over the cording muscles of his back, musky sweat dampening his t-shirt. The thick, solid shape of him, that got etched behind your eyelids.

You’re a want and a need and an empty flutter, entangled with him, whoever he may be, his tongue swirling inside your mouth, the scrape of his teeth on your lower lip, his splayed hands covering your back, his knee spreading your legs open.

He’s voracious, harsh in his own need, snatching from you what you’re already willing to give, angling your head with a sharp pull on your hair to deepen his kiss, grunting his approval when you moan at the sting.

Arousal keeps dripping down your fold where his thigh prods firm and brawny against the black material of your skirt that hinders the pressure.

He growls, frustration rumbling low and menacing inside his throat. He grabs your ass and squeezes, thick middle finger pushing against the fabric of your clothes into the cleft between your cheeks and you jolt, leaping forward further into him. His belt buckle bites into the soft flesh of your belly, right where you're burning empty and wanting and shameless for him. You feel him hot and hard against your hip, and he tightens his hold, cages you within him.

He’s big all over, larger than life proportions, you surrender to the fact with your lust-drunk mind, from the height of his frame to the girth of his sex, from his grip on your senses to the sorrow in his eyes.

It blooms inside you like pain, blossoms of mahogany red spreading along your limbs in relentless waves, the power he already wields over you and you don’t even know his name.

You buck between his arms, a first and very last attempt at freeing yourself, unconvincing with the scrap of your fingernails along the pebbled skin of his neck, and you press back into him again, squirming against his throbbing length, offering him some friction.

He pulls out all of sudden, breaking the kiss, and you're left panting, ankles swaying, you’d drop to the gravel without the support of the truck, still sun-warm in the early evening, yet colder than his feverish body.

He shakes his head with a silent no, his shoulders heaving, a wordless warning hissed through his clenched bared teeth. The simmering anger under the surface only makes you want him more, the unyielding restraint shining dark in his eyes.

But it’s over. You know it. He gave you this, and took it back. With shaky hands, you smooth down the wrinkles of your blouse where he’s bunched it in his fists. You lick his taste off your trembling lip. You will not cry.

He shakes his head again, you watch him through welling tears, confused, eyes flickering between his.

Behind him, the city car’s engine revs up to a start, aggressive headlights backlighting him. His throat bobs up and down in chiaroscuro as he swallows hard. You know what you must look like in the crude white light. Supplicant, dependent, awaiting. Disheveled by his hand. Tires grate on the gravel as the car reverses away from you into the night, and with it the headlights, leaving you standing in the brown city night, urban semi darkness, and you see him shut his eyes.

He smiles, a puzzling, sorrowful lift of his plush lips, and a new sort of ache washes over you. You raise forward on your tiptoes to peck a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. His entire frame quivers for you. A muscle clenches in his jaw, the deepening crease in his brow redefines his traits in shadows.

He leans into you, like he wants you but he doesn’t want to want you, like he’s giving in but not entirely, because giving in would be the end of him, of you.

The flat of his palm to the swell of your breast, and he kneads your soft flesh, slowly at first, growing urgent. The back of your head hits the truck’s window when he pinches your nipple, hard, with two fingers, and you bite down a moan.

He’s engulfing you again, lips latched around your other nipple, tongue swirling and licking through your blouse and your thin bra and you hold on to him, you cling to his frame when he bunches up your skirt around your waist, leather boot nudging your foot to the side, cock throbbing on your hip, slick dripping down your walls.

“Stop me,” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear. It’s not a dare, it’s not a plea, it’s your last chance to back down before the free fall.

Your pulse stutters, you arch into him without hesitation, but he pins you back against the truck with his chest, cupping you through your underwear and he curses into your neck at the sticky leaking mess he finds there.

Your naked leg hitches up rigid and tense against his leg, curled fingers, curled toes, and he hooks his index into the cotton of your panties.

A brief stroke of his knuckles into the soft, smooth dip between your sex and your inner thigh, unexpectedly tender, before he parts your soaked lips with his two middle fingers, coating them in your sticky slick desire, and he sinks them inside your empty cunt.

You crumble around the intrusion, forehead hitting his collarbone, slack-mouthed, a short exhale of a silent “oh.” He brings his left hand to the crown of your head and cradles you there, while his fingers pump in and out of your heat fast and rough. His thumb glides through your folds and starts rubbing at your clit, deft and precise, and you shudder between his arms, you slump into his hold.

He keeps stroking your hair, gentle soothing sounds murmured into your ear as he fucks you raw with his hand, attuned to your moans and your every reaction, gauging what you can take before his fingers curl deeper inside your cunt, merciless, thumb pressing tight circles on your bud at an increasing pace.

Your breathing comes in ragged and short while his intensifies. It’s pouring into your ear hot and overwhelming and you’re dissolving. Sweat beading at your temples, heat raising from his exerted muscles.

You focus on the sensation of his flexing muscles under your clawing hands to stave off your building orgasm, it’s growing bright and blinding, searing and violent but it’s inevitable, and soon, too soon, your release flows hot and sticky into his hand. Your whines resound inside his chest but he keeps going, low husks of shhh, come on now, that’s it, until your trapped body trashes with the overstimulation.

It’s like he can’t let go, pressing his nose heavily to the side of your face, and you struggle to resurface, blood thrumming in your veins, his angry cock pulsating against your hip.

You let out a dry sob when he slides out of you and the rubber band of your panties slaps your sensitive skin. You don’t miss the flat drag of his tongue licking your taste off his palm, you furrow your fingers deeper into his arm with a short clench of your eyes.

“Fuck,” your hear him quietly groan, and his fingers disappear into his mouth.

You want to stay tucked up against him, curled up into his hold. You could live the rest of your life there, you think, between his hands and his scent, between his chest and his truck.

You lock your ankles and your knees, hoping they will not fail you and you stand, pushing away from him and into the side of the truck. You readjust your skirt, slide it down, palm it smooth. Brush the damp hair from your forehead with the back of your trembling hand.

In your peripheral, he’s leaning down, picking up his hat from the ground and combing his fingers through his hair before he sets the cap back on his head.

You look up dazed and heavy-lidded and you brace yourself before meeting his gaze, cold hard stare, soft sad eyes, and he says,

“I’m Frankie.”

****

Bonus (having déjà vu? that's normal 😝 Gonna use this gif at the end of every first chapter I manage to yank out of my crazy in love brain):

Taglist (thank you 🧡 if you don't wish to be tagged anymore, just drop me a DM 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @nicolethered @littleone65 @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @mylostloversbookmarks @its-nebuleuse @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @all-the-way-down-here

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theanothersherlockian · 9 months

Text

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

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

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

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

idk love the detail jeje.

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

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wysteria-clad · 1 year

Text

'Call your man by his first name and see his reaction' trend with triple frontier boys

a/n: aka them being your baby™

genre: fluff

paring: triple frontier boys x fem! reader; established relationship

------

Santi

"Hey, Santiago, can I have a cup too?"

You ask him for a cup of coffee when you see him in the kitchen making some.

"Who?"

"You"

"You never call me that," he looks at you half offended, half in disbelief.

"It's your name," you move closer to him.

"No"

"Can I have some coffee now?"

"No"

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"Coffee is only for the woman who does not call me 'Santiago,'" he stresses the 'not'. "You didn't call me 'baby."

You suck in your lips to stop you from laughing. "Aw, baby, are you mad?" you reduce the distance between you two and place a hand on his chest.

He leans down, and buries his face on the crook of your neck.

You smile and rest your hand on the nape of his neck, and trace his scar with your fingers.

He sighs in content, and pulls back after a moment and looks into your eyes with anticipation.

You lean closer to him, and then reach out your hand past him to grab the coffee cup on the kitchen counter and turn around.

"Really?" he shakes his head.

You take a sip, smiling to yourself. "Coffee is great, thanks, baby"

"Really?!" he shouts, watching you walk away from him with a teasing smirk on your lips.

"I love you!"

Your peaceful moment with his your coffee doesn't last long as he grabs you and flings you over his shoulder.

"Babe!"

He smacks your ass playfully, and carries you to bedroom making you laugh.

Frankie

"Francisco, cuddle me?" you look up from the couch, extending your arms at him in an invite.

"Am I in trouble?"

"Why would you be, Francisco?"

"I thought I was your 'honey', " He gives you his soft, puppy eyes, "your 'baby'."

Did he forget an errand or any important event?

"Am I in trouble? seriously?" he is confused, but he complies your request and lies down on the couch next to you, wrapping his arms around you.

"No, baby," you snuggle to his side, and bury your face into his chest. "I love you."

You smile when you feel a kiss on the top of your head.

"Te amo."

Benny

He was on a quick grocery shopping run. You were in your shared bedroom, sitting on the bed comfortably, telling him what else you needed.

"Benjamin, don't forget the chees-"

"What'd you just call me?"

"Benjamin"

"Why would you call me that?" he looks so offended.

"It's your name."

"It's not my name.." he lips parts open. The disrespect..."My name is 'baby'," he states as if it's the most obvious fact. He tackles you in a jump hug, pinning you to the bed and falling on top of you.

"You are crushing me, you, goof," you speak, smiling and still pinned underneath him. "Benjamin, get off me," you laugh.

Nope, try again. He doesn't even bulge.

You stifle a laugh, "Baby?"

"Yes, darlin'?"

"Baby, get off me," you giggle.

"That's better," he pretends to get off you, then grabs your face, and presses his lips on the side of your face, giving you a loud, sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. He then gets off you, and walks out of the bedroom.

"Ben!"

"I'm baby!" he yells, making you laugh.

Will

"Hey, William. How was work?"

He just came home from work. You had arrived home two hours before.

"Are you mad at me or something?"

"No, William."

"Why'd you say that?" he looks at you like you had just shot him. "What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Sweetheart..." he follows you around the living room, "Speak to me, what did I do?" his voice is soft. He gives you the kicked puppy look, instantly making you feel bit bad.

"Nothing, baby. I'm sorry, how was work?" you soften your tone, and snake your arms around his neck. You stroke the back of his head with your left hand, and move your right hand forward to cup his cheek.

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch.

You kiss his lips with tenderness and assure him you are not mad.

#wystie-verse #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia imagine #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #will miller x reader #will miller imagine #william ironhead miller #william miller x reader #benny miller x reader #benny miller imagine #triple frontier boys x reader #triple frontier boys imagine #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier

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romanarose · 2 months

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Triple Frontier Write-A-Thon

Hosted by @romanarose and @for-a-longlongtime

Hello everyone! March 13th of this year is the 5 year anniversary of Triple Frontier, a movie that was underrated but very precious to all of us. To me, it is a comfort movie and something that through fics and fandom has helped me process a lot of things.

Charlie Hunnam announced recently that there is potential for a sequel and he is trying to get it in production and has signed on as a producer. Me and @for-a-longlongtime want to both drum up a little noise and celebrate this media we all love so much!

How it works

Write a fanfiction of Triple Frontier, following the content rules listed below. This is for both art and fanfiction. We encourage you to utilize twitter or instagram if you’d like to share either, and #triplefrontier or #triplefrontier2019 on any site you post on. If you don’t want to make art or write, we encourage you to use social media platforms with the hashtags to help make some noise.

We are highly encouraging LGBT themes and for you to think outside of x f!reader.

All fics that fall under the rules are encouraged, so if you write Santiago Garcia x afab!f!reader, that’s great! But we’d like to take this time to encourage gay/bi pairings, trans readers, or even trans interpretations of the boys. Branch out!

When you post, tag @triplefrontier-anniversary on tumblr and we will reblog it there. We also may reblog onto our main, so consider tagging one or both of us so we know what’s up! Please follow that page to see what other people are writing! In the tags, please tag it triple frontier write a thon, just to make everything easily found.

If you want to post art that tumblr doesn’t allow like nude art, link the content in a tumblr post, like a twitter link, and we’ll reblog that!

If you exclusively write on ao3 or wattpad or other, you can either make a link on a tumblr post and tag us. Other option is to message me (RomanaRose) privately and I’ll make a post and link you and reblog it to the page.

Rules

We will run from March 1st to March 14th. Fics and art posted before or after will not be counted.

This is not a dark event, sorry! Some of us enjoy dark content but wanted to keep this particular event mostly non-dark. That being said, we will allow dub con in the context of mild alcohol use, power dynamics etc. Kidnapping/arranged marriage etc is fine as long as consent is given for anything sexual. Mostly we are looking to avoid non-con/violence. If you have questions, don’t be afraid to reach out to us!

All participants must be 18+, although smut is not required

No incest, including Millercest. None of the usual ‘no’s’, such as underage content apply in addition to no dark.

We have the right to exclude any fic that makes us uncomfortable. It’s our event.

However, we will NOT be excluding people for personal biases, unless it encroaches on our boundaries. I.E. If we have you blocked, please don’t try to enter the event. However, if we’ve had petty beefs or you and one of our mutuals don’t like each other, we generally will include your work. This event is to promote Triple Frontier, not about us.

LGBT themes are highly encouraged, not required.

Tom is allowed. We’re not gonna tell you not to include him if that’s what your little heart desires. However, we highly encourage that your work includes at least one of the usual 4

Leave me alone I love Arrested Development, RIP Carl Weathers.

We hope everyone has fun and this drums up more Triple Frontier fics, in which we are severely lacking!

Remember to reblog and comment to support artists!

Please come to us with any questions!

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sageispunk · 7 months

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Kinktober 2023

inspired from @flightlessangelwings promptlist <333

banner by @the-purity-pen !!!

this is my first kinktober so i hope it goes as planned, each fic will have it's own individual warnings so be sure to read through those (and my blog guidelines) before proceeding!! if you enjoy any of these, please like and reblog!!! my masterlist is here :3 (**- missed but will come back to)

DAY 1: love bites + overstim + impact play

DAY 2: bath/shower

DAY 3: exhibitionism (joel miller x reader)

DAY 4: sex pollen + thigh riding + forced orgasm (max phillips x reader)

DAY 5: table sex + sensory deprivation + threesome (steve rodgers/bucky barnes x reader)

DAY 6: sexting/phone sex (matt murdock x reader)

DAY 7: slow and soft + spanking (javier peña x reader) **

DAY 8: temp play (joel miller x reader)

DAY 9: pegging (frankie morales x reader)

DAY 10: stripping + anal + double penetration (frankie morales/santi garcia x reader) **

DAY 11: seduction + blindfold (tommy miller x reader) **

DAY 12: gun play (joel miller x reader)

DAY 13: body worship + being recorded (frank castle x reader) **

DAY 14: tit/nipple play (benny miller x reader)

Week Two -- updated the list (10/14) to make it a lil easier for me

DAY 15: against wall + size kink + free use (richie j x reader)

DAY 17: praise kink + rimming (dieter bravo x reader)

DAY 18: masturbation + squirting (joel miller x reader)

DAY 19: voyeurism + handjob + somno (santiago garcia x reader)

DAY 21: hate sex + piercings (bucky barnes x reader)

Week Three

DAY 23: dirty talk + begging (javi pena x reader)

DAY 24: lingerie + edging (dieter bravo x reader)

DAY 25: mirror sex + breeding (sam wilson x reader)

DAY 26: face sitting + deepthroating + choking (richie j x reader)

DAY 28: intercrural sex + blowjobs (tommy miller x reader)

Week Four

DAY 29: fingering + gagging + creampie (frank castle x reader)

DAY 30: cunnilingus + breathplay (santiago garcia x reader)

DAY 31: FREE SPACE (will be updated hehe 😉)

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pimosworld · 6 months

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Down the rabbit hole

Kinktober prompt-Group sex/Orgy/Costumes

Pairing-Triple Frontier boys x f!reader

CW18+,MDNI,NSFW,EstablishedPolyamorous Relationship,Fluff,Teasing,Smut,Coercion,BribeCostumes, Hints at Roleplay, Fingering,Oral f receiving,Oral m receiving, mentions of MM dynamics, unprotected p i v, anal, cream pie,anal cream pie(don’t look at me)

WK-4.8k

A/N- In the story of us universe but can be read as a stand-alone. I definitely could’ve added more smut but I’m not done with this group just yet.

Not beta read

[Main Masterlist] [Series Masterlist]

“We have to do a group costume please….please.”

“Cariño, whining isn’t going to change my mind.”

You huff out in frustration as Frankie tries to conceal his laughter. You and Santi had been going at it for a while as you tried and failed to convince him of what you’d already got the other three to agree to after some unfair persuasion tactics.

“Sweetheart he’s just mad you want him to be the cat.” Will chimes in from the loveseat as you all sit in the living room.He says it with such disdain that you know he’s not helping your case in any way. Alice in Wonderland, is long paused on the tv because Santi decided half way through he was not going to be the Cheshire Cat.

“How did you all even agree to this?” Santiago still looked gorgeous despite the permanent scowl that worked its way onto his face throughout the conversation.

Benny sits up from the floor stretching his long arms over his head. “Well besides for the fact that the rabbit is the coolest character, I got one the best massages of my entire life after my fight last week.”

“Weak.” Santi scoffs as he places your feet in his lap. His actions are the complete opposite of his tone.

“You’re just jealous.” You’re flattered at Ben's enthusiasm but you know it’ll take more than a massage to convince Santiago to wear a costume. You gave him frequent massages that always led to something else and of course he knows that…hence the smirk etched on his face as he silently rubs your feet.

“What about you iron head? How the hell did she convince you to be a caterpillar?” Everyone chuckles at the hilarity of it all because how? This stoic and mostly reserved ex military man was going to dress up as a caterpillar for you.

“He’s actually the best character, way better than a rabbit.” He ducks as the pillow Ben throws from the floor narrowly misses his head. “I may have got a lap dance.” The rest audibly groan. “I also get to smoke.”

“Okay rub it in some more.”

“I’m not the one who caved for a massage.”

The brothers continue to bicker as you shift in Frankie’s arms to look at Santi. He’s got the look on his face, the annoying toothy smile… the reason you wanted him to be the cat in the first place. That look that says it's gonna take more than that. It’s your own fault really…you were showing off some clothes you bought the other day when he told you to strip. You thought he was joking at first but the way he looked at you, you couldn’t help but do whatever he asked.

Your impromptu strip tease turned into another impromptu lap dance. Which of course always turns into something more because this is Santiago Garcia.

“Sooo hermano that just leaves you. I’m sure all she had to do was look at you and you caved.” The men laugh but you know as soon as Frankie shifts behind you he’s thinking about the other night.

Frankie leans in pushing you closer to Santi “For your information I got to put it in her…” You elbow his stomach before he can finish his sentence. It’s too late as you watch the grin on Santi’s face grow even wider somehow.

“I heard that Fish.” Ben’s sitting up again looking at you with a mixture of shock and awe.

“Sweetheart…I mean this in the nicest way possible but how?” Santi and Frankie are cackling at Will's response as you lean back into Frankie covering your face with your hands. Your body is on fire from the attention placed on you at this moment.

“With much preparation.” He whispers into your ear as he squeezes your side. You can’t help but think about how he took his time and worked you open. Whispering praise into your ear as he did, of course in your lust filled haze you hadn’t realized how he knew exactly what to say and do. Like he had been given a playbook on all the things that made you tick. How you would keen under the praise and melt into his touch.

He would only know this because Santiago had already done it and told him step by step instructions as if it were a mission and for Frankie it was a successful one. He would don any ridiculous costume for the rest of his life if it meant he could hear you make those sounds again.

“I’d like to add that the Mad Hatter is the number one character…and I get to wear my standard oil hat underneath.”

“Oh my god babe you gave him everything.” Ben’s dramatics have everyone buckled over in laughter. You try to regain your composure as you wipe the tears from your eyes.

Santi leans toward the coffee table to grab the remote, you can just see the wheels turning in his head as he thinks it over.

“As wonderful as all that sounds…I’m still not convinced.” He presses play on the movie as you sigh and drop your head back onto Frankie’s lap, he rubs your arm sympathetically as you stare up at the ceiling wondering how his mother ever put up with him. He lived and breathed to be difficult it seemed. You think he may even secretly get off on it.

“At least you tried hermosa.” Frankie leans down planting a kiss on your forehead, no doubt pleased with the outcome either way. Everyone got what they wanted except for you.

The boys are suddenly so enthralled with Alice in Wonderland while your mind wanders. With Santi things were never simple, you had to make it exciting or he would lose interest in whatever it was you were trying to accomplish. He may not even realize he does it but you think it’s his way of coping with not being in the military anymore. You know what makes him tick, anything that requires a challenge or a puzzle to solve.

Alice: Why, why you’re a cat!

Cheshire Cat: A Cheshire Cat. All mimsy were the borogoves…

Alice: Oh, wait! Don’t go, please!

Cheshire Cat: Very well. Third chorus…

Alice: Oh no no no… thank you, but- but I just wanted to ask you which way I ought to go.

Cheshire Cat: Well, that depends on where you want to get to.

Alice: Oh, it really doesn’t matter, as long as I g…

Cheshire Cat: Then it really doesn’t matter which way you go! Ah-hmm… and the momeraths outgrabe… Oh, by the way, if you’d really like to know, he went that way.

Alice: Who did?

Cheshire Cat: The white rabbit.

Alice: He did?

Cheshire Cat: He did what?

Alice: Went that way?

Cheshire Cat: Who did?

Alice: The white rabbit!

Cheshire Cat: What rabbit?

Alice: But didn’t you just say… I mean… oh dear!

Santiago was indeed just as frustrating as the aforementioned character that you were unsuccessfully trying to make him dress up as. You’ve spent the last several months in happily uncharted territory since you finally put a title to what it was you all were. The boys had no issues sharing you, it seemed they were much happier doing that than seeing you unhappy with any guy you’ve ever tried being around.

You were all so close, there was never any animosity or jealousy…maybe some light hearted teasing when someone was feeling left out but you always managed to keep them all satisfied.

It’s a mad idea…but we’re all mad here.

You sit up abruptly,slightly startling then with your enthusiasm as you grab the remote from Santi’s lap pausing the movie again.

“I know you’re going to wear that costume.” He turns to look at you as if you’ve grown two heads.

“Oh is that so?”

“Yes that’s so.”

“Are you going to forcibly put it on me?” You shake your head as you bite your bottom lip.

“Remember that thing you said you wanted to try?”

“Cariño you’re going to need to be more specific.” You know it’s silent as the intrigue lingers in the air.

“You said when I was ready to just tell you…so I guess I’m saying I’m ready.” In all honesty you’ve been waiting for the right time to bring it up but you’ve been so nervous. This seems as good a time as any.

“I see what you’re doing here Alice but I don’t remember, you’re going to have to tell me.”

“Well we have two weeks until the party so if you figure it out let me know.” You press play on the movie again as you get comfortable. Now you can enjoy the rest of the movie while Santiago tries to decipher your riddle.

****

It’s really not fair

How you have all these men somehow wrapped around your finger. You try to ignore the looks you get when you’re all out together and they can’t keep their hands off you. You can see the wheels turning when someone tries to make out which one of them is yours. You’ve always been affectionate with one another but since putting a name to this it’s like the band aid of shame has been ripped off.

You’re buzzing with excitement as you sit nestled between Ben and Santiago in the back of Frankie’s Jeep. Frankie’s new boss insisted you all come to his annual Halloween party after meeting the guys and hitting it off with them. Meeting new people and attending such a large party in a ridiculous costume no less took some convincing but the past few days they’ve all been very agreeable.

Santi promised he'd wear the costume even though he couldn’t figure out the bribe. He said he would ‘since it was important to you’. That should’ve been your first indication that something was off.

Will is the stoic picture of perfection in the front seat next to Frankie as he twirls the unlit cigar in his hands. He wasn’t a man of many words and he jumped at the chance to be the aloof caterpillar.

“You look beautiful Honey.” He’s not even looking at you as he stares out the window watching the street lights. You’ll never get used to the flurry of his attention. The affection seemed to ooze out of his pores like he’s been waiting years to tell you how he felt about you.

You glance over at Santiago as his furry pink and purple sweater brushes your bare legs. You can tell he’s uncomfortable but he’s doing his best as he fidgets with the collar. His salt and pepper curls peak out adorably along the headband of the matching cat ears.

“I can feel you staring cariño.” You quickly avert your gaze to Ben who is doing some staring of his own. Since you came out of the room adorned in your flouncy powder blue dress with knee high white stockings he can’t seem to keep his eyes off you.

“I like this.” Ben grazes his finger just under the hem of your dress, lifting it slightly to reveal your thigh. You shift in the seat rubbing your legs together desperate for some relief. The last two weeks have been uncharacteristically lacking in the sex department which is nearly impossible when you’re sleeping with four people. His barely there touch has goosebumps rising along your skin as he threatens to touch you almost where you want him too.

“Ben.” Frankie warns from the driver's seat as he approaches a red light,he notices your desperation in the rear view mirror as you hang your head back in frustration.

“Just worry about the road, old man.” Ben flicks the back of his comically large hat placed atop his standard oil cap.

“I’ll show you old man.” He grits out through his teeth as he returns his attention to the now green light.

The tension in the air is thick, it has been since you left the house. You all decided to get ready together and seeing as though you moved into the Miller-Morales household a few months ago that only left Santi to bring his costume and an overnight bag. You had the feeling that conversations were being had without you even though not many words were spoken. It was reminiscent of the night before a mission. All of you lost deep in thought while meticulously going over the plans ahead.

The four of them had a way of communicating despite all your years spent together that you just couldn’t seem to tap into. You couldn’t shake the nagging feeling like you had been left out of this one.

You pull down an unfamiliar street lined with massive homes, certainly less modest than the one you currently resided in. You assume most of the cars you pass are for the party and your excitement bubbles over into nervousness as you realize how many people may be in this house. The men all seem completely fine…almost unaware.

Frankie parks and exits along with Will and Benny without so much as a word being said. You turn to slide out Santiago’s side but he hasn’t moved. You think he’s having second thoughts about going in with this ridiculous costume.

“Listen if you don’t want to wear the ears -.” He cuts you off with his fingers placed gently on your lips. He smiles wide as if channeling his character for the night as he trails them down along your jaw. His other hand is wrapped around your shoulder teasing the top of your sweetheart neckline.

You’re already one edge with this being the most physical contact you’ve had in weeks. He leans in placing feather light kisses along your neck as his hand makes its way further down. He traces the path Ben once did as he lifts your skirt higher, his firm grip on the inside of your thigh when he bites down gently on your pulse point.

You don’t miss the way he chuckles in your ear as you shudder a breath when he drags his fingers along the seam of your panties nearly soaked from just the anticipation.

“I figured it out a couple days ago.” He rasps into your ear as he continues teasing. You’re trying to focus on his words but you think you could come like this from his barely there touch. “You told us we needed to learn how to share.”

In reality this is your fault, it was your suggestion after all when date nights kept overlapping. They never made you feel bad or acted jealous of one another, but you couldn’t help but think how unfair it was to split your time so often.

“We could all go on a group date?”

“We already have group dates, sweetheart.”

“Yes… but I mean it doesn’t have to end with the date.”

That was months ago and you thought he had all but forgotten or maybe he suggested it and no one else was down for it. Either way you dropped it until you realized you’ve been tricked. Santiago knew he had to raise the steaks in order to agree to this and you fell right for it.

“You have a few hours to decide what you want to do. Just say the word and we’ll leave.” You’re speechless as he withdraws his hand and it’s as if a bucket of cold water was dumped on your head. The humid air as he opens the door is a stark contrast to your chilled exterior.

“Alice?” He’s standing next to the door ajar with his hand out to help you down, you quickly smooth down your skirt as you grip his hand and hop down.

‘Every adventure requires a first step.’ Cheshire cat

****

It’s not that you aren’t having fun…it’s just you can’t stop thinking about what’s to come-no pun intended. After introductions everyone instinctually split up. Frankie roped into schmoozing with his boss while Ben found a partner to play beer pong, some jock dressed as Ken seemed fitting for the younger miller.

Santiago had made eyes at you when you saw him cornered by Barbie, there wasn’t a jealous bone in your body as you watched the poor girl talking his ear off as he stalked you like his prey. He teased you enough for you to let him flounder his way out of the conversation. If there was anything he hated more in this world it was pretending to be interested in a topic he could care less about.

You were plenty buzzed as you wandered aimlessly through this extravagant house, the furniture and fixtures much too gaudy for your preference .Gold plated frames lined the walls as you climbed the spiral staircase to explore the upstairs. You drag your fingers along the banister as you stare up at the three tier chandelier above the entryway.Apparently running a private helicopter business paid very well…unfortunately money didn’t buy good taste.

Your eyes are drawn to the red carpet lining the hallway as you peak into the first room on the left. A large Victorian bed with a gold frame is in the middle of the room. Next to it is a floor to ceiling mirror with a slightly beveled curve, the room in its reflection is a little distorted as you lean in further gripping the door handle to keep yourself steady.

Either you’ve had too much to drink or the floor is caving in. Strong hands grip your waist just as you’re prepared to meet face to face with the awful carpet. The wind is nearly knocked out if you as your back is met with a hard surface and you feel like your head is in a tailspin as you’re whipped around to meet your savior.

You’re met with the soft chocolate brown eyes of Frankie as he walks you backwards further into the room. The smirk on his face as he raises his eyebrows at you because surely he caught you snooping about his boss’s house while you were supposed to be enjoying the party.

“Find what you were looking for Alice?” His eyes roamed up and down your body as he stopped you just before the foot of the bed.

You realize you haven’t spoken in awhile as you try to answer and manage a squeak. You clear your throat slightly embarrassed after being caught and scramble for any words to come to mind. It doesn’t help when he’s looking at you that way or when he presses against you with his arm caging you in. You can feel his arousal through the thin fabric of your dress as he cups your ass pulling you impossibly closer to him.

He leans in and you close your eyes waiting for a kiss that never comes as he drops down to his knees. His fingers dip into the waistband of your panties as he slides them down your thighs. A soft whimper of his name leaves your lips and the thought of someone walking in is completely drowned out in your horny brain when all you can think about is his deft tongue working you open on no doubt his boss’s bed.

He taps your leg silently instructing you to step out of them as he balls it up in his fist and places it in his pocket. His breath is hot on your stomach through the fabric as you place your hands on his shoulders for purchase. You’re trying to be patient but you’re pulled taught after the teasing from Santiago in the car.

An inaudible whine leaves your mouth as he stands again and places a soft kiss to your forehead. “Shh it’s gonna be ok.” It most certainly won’t be.

“Frankie, where are you going?” The look on his face says isn’t it obvious as he grabs your hand and makes his way towards the door without an answer.”

“Frankie…where’s your hat?” He points to the standard oil cap as if that’s the one you were asking about as you huff out in frustration.

They are having way too much fun.

****

When you finally returned to the party Ken had decidedly had enough of Barbie flirting with Santiago and ditched Ben.

Ben managed to find someone he could talk to about his upcoming fights and Will was still nowhere to be found. Frankie and Santi looked like they were having a serious conversation in the kitchen and their eyes on you were suddenly too much. You needed some fresh air as you stepped out on the back deck. Of course there seemed to be no place that wasn’t occupied with guests, as you say your excuse me’a and make your way down the steps to find a modicum of privacy.

The smokey sweet aroma of tobacco and chocolate permeates your senses as you follow the trail coming from around the house. Will is leaned back, head against the wall with one leg propped up as he stares up at the rings disappearing into the clear night sky.

He holds out his hand and you hesitate, you’re not sure you could take anymore moments of being brought to the edge…but it’s Will. His large calloused hand takes yours as he pulls you into his chest making you face out. You sigh into the warmth and you’re enveloped by his cologne and the smell of the cigar.

“How are you feeling Honey?” Honestly…like you’re all trying to kill me.

“I’m fine.” He tsks under his breath as he kisses your neck, he breathes in deep as if you’re having the same affect on him as they are on you.

“I don’t like that answer…you tell me if you don’t want to do this.” Always the one to check in with you, he’s so sweet even when his own resolve is breaking.

You doubt he’s expecting your next move when you spin in his arms and grip him by the collar of his shirt as you crash your lips to his.The taste of tobacco and mint fresh on his tongue. He’s lost momentarily as he moans into the kiss, not caring about who could come around this corner at any moment. You pull away, reveling in the way he chases after you. His hooded lids staring you down as you brush your thumb along his swollen pink lips.

“I want to do this, I just don’t think I can take anymore teasing baby.” Will’s a private man so your pet names are reserved for your private moments, but you can see the moonlight luminate in his eyes as the blue practically disappears.

“Come on Honey, all you had to do was ask.” You scoff at that as he yanks your hand and practically runs you up the back steps back into the house.

When you enter the kitchen Benny,Frankie and Santi are all standing in the corner with knowing looks on their face and Will signals it’s time to go.

Santi and Frankie are out the door before you can blink as you pull back slightly in Will's grasp. “Shouldn’t Frankie say bye to his boss?”

“No time sweetheart, we’re late for a very important date.”

“Seriously Will, you’re going to steal my only line.” Ben skips along in front of you both as you exit the grandiose home.

“You had all night to use it, it’s not my fault you’re too slow.”

****

You thought you would’ve been more nervous or feel unprepared but it seems as you lay out completely exposed on Santiago’s bed as you try and keep track of the hands all over you, it sends a surge of confidence through you.

Santiago had taken control right away, the guys already had some sort of plan hatched out as you could’ve guessed by the way they were silently communicating every step.

The ride home was less than romantic as they went over your safe word and hard no’s. That shifted as soon as Frankie pinned you against the front door, too impatient to wait any longer before touching you as he unzipped your dress leaving it in a pool of fabric beneath you.

He knelt down on the floor, raising your leg over his shoulder as you gripped on tight to his soft curls. Your panties lost in one of his pockets earlier left easier access to you as he licked a stripe through your wet folds. Your head hits the door as you try to stay standing, already so worked up from before.

You’re a whimpering mess as Frankie works you open like a man starved. “You always taste so good hermosa.”

“Frank!” Santi reappears in the entryway naked and hard, looking as though he’s gonna spit fire.

“What?” You’d laugh if you weren’t so close to your first climax of the night as his nose nudged your clit.

“Bedroom?!” He sighs into you sending a chill up your spine as he fights against every urge to ignore Pope and continue his ministrations. He looks up at you almost apologetically as he places a kiss on each thigh.

****

“Fuck baby that feels so good.” Will’s grip is tight in your hair as he works his cock deeper down your throat. You can’t manage more than a whine as you try to focus on Santi thrusting behind you, slamming you further onto Will's cock with every switch of his hips.

“Do you have any idea how good you look right now?” Frankie pants beside you as Ben works his hand up and down Frankie’s length.

The praise and attention has you keening as you arch back into Santi’s chest. His hand on your hip is sure to leave a bruise as he pounds into you relentlessly. He’s close, he can tell you are too as you clench him tighter and moan out his name.

“Santi, I can’t.” You’ve lost count on how many times you’ve come. On Frankie’s tongue, on Will's fingers. When you were sitting on Bennys lap with Santi’s face buried in your cunt, you thought you were close to passing out.

“Tell me what you need.” You’ve never seen Santi as sweet or gentle as you have when he was methodically taking you apart.

You weren’t sure they heard when you whispered more. Santi was sure he heard you loud and clear as he asked if you were sure. Your pathetic mule as you chase his hips was all the answer he needed as he slowly pulled out of you. He gives a silent signal to Frankie as he replaces Will's spot on the bed.

Frankie’s wrecked, his own orgasm held off this entire time in anticipation for this. His sweat slicked curls cling to his face as he guides your hips above his throbbing erection. He grips the base of his cock as he slides the tip through your swollen folds. As you sink down onto him he moans in unison with you as a cold sensation meets your other hole. Santi smears the lube around your sensitive nub with his thumb and he nearly chokes at the way you push back onto it.

“Stop teasing Santiago.” Frankie rasps out between muttered curses as he bucks his hips into you.

Santi is a tease but at this moment he can’t hold on much longer. Your grip on Frankie tightens as Santi prods your entrance, the tip just barely in almost has you seeing stars. Will’s behind Santi working his length as he watches him pick up his pace. Ben’s lips are on yours as he reaches between you to rub slow circles on your clit. “Oh fuck…oh my god.”

“I need you to come cariño.” Santi grits out behind you as his hips start to stutter.

Frankie plants his feet in the mattress as he pounds up into you, a lewd moan leaves your lips as you cling to someone’s hand. Benny singing sweet praises in your ear of how good you’re doing as your body heaves and your heart threatens to pound out of your chest.

The smallest sound leaves your mouth as you cease up in pleasure, it rolls over you in waves as they both stutter their hips spilling into, the only sounds in the room are moans and pants as you collapse into a puddle in the middle of the bed.

You come too with concerned faces surrounding you as Will cleans you up gently with a damp towel.

“I told you, you went too hard.”

“Me…I’m not the one who made her come three times.”

Ben notices your blissed out face as you suppress a giggle. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. His dopey smile is on full display as the other men bicker behind him.

“You ready for round two Honey?”

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

@csarab615 @syrupsstuff @ghostslillady @uudelally @onefinnedwonder-fm @thedreadandthefugitivemind @romanarose @scarletthefierce @heather1482 @pikapuff-316

#frankie morales x reader #frankie x f!reader x santiago #triple frontier boys x reader #tf poly x reader #will miller x female reader #benny miller x frankie morales #benny miller x reader #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fanfic #kinktober 2023 #santiago garcia x francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier boys #pimowrites #santiago garcia smut #triple frontier x you

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pedge-page · 4 months

Text

Sharing is Caring - Series

Frankie Morales x F!Reader, featuring triple frontier boys (Will, Benny, and Santiago)

Summary: Frankie has established a Free Use kink with you--and he's excited to extend that to his friends. So much so that he's willing to let them help make your family grow.

Overall Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, free use, group sex, fivesome, eventual pregnancies, breeding kink, exhibitionism, cucking, infertility

* contains explicit content 18+ ONLY

1. Happy Hour *

2. Appetizer *

3. Four Course Meal *

4. Dessert *

5. Leftovers *

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 8 months

Text

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Synopsis - They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to four guys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the boys told you they loved you.

Pairing - Frankie Morales, Will Miller, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller x Female Reader.

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - is it weird that I have sort of compared each boy to a room in the house? maybe! but we're rolling with it, because it worked in my head. this is the first of a few fics like this, much like Tethered, Time and Tranquility - I have a few different TF boy comparison ideas. love these babies so much. <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You follow the laughter floating down the hallway into your backyard. Standing against the doorframe, you watch as the boys double over in amusement while Benny reenacts the time Frankie fell in your pool. Their faces are illuminated by the golden glow of the fairy lights adorning your deck, moonlight shining down.

"And none of you helped me! Hermosa had to come and rescue me! At least I know who loves me the most," Frankie chuckles, tilting back in his chair to catch your eyes.

You make your way over and kiss him on the cheek, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I don't think there was ever any debating that. You've always been my favourite," you coo, ruffling his hair gently.

"Give us a break," Benny teases. "We all know I'm your favourite, sweetheart."

Santiago scoffs and jabs Ben in the ribs, yelping when the younger man elbows him in retaliation.

"Cariño, put them out of their misery. Tell them I'm your favourite."

You catch eyes with Will, who's grinning at you across the table. He doesn't even have to say anything. He raises his eyebrows and winks at you, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. You can't help but smile back.

"I mean, Will is currently very high on the list, because he built this table for me today."

Everyone groans as you and Will laugh, knocking on the table to check his handiwork.

"You did a good job," Frankie praises, kicking at a leg to see if it holds.

"I built your couch!"

"You can't build a couch, Ben."

"He did! It needed assembling!"

Benny blows you a kiss, thanking you for the assist.

"I did most of the painting," Santiago chimes in.

"Until your weak ass knees gave in," Frankie laughs.

Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.

"Me and Hermosa tiled her bathroom. That took fucking forever."

"Frankie, I told you that I'd call a guy for that, and you told me you were the guy."

"You can't tell me those tiles aren't gorgeous."

You shrug, squeezing him tight.

"You're right. They are. I admire them everytime I shower."

"Ooo, tell us more," Benny teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Pervert," you and Will say in unison, both shaking your heads.

You settle into the chair next to Frankie, popping the cap off your beer.

"I honestly don't think I'd have any furniture without you guys. This house wouldn't be a home if it wasn't for you."

All of their attention is on you, focusing as if you're the only girl in the world. You feel like it sometimes, when you're all together.

"I can't believe you've been moved in for an entire year," Santi muses. "Feels like only yesterday we were helping you unpack all those boxes."

"Time flies when you're having fun," you beam at him.

As the evening settles and the sun begins its descent, you start to think about just how many parts of the boys live in your house. The furniture, the paint, the lights. At least one of them helped you with basically every single element. You think of all the memories filled with happiness and laughter that have happened here over the last year, and your eyes well with tears. You meant what you said, earlier. Your house wouldn't be a home without them.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Living Room. Benny.

You're tangled with Ben on your newly assembled couch, a cheesy romcom acting as background noise. We have to test it out, he'd said. Just in case.

So here you are, nestled into his side, strong arm slung over your shoulder to pull you closer. You sip your drink, paying virtually no mind to the movie. You're making a mental list of all of the things you still need to do for the house - tile the bathroom, buy a lawnmower, paint literally every room. But the couch is a start.

"I can hear the cogs turning in that brain of yours," he laughs, pinching your side. "We're supposed to be relaxing. You know, really getting a feel for the couch."

"Right, right. Sorry," you chuckle, nudging him with your shoulder in retaliation. "Just thinking about all of the shit I've gotta do."

"Hey, we've got plenty of time. And you've got four guys ready to do whatever needs to be done. There's no rush."

Exhaling loudly, you realise he's right. There is no rush. Yes, you may have a never ending list of things you need to get done, but there's no time limit. You can take each job as it comes.

You turn your attention back to the movie, discovering that it's actually half decent. By the time you're an hour into it, you and Benny are laughing along. It's a sweet coming of age story, two teenagers falling in love for the first time.

You watch as the two characters share a kiss, all clumsy hands and unsure touches. You smile, and start to think.

"This bringing back memories, Ben?" you tease.

"Oh yeah. First time I ever made out with a girl, I couldn't get her bra undone. I was trying to give her a hickey at the same time, and I snapped the clasp against her so hard I made her bleed. Safe to say, we didn't make out again."

Both of you are crying with laughter, vibrating the couch with it.

"I can see the image so clearly. Teenage Ben with his frosted tips and his puka shell necklace. Bet you broke some hearts, huh?"

"Shut up," he chuckles. "I got tonnes of girls back then."

"I'm sure you did," you joke, pinching his cheeks.

He pinches your thigh and pulls you closer, settling back into the cushions.

"You know, I've never had one," you say after a while.

"Had what?"

"A hickey."

Ben pulls away and turns to face you, looking at you incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Never got one as a teenager. Now I'm a grown ass adult, I always warn my partners not to leave marks. Guess I just missed out on the whole hickey thing."

Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.

"You want one?"

You quirk your brow and turn your body towards him, putting some distance between you to look at him properly.

"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"

He laughs, and the sound makes you smile so wide it's blinding.

"No games, baby."

"No?"

"I believe getting a hickey as a teenager and having to figure out how to cover it up in embarrassment is a rite of passage. And I'm weirdly sad you missed out on it. So, I'm offering to give you that experience."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Exactly. Because I am a kind, selfless, giving guy."

You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laugh. "Show me what you've got, makeout king."

He chuckles at the nickname, but grabs your thighs to pull you closer. Benny plants a knee between your legs and leans over you, using a strong hand to hold onto your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, and brace yourself for his lips.

Instead, he takes his time. He noses up your neck, and then traces the path with the tip of his tongue. He blows onto your heated skin, making you shiver. Humming at your reaction, he leans in again, and connects his lips to the spot underneath your ear, kissing it softly.

"Benny," you breathe. "Don't tease."

"Whatever you want, baby."

Benny picks a spot on the side of your neck and sucks. When he's satisfied, he grazes his teeth over the mark, and uses his tongue to soothe the sting. Your eyes roll back, and you cant your hips into his knee between your legs.

You both lose yourself in the moment, chests heaving and breath panting. You separate yourselves to look at one another for a moment, neither of you breaking the gaze.

Suddenly, you burst into a fit of laughter, unable to stop it escaping. Within seconds, Benny joins you. Before you know it, you're both crying tears of joy, sides hurting and abs aching.

"Oh shit," you choke out between giggles. "How the fuck am I gonna cover this up?"

"That's half the fun, baby!"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking his side. "You're the worst."

"I love you too," he grins. "You're the best."

And when the rest of the guys ask what happened the next day, you and Benny discover that you make good improv partners. No one questions your elaborate story involving the couch and a runaway screwdriver. Benny winks at you cheekily, and you can't help but smile.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Bathroom. Frankie.

Repeated knocking at your front door breaks you out of your reality TV induced haze. You check your phone for the time. 8:34pm.

You swing it open to be met with the sight of Francisco Morales. He has Ava perched on his hip, fluffy pink backpack held in his other hand.

"Hey, you guys. You okay?"

"Hermosa, I'm so sorry for just dropping in with no warning. I have a favour to ask."

"Anything."

"Can I bathe Ava here? We're having some sort of plumbing emergency in our bathroom, and we can't get a guy out until tomorrow. I want her to have clean hair for when I take her back to her Mom's."

You wink at Ava, who sticks her tongue out at you cheekily. You mimic her and smile, glancing back to her Dad, who looks like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders.

"Of course you can," you assure, reaching over to grab Ava from Frankie's arms. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you clean!"

Frankie exhales a sigh of relief, and follows the two of you upstairs, locking the door behind him.

"Frank, did you bring shampoo and stuff, or shall we just use mine?"

He unzips the backpack and pulls out a couple of bottles.

"I have shampoo, and conditioner, but no body wash or anything."

You root around in your cabinet, finding a bottle with a label that contains words like sensitive and hypoallergenic.

"Vanilla and chamomile. Is that satisfactory for you, my princess?" you tease, grinning when Ava beams at you at the nickname.

You turn the water on and start to run the bath, trying to ignore the way you can feel Frankie's eyes on you as you bend over the tub.

"Bubbles, or no bubbles?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Right. Stupid question."

"These tiles are hideous," Frankie says from behind you.

"Thank you, Frank. Appreciate it," you tease. "I'm gonna call a guy about getting it all retiled."

"What?"

"Don't call a guy!"

"Why not?"

"I'll do it."

You look at him in confusion, before realising he's very serious.

"Do you... know how?"

"Hermosa, it's not rocket science. We can figure it out together."

You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.

"Okay. As long as you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't."

You smile at him before leaving and disappearing downstairs for a minute, trusting Frankie to watch the water.

"Where did you go?" he asks on your return.

"I just put a towel in the dryer, so it's warm when she gets out of the tub."

Frankie steps over to you and cradles your face in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He's always been good at that - saying so much without saying a word.

"Princesa, you need help?" you ask, laughing as she struggles, head stuck in her shirt.

Soon enough, Ava's sat happily in all the bubbles, splashing around in the warm water. You and Frankie sit on the floor next to the tub, legs tangled and bodies pressed together. You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you.

"Thank you for this. Seriously. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"It's no problem, Frankie. I love seeing her. Wish I saw her more."

"Me too," he says quietly.

You look up at him, and grab his chin so he meets your eyes.

"You're a damn good Dad, Francisco Morales."

He goes to protest, but you cut him off.

"You are. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You're doing a good job. I mean, look at her. She's happy, she's healthy, she loves you so much. What more could you ask for?"

Frankie stares at you for a moment.

"You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," he laughs, dipping his hand into the bath water to splash you. You splash him back, and before you know it, the three of you are completely soaked. Completely happy.

You eventually get around to cleaning Ava's hair, shampooing and conditioning as carefully as you can. She loves the fact she gets to use your body wash, and slathers herself in it, making you both smile.

You wrap her in the dryer warm towel and sit her in your lap on the floor, rocking gently as she snuggles into your chest. Frankie pulls you both against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The three of you sit for a while, peaceful and content.

"I know I don't tell you enough," Frankie murmurs. "But I love you."

"You tell me everyday, Frankie."

"I do?"

"You don't always have to say it out loud, but I know. The way you smile at me across a room, the way you always have one eye on me when we're in public, the way you trust me with Ava. You tell me you love me in a million different ways, every single day."

"I love you," he says again, surer this time.

"I love you. Both of you. So much."

When Ava falls asleep in both of your arms, you convince them to stay the night. The next day, she can't stop telling everyone about the best sleepover ever, with her Dad and her best friend.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Kitchen. Santiago.

You're completely in your own world. An upbeat, catchy melody hums from the radio and radiates around the room as you slide across the tiles in your socks. You grab your mixing bowl from the cabinet, picking up the bottle of vanilla extract too.

Your hips are swaying, head nodding, feet tapping along to the beat. The sunlight is beaming through the kitchen window, keeping the room bright and warm. There's flour covering every possible surface, sugar sprinkled over the counters. An array of bowls, cups and spoons litter the worktops - a visual representation of your efforts. You've barely even began baking, only just having measured your ingredients. You've set yourself up for an entire day of preparation, ready for the exciting occasion.

You're humming away to yourself, completely oblivious, when two hands plant themselves on your hips from behind. You shriek and throw your elbow backwards, connecting with the person's ribs. You spin around to face your attacker, only to be met with the sight of Santiago Garcia hunched over.

"Fuck!" he groans, clutching at his side.

"Shit! Santi, fuck. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Welcome home to me, I guess," he laughs breathlessly.

"Are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, Santi. I thought you were an intruder or something. You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow!"

He smirks slowly, before winking at you.

"Surprise."

You finally calm your rapid heartbeat down enough to register what's happening. You grin at him, before running and jumping into his arms, holding onto him as tight as possible.

"I missed you so much," he breathes into your hair. "Four months is too long."

"I've been counting down the days," you whisper into his neck. "We all have."

He finally puts you down to take a good look at you.

"You look good, cariño. This dress is real pretty."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He knows what.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"

He laughs, twinkle in his eye. The sun has kissed his skin while he's been away. He looks tanned, glowy, alive.

"Last time you looked at me like that, we ended up naked in your hot tub."

"Good times, huh?"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking him on the arm.

Santi looks around, and takes in the scene before him. Ingredients scattered, bowls full, oven preheated.

"What are you making, cariño?"

You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.

"Nothing."

He smiles, Cheshire cat style.

"Nothing? You've measured everything out. The oven is on."

You're trying to figure out a way to cover this up, to make up a lie as fast as possible, but it's no use. He can see right through you. You might as well be transparent when it comes to the boys.

"I'm making you a cake," you mutter quickly under your breath.

"What was that? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes and scoff, but give him what he wants.

"I'm making you a cake."

He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.

"You are?"

"Yeah. I wanted to do something special for you coming home. Tomorrow."

"Sorry, cariño. I didn't know I was coming back early. Thought I'd make the most of it and surprise you."

"Well, now your surprise cake and your surprise party aren't a surprise anymore."

"There's a party too?"

"Shit."

The two of you laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulder.

"Thank you, cariño. You didn't have to do all this for me."

"I wanted to. I'm so excited that you're back, Santi. There's so much I've missed doing with you."

"I made a list."

"Of?"

"Of things I wanted to do with you when I got back. It's what kept me going - thinking of going to that lunch spot with the sandwiches we like, our annual road trip to Cali. It kept me sane."

You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean up and press your forehead to his, both of you exhaling. You stay tangled together for a long moment, enjoying each others long awaited company.

"You know what was on the top of my list, though?"

"What?"

"Painting your goddamn kitchen."

You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."

"It's not that bad."

"It's terrible."

"Fine, fine! Whatever you want, Santi. You can paint my kitchen if that's what your heart desires."

"It is," he grins. "I can think of nothing I want more. We'll do it this weekend."

"Okay," you smile. "Now, about this cake..."

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of nothing I want more."

"I love you," he tells you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone.

"I love you too. So much, Santi."

The two of you spend the afternoon baking Santiago's cake, singing and dancing around the kitchen. You turn a blind eye to him licking the spoon and sticking his fingers in the icing. You're just glad to have him back, annoying you again.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Bedroom. Will.

"Can you pass me that screwdriver please, honey?"

You would, but you can't take your eyes off the man currently kneeling on your bedroom floor. His chest is glistening with sweat, warm in the morning sun. The light illuminates the room in balmy hues of gold, shadows dancing across your faces.

You and Will agreed to dedicate today to building all of your flat pack furniture. You've been sleeping on the floor for weeks, and it's finally taken a toll on your back. So, Will showed up bright and early, ready to tackle your bed, dresser, nightstands, desk, and whatever else presented itself. You were barely awake, still in your pyjamas, sleep heavy in your veins. But the sight of Will, toolbox in hand and smile on his face? That's enough to motivate anyone to assemble furniture all day.

"Honey?"

"Shit, sorry. The green one?"

"Please."

He smirks at you like he's reading your dirty thoughts. He probably is, knowing him. If anyone you knew turned out to be telepathic, it'd be Will. You're convinced he was some sort of psychic in a past life.

"You okay over there?"

"Yeah, I'm good. You need a hand?"

"Come hold this up for me while I screw it in."

You shuffle over to sit next to him, leaning over to hold the piece he's gesturing towards. He's trying desperately not to look down your shirt, and you're trying desperately to ignore the way he smells like heaven.

"C'mere," he murmurs under his breath, scooting backwards so you can get closer to the bed frame. He grabs your hips and pulls you so you're sat between his legs, holding onto the wood steadily. He wraps his arms around you from behind and gets to drilling, placing the screws in perfect rows.

Every now and again, he stops to press a kiss into your hair, or onto your cheek. You smile every single time, heat creeping across your chest. He eventually changes his path, trailing the kisses down onto your neck, shoulders, back. You're breathing so heavily you wonder if you're about to pass out.

"I like this colour," he whispers into your ear.

It takes a moment for your mind to register what he said.

"...Hmm?"

"The colour on your walls. I like it."

"Oh," you murmur. "Santi helped me pick it. He was only gonna do the kitchen, but then we were on a roll, so we ended up painting every room in the house."

He chuckles, tightening his arms around you and encouraging you to relax. You lean back into him, resting your head on his firm shoulder.

"This place is really beautiful, you know," he says lowly. "It's so... you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"The best thing. Beautiful house for a beautiful girl."

"You're a smooth talker, Miller."

"I learned from the best."

The two of you sit intertwined for a while, reveling in the comfort the other person brings. After a while, Will speaks.

"Okay, strong girl, you wanna help me put the mattress onto it?"

You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.

"I mean, I could do it single handedly... but sure, I'll help you."

"That's my girl."

You both make light work of the mattress, picking it up and throwing it onto the frame effortlessly. Will helps you put on your sheets and pillows, standing back to admire his handiwork.

"We did a good job."

"You did a good job, Will. I just sat over there and stared at you the whole time."

"Thought I felt eyes on me," he laughs.

You don't know where it comes from, the sudden honesty. It creeps up your throat out of nowhere, clawing to escape.

"I'm always looking at you."

Will turns to look at you, confusion written across his face.

"No matter where we are, or what we're doing. The most interesting thing in the room is always you."

His features soften, gentle smile tugging at his lips. He strides towards you and cradles your face in his big hands.

"I love you," he tells you so sincerely it makes you want to cry.

"I love you, William Miller. My love for you is just so... overwhelming. Some days I just want to scream it from the rooftops. I don't know what else to do with it."

"Give it to me," he says without missing a beat.

"What?"

"All the love. Don't throw it into the abyss. Give it to me. I want it."

You grin at him, a bright, blinding thing. He reciprocates, before leaning down and smashing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your knees give out from the sheer love he's kissing you with, both of you tumbling to the floor.

You pull his shirt over his head, exposing his gorgeous, sun soaked skin. He's so broad it makes you clench your thighs together. He tugs your shirt off and throws it across the room, paying no mind to where it lands. The two of you don't separate your lips for more than a second.

He's rutting his hips into yours, the friction making you dizzy. You try and push his jeans down, fingers fumbling with the button. He takes pity on you and shoves them down himself, adding them to the pile of clothes scattered across the room.

Will wastes no time, throwing his boxers behind him and pulling your underwear down your legs. He pushes into you with effortless ease, both of you ready and eager. You unanimously groan in relief, panting rapidly. You claw at his shoulders, leaning up to connect your lips.

"I love you," he whispers against your mouth, hips gliding into yours.

"I love you," you gasp, resting your forehead against his. "I love you I love you I love you."

Will slides a hand down your body to rub quick circles between your legs, dipping his tongue into your mouth as he does it. He's swallowing your moans, licking the whines from your lips. He can't get over how sweet they taste.

"Come for me, honey. Give it to me, good girl. That's it. Atta girl."

You back arches off the floor, nails scratching down his back. Your vision goes white, stars clouding your view. Will groans, deep and low, spilling into you. You both ride out your highs while Will murmurs sweet sentiments into your ear, against your skin, into your mouth.

He collapses onto you, smothering you with his weight. You don't mind. Every part of your body is touching a part of his, and it still isn't close enough. It'll never be close enough. You could sew yourself into his ribcage, and you'd still want to be closer to his heart.

The only sounds that can be heard are two sets of heaving lungs. When you've snapped back to reality, you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails across his scalp and smiling when he leans into your touch.

"Will?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Why did you just build me a bed, and then fuck me on the floor?"

He takes a moment to register what you've said, before breaking out into contagious laughter. He's vibrating against you, both of you high on each others company.

"I didn't even think," he wheezes. "Fuck, we're idiots."

"You can say that again," you chuckle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Will rolls off and lies next to you, linking his fingers with yours.

"You ready to keep building?"

As much as you'd happily stay where you are forever, it would be nice to have actual furniture in your bedroom.

"Let's do it," you say as you sit up.

You scramble around for your clothes, both of you beaming at each other as you get dressed. You walk over and wrap your arms around his neck, looking up at him.

"I can't wait for you to move in."

He grins at you, pecking your lips.

"I can't wait either. Two more months and my lease is up. Then you're stuck with me forever, honey."

"I wouldn't say stuck. More like the luckiest girl in the world."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," you laugh, grabbing the toolbox. "Let's build our furniture, shall we?"

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"You've made this place really beautiful, you guys."

"Beautiful house for a beautiful girl," Will grins at you across the table.

"Ugh, I hate when they do that," Benny complains.

"Do what?"

"Look at each other like that. It's like they're communicating through their minds, or something."

"We're silently talking about you, dipshit," Will teases, jabbing his brother in the side.

"Before the Millers kill each other, we bought you a present, hermosa. Think of it as a one year housewarming gift."

Frankie hands you a large rectangular parcel, wrapped carefully. You rip open the paper, discovering a large, ornate picture frame. In it, is your favourite picture in the world.

You and Will's first dance.

Frankie had taken the picture, unbeknownst to the two of you. You're both swaying to the music, arms wrapped around your husband's neck, completely lost in each other. Around you, the lights twinkle as your closest friends and family look on in awe.

"Frankie," you breathe. "Thank you. All of you. I love it so much."

"We thought you could hang it above your fireplace," Santiago offers. "In that big empty space."

"It's perfect," Will agrees.

"It's like the final piece of the puzzle," you whisper. "Now our home feels complete."

You trace your fingers over the frame, overwhelmed with adoration for the four boys staring back at you.

"I love you all," you tell them, glancing around the table. "So much."

"Love you, hermosa."

"Love you too, cariño."

"Love ya, baby!"

"I love you, honey."

The chorus makes you beam so bright, you're convinced your smile can be seen from space.

@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld

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campingwiththecharmings · 23 days

Text

okay so, i'm hella behind on reading, and for some reason it's so fucking hard for me to find time/energy to read much these days, but i still want to highlight at least some of the fics i've been able to read so, i'll be doing fic recs quarterly this year instead of monthly. hope y'all enjoy 🪷💜

**please be sure to read any/all warnings attached to recommended fics prior to reading**

🔥 - explicit/mature content

PART ONE (bc tumblr is being a bitch and won't let me post all of them in one post)

Star Wars

Seeds of Love (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @moonlight-prose

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[FIC RECS PART TWO]

#poe dameron x reader #nathan bateman x reader #santiago garcia x reader #frankie morales x reader #will miller x reader #benny miller x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #blue jones x reader #llewyn davis x reader #basil stitt x reader #leto atreides x reader #fic rec

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intheorangebedroom · 4 months

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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 1

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.

Guilt is a wild trip, but so is desire. How the hell did you end up in this divvy motel? And now, what's next?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 PLEASE, see series masterlist for extensive trigger warnings. Now I'm off to disappear for another month, heehee. To anyone who celebrates anything, happy whatever you celebrate. Ily 🧡

@frannyzooey And to you, Kelli… Thank you 🧡 Thank for your help on this chapter, without you it wouldn’t exist. Arguably, without you I wouldn’t exist (my gothic ass) and without you I would certainly not be writing at all. You’re the kindest, most generous, most beautiful person I’ve ever met, you shine so brightly and I love you more than all the Frankies from all the universes put together 🧡✨

Word count: 6.5k

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Chapter 1: Dirt

Guilt, you’re about to find out, is an interesting feeling.

A viscous, gluey business that sticks to your skin and clings to your frame. It’s a prickling tickle under your armpits, a rigidity in your legs. It’s a tightness in your shoulders, and it pulls on your face. It has a density, and it’s tangible, not only do you feel it, you see it in every mirror, every reflective surface.

A pervasive, shape-shifting torment that unfurls gradually, and comes in many colorful shades, when you begin to take in the gravity and the ramifications of your actions.

The first wave is darkened by fear, black as petrol, trickling down your insides when he says his name.

Frankie.

Like an invitation, an opening. Gaping, abysmal, pulling you in and you remain silent, struggling on the edge of it, grasping for balance. Drawn in, but too stunned to let go and dive in yet.

It’s a violent crimson, next, shame creeping over you when you walk back inside the bar to retrieve your purse.

Facing Mark is difficult, but talking to him is beyond your strength. You gesture toward the handbag waiting for you on the other side of the counter. He hands it to you in appraising silence, judgmental, surely, and you smile, or you wince, you can’t even tell. With shaky hands, you fumble inside it for your wallet, his green gaze strained on your face.

You know that your entire appearance gives away the narrative of what just took place in the back lot of his establishment. Your face is flushed, your lips swollen, your hair undone. Your clothes are rumpled and in his eyes, you will from now on and forever be this woman.

After what feels like several minutes, he takes pity on you, and reiterates his offer. You’re good, he says. Sweetheart. The first pint’s on him.

You don’t stay long enough for a second drink, however.

Back outside into the muggy night, you crumble onto the passenger seat of your car. The polyester lining of your skirt clings to the bare skin at the back of your thighs, damp with sweat and what is left of your inconsequential desire, and you feel appallingly filthy, bone-deep disgusting.

Guilt washes over you in blue waves of regret, welling under your eyelids when you notice that the red truck is gone. And with it, the gaping, abysmal possibilities of another you, reinvented with him.

The shaking starts as you’re driving, trembling hands gripping the steering wheel. A brutal, chilling comedown, guilt experienced in bright and blinding yellow at the belated realization of your betrayal.

How easily, how rapidly you forgot, trapped under Frankie’s gaze, coming undone between Frankie’s hands, that your life isn’t truly yours. That it has never been. You’re not on your own, no matter how much you long to be. You have never been afforded the privilege of independence, nor do you possess the necessary strength to break free from your family.

And who has Frankie betrayed? What faceless, nameless woman has he gone back to? Remorse blends in with envy and resentment, painting green ring-shaped stains in your peripheral vision as you get out of your car and into the lobby of your building.

Eyes to the floor, you step into the elevator, this oversized coffin lined with mirrors reflecting your image with a silent scoff. There’s dust from the gravel on your leather pumps.

Inside your apartment, the clickety-click of your heels on the tiled floor bounces off the walls of your skull. You hate that sound, eminently cold and giving away your presence.

The living-room television is on, probably set to a news channel, most likely broadcasting a financial show in which white men over 50 listen to the sound of their own voice and debate about obscure economical regulations you’re supposed to care about.

Adrian’s already here. Uncharacteristically early. Friday evenings usually mean late night poker or whatever his own excuse is to get away from your cribless home.

Hoping to go unnoticed so as to avoid him, you take off your shoes, but it’s too late. He calls out your name from the kitchen, his intonation surprised but cheerful.

Head hanging low, heartbeat picking up, you make a silent dash for the upstairs bathroom, remorse so pungent you fear no shower can ever wash it off your skin.

Under the scolding high-pressure stream, you scrub your body raw with a soapless loofah, but there is no scrubbing away the feeling of those hands over your skin.

Eyes drifting closed, you lean your forehead against the anthracite marble of your Italian shower, and let your chest heave around a suppressed sob.

Guilt, shame, and remorse are powerless to outweigh your want, undeterred, unabated, unquenched.

Back in the parking lot, it had been a moment before you were able to push away from the side of the truck and stand upright. He stood there, silent and immobile in front of you. Waiting, as if to shield you from the street and the rest of the world. Silence hanging charged and heavy between you, as you wouldn’t offer your name in return.

When you started moving toward the bar’s entrance, he stepped aside, and that’s when your body moved of its own volition. You took his hand in yours, palm against palm, trembling fingers wrapped around his knuckles.

“Can I see you again?” you asked, pleaded, begged. You didn’t recognize your voice.

He swallowed hard, shook his head at you for the third time, and squeezed your hand in his bigger one.

“I don’t think so. You know that’s not a good idea,” he said.

—

Grief settles like dust over the first weeks of September.

You are surprised, almost shocked, to observe how little your life has changed. You get up in the morning, you shower and get dressed, drink coffee, go to work. You attend meetings about maritime trade regulation, sitting at your father’s side, go over endless spreadsheets detailing import-export profit and loss, you pretend to understand them, and you pretend to care, like a pretty human puppet.

You come home at night, skip dinner when you can. You lie in bed next to Adrian. You seek out warmth where there is none. You perform sex without satisfaction.

There has been no question asked. No suspicion, no doubt cast.

You wear the same clothes, drive along the same roads, walk around the same hallways.

And no one seems to notice that you are different. That you experienced imperious want and incandescent pleasure. That you carry a secret. Nestled, dormant and quiet, between your lungs, like a wild and unknown creature.

Whatever part of him you welcomed inside you transformed the hollowed spaces of your existence. It redefined the void, creating a place of your own where to curate your new desires.

His lips on your lips, your body molded into his, and pressed against your hips, an unfulfilled promise for more.

In the palm of your hand, the ghost sensation of Frankie’s hold, now forever gone and lost, and your highlighted loneliness feels like a barless prison. On your own, always, again, to divert the old familiar pain of being you.

Weeks go by. The guilt recedes, and sadness takes its place, like clockwork, like physics. Like a new sort of weight coating your limbs. A nostalgic longing without any object.

In the idle moments of your day, when you’re stuck in traffic, in a meeting, or in a conversation, your mind wanders back to him. The solid slope of his shoulders. The strong span of his back. Muscles bunching up under your grip. His scent, his curls, his taste. An organic trace seared into your being.

His rebuttal, after he’d given you so much, felt less like a rejection than like a refusal to heed a deeply rooted instinct.

His stare was no longer hard and cold. It carried only sorrow and loss.

Does he think of you like you think of him? Does he miss the contact of your skin, or the abandon of your kiss?

Did he walk away from your embrace with something to keep, like you did?

Day after day, summer fades into fall, the change hardly perceptible through the consistently sweltering weather.

Day after day, focusing becomes tricky, finding sleep more and more difficult and your train of thought turns downright maniacal.

Ava’s calls go straight to voicemail.

More often than not, you start drinking as soon as you come home to fence off the tears of exhaustion, hoping Adrian won’t notice. Another line you had promised yourself never to cross, and under the combined effects of the alcohol and the antidepressants, you feel drowsy and dizzy, increasingly disconnected from your reality. A nagging sting settles on the left side of your lower abdomen. But you don’t mind the pain as much as you mind turning into your mother.

Some days, you think you’d like nothing more than to give way, allow yourself to drown into the proven refuge of self-abuse. Whenever you indulge the thought, soothing images spring to mind, oil on canvas, deep green, tender brown. Ophelia, crowned with wild flowers and rings of violets, sleeping peacefully in a shallow stream.

When you finally return to the Hole in the Wall, it’s only with the hope of hindering your impending tailspin.

In the parking, after turning off the ignition, you sit in your car for the whole of five minutes, staring numbly at the dark lot where the red truck had been parked.

Mark’s hesitant greeting puzzles you; by now you have lost most of your ability to read people’s reactions.

You walk to the counter and choose to sit on one of the high stools. Somewhere deep down, you enjoy his distance; you relish the sadistic pleasure of reliving the humiliation you felt standing before him, freshly fucked dumb on a total stranger’s fingers.

Besides, you’ll take the attention, however uncomfortable it may be.

“Long time no see,” Mark says, and you produce a poorly executed smile.

“I don’t know… two weeks? I’ve been busy,” you add as a way of apologizing.

“It’s been a month,” he replies curtly.

You try a brown ale, this time, rich and bitter. He busies himself behind the counter, cleaning and wiping, while you drain your glass in silence. You haven’t eaten all day, and you’re drinking too fast. Nausea laps against your diaphragm. It’s the last missing scene from this scenario: you, throwing up in the toilet of his bar.

You’re considering leaving when he speaks again.

“Trucker hat dude came by.”

Your head shots up and you glare at him, eyes widening under your pinched brow, a new wave of sickness nudging further up. He gauges your face, twirling a towel inside a pint glass, waiting for your answer, but when you give him none, he goes on.

“Did he…” he starts, and his eyes slowly go back and forth between yours, “he didn’t hurt you or anything? Cause if he did, if you wanna press charges, I can—“

“No,” you cut him off, “god no, I’m fine. I’m perfectly ok,” you add unnecessarily when his gaze narrows.

He pauses for a moment, like he’s the only one who can judge if you are, indeed, perfectly ok, before he faces away from you to put back the clean glasses on the lower shelves behind him.

When he’s done, he turns back around, props his hands low on his hips, and for the first time since you’ve entered the place, he stands perfectly still.

“He’s been asking about you.”

Between your lungs, the creature begins to stir.

“He came back,” you say, surprisingly matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Asked if you come here every Friday.”

Piece by piece, your mind starts swiveling, sluggish and blunt after being successfully dulled out by the past couple of weeks of excessive drinking. You picture his tall figure standing in the small bar, perhaps he sat on the stool you’re sitting on now? Did he lift his cap to comb his hair with his fingers before he spoke?

Mark is talking again, and it’s a conscious effort to bring your attention back to his words.

“Asked if you always come on your own. If I know your name.”

“I never told you my name,” you panic, “what did you tell him?”

“I see your name every week on your AmEx Gold, sweetheart, but I kindly told him to go fuck himself,” he scoffs.

His sardonic tone snaps you out of your drifting daydreaming. Your face immediately hardens. You sit up straight, drawing further away from him and he seems to change his mind. He’s softer when he speaks next.

“Look, I don’t know what’s the lowdown between you two, you understand? And anyway, I’m not in the habit of discussing my regulars with just about anyone. That kinda goes against the job’s ethics, you know what I mean?”

You shrug away the rational, albeit patronizing explanation with a huff of annoyance. You feel more alert than you have in weeks.

“When was that?” you ask.

“Last week. Thursday, I think.”

“Shit.”

Mark lets out a heavy sigh, resembling that of an exhausted father, and he opens the cash register.

“He left a note for you.”

—

An address. Written in all caps, black ink on a white piece of paper torn from a lined notebook. No phone number, not date, no time… and no name. Just the address. Under the feeble cabin light of your car, the paper looks old, like it’s been carried around tucked inside a wallet for years, and time has turned it yellow.

The coordinates on the dashboard GPS are identical to the ones on the paper. They were identical back in the parking, at the bar, when you typed them in; they were identical at every single red light you stopped at and checked. And they’re still identical now, glowing in blue letters, cold and synthetic, above the message You have reached your destination.

You raise your head again and stare at the building in front of you.

It’s a motel. One floor, L shaped, slightly sloping roof. With wrought iron details, a porch hanging low and square wooden pillars demarcating each room, nine of them in total. On the right, underneath a bare bulb, a large ice machine gleams like a beacon for lost time-travelers, next to a pay phone with a cut-off cord and a missing receiver. On the rear end of the building, to the left, above what looks like the reception, a 4 feet tall sign spells MOTEL in red neon letters.

At its height, the place probably looked nice. But that was a rough 55, 60 years ago, you estimate. Now it’s nearly derelict, with visible cracks streaking the yellowing walls, several broken drainpipes, and a missing number on the door of room 7.

If you cared about these kinds of things, you’d figure that the diversion of the main road further south is responsible for the motel’s decaying state.

Your attention is elsewhere, as usual. The parking lot is deserted, save for three vehicles. The red truck is here, parked a couple of places away to your right. Engine off. Empty.

The drive here from the Hall in the Wall was nearly an hour long. The car cruised along poorly lit, narrow two-lane roads, lined with luxuriant vegetation, dense and confining in the pitch darkness of the suburban night. You’ve lived in Tampa your entire life and have never set a foot in this part of the Bay Area. Technically, you’re not even in Tampa anymore.

He’s inside one of these rooms, somewhere. Waiting for you, and that thought alone makes your breathing difficult and your hands clammy.

What now? What’s next? Are you supposed to walk up to the reception and ask about him? A tall man wearing a trucker hat? Frankie?

And what will happen, once you’ve found him?

This is ridiculous. Sordid. It’s gone too far, whatever that is. A motel outside of town. The worst possible cliché. The most degrading place.

Between your lungs, the creature is clawing at your chest.

You shift nervously on the creaking leather seat, exhaling long and shaky, no longer repressing the memory of his sturdy fingers curling inside your warmth, of his tongue swirling inside your mouth. The instant intimacy of your furtive encounter, that turning point, when he briefly relinquished his control.

A chorus of voices rumbles like tumbling boulders inside your head, a cacophony of rules and guidelines, tacit and unspoken, ingrained and internalized. But with every passing minute staring at the bright motel sign, your resolve grows surer.

The yellow curtains ripple behind the rectangular window of room number 2 and you quickly pull the key out of the ignition. Grabbing your phone from the dashboard, you stuff it inside your purse, which you slide under the driver's seat.

Eyes locked on the curtains, you make a fast-paced beeline to the door. Around you, the night is bustling with the sounds and noises of the invisible wildlife. Revealing nothing, containing so much.

With a quick rattle of your heels, you step under the porch, hand extended and ready to knock on the door when it opens for you.

Oh he’s broad, so much broader than you even remembered, blocking the entire doorway with his frame, blue jeans, black shirt, and this goddamn hat that’s already haunting your dreams and your nightmares.

Looking down on you, irate, defiant, daring you to push him aside and enter. Behind him, the room is plunged in darkness. Above you, the porch lights cast a warm hue on his face, that fails to soften his expression. The crease between his brow is deeper than your fears.

You take a step closer, on instinct, but he moves to the side as if to avoid any contact with you and you enter the dark bedroom, carried by your momentum.

Guilt will come back to you later, sporadically, in episodes, but for the most part, you forfeit it wholly when you cross the threshold of room number 2.

He closes the door behind you and flicks up the toggle switch near the door frame. Two quaint lampshades blink to life on the headboard, casting a warm, subdued light. There’s no AC, or he hasn’t turned it on, and the atmosphere inside the room is already stifling, charged with his scent.

“Took you long enough. Thought you wanted to see me,” he grunts, and the creature purrs inside your chest.

“I did. I do.”

Stopping in the middle of the room, you turn around to face him. He’s standing tall and firm and mighty, feet planted apart on the carpeted floor, arms crossed over his chest. Yet you note his hands are splayed across his biceps, as if he were attempting to hug himself.

Perhaps that’s when you convince yourself Frankie is not his real name. Somehow, it makes it easier to believe you’re not the object of his ire.

“Your friend didn’t tell you–”

“He’s not my friend,” you interrupt. “I only got your note earlier. Tonight.”

You let the implication sink in and your gaze travels down to the dip at the base of his neck and back up. The square, yellow bedroom provides you with the brightest environment you’ve ever had the leisure of observing him in.

He’s beautiful, stunning, really, with unique and complex features. Almost pretty, but in a reluctant way, as if it was irrelevant to the life he’s chosen and led. His face speaks so loud, washed over by so many emotions, frustration, doubt and anger, and that lingering sadness in his dark eyes that tugs at your heart and twitches your fingers.

“What’s your name?” he asks, tilting his chin in your direction.

Janet Leigh’s face pops up in black and white inside your mind, driving through a curtain of strident violins, skittish eyes flicking between the road ahead of her and the rearview mirror.

“Marion,” you answer, inexplicably.

“Marion,” he repeats, and you know he knows you’re lying.

Unable to hold his gaze, you look away to the side, and he gives you time to take in the surroundings. The medium size bed with a stained, synthetic bedspread, the practical, shipped furniture, an angular chair and a desk surmounted by a rectangular framed mirror, the antique cathodic TV set hanging from the wall in the corner. The brown carpet. The yellow curtains. The painting of the Appalachian.

And whatever your face says then makes him huff.

“Not what you expected? How did you think this was gonna be? How do you think these things go?”

You look at him again, stunned, lost, hurt maybe, that he should recognize you for what you don’t want to be.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before,” you tell him in a small voice.

He shakes his head, like you aimed to wound, and unconsciously, your fingers find your sternum, jittery, anxious to appease this wild creature scrabbling against your rib cage.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head again, or still, “and you shouldn’t be here either, this is bullshit.”

And he’s right, once more, he is right, neither of you should be here. All the lines you walked, all the rules you abided by, meeting expectations and doing as you were told, and you still end up here, on the outskirts of town, in this gloomy motel. Facing this stranger, begging to surrender to him, with your heart in your hand and your life on your lips.

Eyes strained on his, you move closer, cautious, with your palms upward, as if he were to jolt and scurry away if you were too sudden. If you tame him, perhaps you will tame the wild creature between your lungs as well.

Drawn to his skin, you brush the tips of your fingers along his bicep, and the taut muscle thrums under the freckled, tanned surface of him.

He’s holding his breath, hardened face, hardened stare, deepening crease, and your fingers skate up along the slope of his arm until they meet his hand.

He’s difficult to catch, you think, even when willing to be caught, but it’s now very clear what you want for yourself. You want him.

It matters not that he belongs to somebody else. If you’re here, it’s because he wants you too. Despair and desire have brought you together, combined, conjoined, converging.

Your hand travels round to the back of his arm, soft and feather-like, up under the hem of his t-shirt, lifting his sleeve. His eyes are boring into yours. You lick your lips, slowly, and lower them to his skin. A light kiss, testing, tender and wet, and underneath it, a tremor.

There’s a terrible density to his body. He’s tension and heat. Pressing your parted lips to his shoulder, you let your tongue peek out between them. You take in the tangy taste of him, it travels through your body like lava, like syrup, heavy and sticky and sweet and it pools down between your hips.

He’s completely still, eerily so. Emboldened, hopeful, you tug on his t-shirt, tentatively at first, and when he doesn’t stop you, when he unfolds his arms, you pull it off his frame, the hat coming off with it. You suck in a sharp breath at the sight of his naked head full of curls, lush and tousled. You want to run your fingers through them. You know that’s probably not a good idea.

His chest, broad and solid, fills your vision, and your hands fly to his sternum where you press them, chasing something invisible, roaming up the plane of his chest, as delicately as possible. Your fingertips drum lightly along his collarbone, as if you were seeing him with your hands, as if all your senses were necessary to take in the whole of him.

His frown turns imploring, his breathing shallow.

“Tell me your name,” he murmurs, his deep baritone a pleading husk.

“You can call me whatever you like,” you answer, lifting his hand and taking his two first fingers into your mouth, eyelids fluttering. You cradle them with the flat of your tongue, brushing against the callous tips of them, saliva flooding your mouth around the salty taste. A moan escapes you, imperceptible, and his jaw ticks around a curse, something you don’t make out, something in Spanish, you’re too dazed with want, too dumb with thirst.

Fire licks up your spine when he moves, fast and sure. His hand tangles in your hair and he sharply tugs your head back, his fingers popping out of your mouth with a hanging thread of saliva. His face has become a threat, a warning, a promise. He’ll give you what you want until you regret asking for it.

His mouth crushes yours, teeth colliding, and his tongue is inside you, swirling and licking.

Like a dam that gives, his strength breaks and sweeps over you, crushing you into his chest with his hold and his kiss, fingers gripping your hair, your ass, and you let him have it, let him bruise your flesh with his need, scraping your fingernails up his arms, on his back.

You’re smiling into the kiss, with relief and eagerness, squirming into him and he hardens his hold before releasing you, swift and sudden, grabbing your blouse and pulling it up in a feverish movement that you follow, lifting your arms like a docile little girl. A seam of the silky fabric rips around your shoulders. You don’t notice it.

His face dives into the crook of your neck, the scruff of his beard grating your skin, and he sinks in his teeth, sucking hard and feral, and at first, you melt into it, before you remember. You force his chest away with both palms, whining, urgent, plaintive, “I can’t– can’t have marks,” when what you really want is to be covered in him.

It makes him chuckle, and it sounds like a growl, so terribly dark, so profoundly disillusioned, that you shiver in the heat of his body. He squeezes your breasts through the thin cotton of your bra, it’s brutal and it hurts like retaliation.

“Get fucking naked, Marion.”

Drawing away from him, you start working the button and zip fly of your skirt with fumbling fingers, blood beating fast and booming in your eardrums, while he toes off his shoes and undoes his belt buckle. Hard metal, the same one that was scraping against your belly when he was crushing you into his red truck, into white-hot pleasure.

His skin looks amber and smooth under the mellow lighting, the harmonious muscles you guessed under his shirt on the very first night highlighted in shadows. A soft belly, and a long, sideways scar on his left side. Would he tell you the history of his wounds? Will you ever have the chance to ask?

Your skirt crumples at your feet, you’re lost in the sight of him, arms falling limp at your sides. Self-consciousness skirts the edges of your lust. This body that you neglect and ignore at best, despise and mistreat if given the chance, will it be worth anything to him? Will he want you like you want him? With determination. Without dignity.

When he pulls down his jeans and his boxer briefs in one deft motion, your eyes widen, but he’s grabbing your arm already, spinning you around like a doll and throwing you onto the bedspread. He climbs on the bed after you, the mattress dips with his weight.

His firm hands spread your legs; he’s manhandled other bodies before yours, the skill evident with his dexterity, the experience obvious in his assurance, and you want to be all of them at once, lovers and enemies.

His hand rubs over your damp panties and you buck into it, trying to raise yourself on your elbows to turn around. You want to see his face as he touches you, see his reaction at the evidence of your arousal, you want to watch his eyes when his cock breaches you, but he presses a large hand between your shoulder blades and pins you into the mattress with a grunt.

He’s unlike anyone you’ve known before, brisk and rough and domineering, and you blush at your inexperience, at his irreverence, when he yanks your panties to the side and spits on your folds. The sheer obscenity feels like a reward for coming this far.

Sprawling your arms forward, bunching the slippery fabric of the bedspread in your fists, you brace yourself, the round tip of his cock lining up at your entrance.

He shoves himself inside you to the base, and you cry out at the blinding intrusion, the strength of his thrust hauling your body forward on the bed. With a harsh grasp, he slides you back down on his length and you bite down another cry, flesh gushing through the splayed fingers clutching your hips.

Crouching over you, he presses his forehead heavy against the back of your head.

“Don’t move,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “don’t fucking move.”

His cock pulsates angry and swollen inside your throbbing pussy, his chest pressing down on your back with each uneven, shaky breath burning your nape.

Sitting back, he wraps his right hand around the strap of your bra and twists it around his fist, pulling on it for leverage as he begins to fuck into you. The thin elastic bands bite into your shoulders, raspy vibrations echoing from your throat straight into the bedding with each of his rhythmic pushes forward.

He’s too much, too fast, too sudden. And he picks up the pace, forcing your right leg up with his knee and angling up his strokes, reaching deeper inside your core. He’s going to puncture your body from the inside, and you contract tight and rigid around his length, writhing underneath him, until he leans into your neck, close to your ear with a command, voice low and gravelly.

“You want it, just fucking take it, then.”

That wild thing inside your chest is swelling, madly swirling, your slick floods around his drilling length. Closing your eyes, the side of your face smearing makeup on the bedspread, you nod with just enough strength to exhale a breathless yes.

Yes. Yes, you want it, just like so. You want to be used, shattered, obliterated by this man.

And so you relent. Curling your fists and sinking your fingernails into your palms, as the pain turns to pleasure and he rams into your taut heat, rams against your cervix, bending you backward, spine ready to snap with each forceful shove.

The room is filled with the explicit sounds and noises of your emerging dirty secret. The relentless smack of his hips against your ass, the lewd squelch of his cock slamming in and out of your cunt, the creaking bedding, his feral groans, your grateful moans.

He’s miles away from you, but that’s what you came here for, drain the sadness from his eyes, make it yours, understand. If you’re only going to have him once, then you want it all.

But his rhythm is faltering already, and it stops abruptly. He releases his grip on you and pulls out with a loud curse, leaving you empty, for all those things you never wanted in the first place to fill you up again.

You feel his knuckles brushing against the swell of your ass as he strokes himself into his release. He loses his balance, and braces his hand next to your face to catch himself as come spurts hot and rich into the curve of your arched back.

He slaps his cock into the cleft of your cheeks once, twice, pumping out the last drops of his spend, and he collapses next to you, with a grunt when his back hits the bed, his chest heaving with exertion.

Unshed tears weigh down your eyelids. Your heart rattles against your rib cage, frantic and irregular. Your blood is thick as molasses, of amber and gold, coursing dense and languid down your limbs, but your nerves are crackling like electrical wires of blue and purple.

The creature between your lungs has tripled in size and your sore cunt throbs with your suspended orgasm.

Sunk into the mattress, you’re unable to round your back or turn your head towards him. Everything hurts. Everything is alive.

Reaching back blindly, you dip the tip of your fingers into the pool of his spend, and bring them back to your lips. Tasting him with delight and a quiet, strengthless moan.

The mattress moves with him as he shifts on the bed, and you feel the warmth of his large hand covering the expanse of your lower back.

Before you can relax into it, he flips you on your back with an easy strength, and you wince with the sudden change of position. What a mess you must look like, flushed face, sweat-damp hair, clotted mascara.

He’s heavy, in his straddle of your thighs. He brings his hand to your mouth, and you open up for him, pulling out your tongue to lick his come-coated palm, wrapping your lips around his fingers as they glide over the hot wet muscle. You swallow his essence with fluttering eyelids, grateful, tears rolling down your temples.

The soft light catches at the sheen of sweat gleaming over his chest, like he’s made of gold, leaning over you like a magnificent and merciful god, like you’ll grant him everything, and you bask into his radiance, your lips pursed into a new smile around his digits.

The frown that hasn’t left his brow softens ever so slightly. His throat bobs, corded muscles, pebbled skin, the tension barely relieved. His fingers slip out of your mouth and come to cup your chin, so gentle your mind fails to comprehend. His touch lingers, warm and relenting and it becomes a caress, trailing down the line of your throat and coming to rest over your beating pulse at the base of your neck.

“Are you real?” he asks, sorrow blurring his dark eyes.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, beading sweat, beading tears. “Make me be.”

He breathes in deeply, and perhaps it’s the first time in years he breathes in so freely.

“Okay,” he nods.

Slowly, with the tip of his tongue darting between his parted lips, he tugs down your bra to the side. His calloused palm finds the soft swell of your breast, and his warmth radiates through your skin. His hold strengthens, he pinches your nipples with his two first fingers, the ones you took in your mouth earlier, harder, until your mouth goes slack with pleasure and with pain, and you keep smiling at him through it all.

Loose, trustful, pliant, you watch as he drags your panties down along your damp skin and spreads your thighs. He pauses, eyes on your core and you lie still, exposed and opened, feeling no shame.

His curls, matted with sweat, are stuck in locks to his forehead. Where was he, when you were still hopeful? Were you too young for him, then?

He dives between your hips, and his teeth bite into the soft skin of your inner thigh. You jerk, palm pushing feebly onto the crown of his head and he freezes, eyes shut, like he doesn’t have enough willpower to let go, like too much of his control has already waned and thawed.

“Please,” you coo, “please. I’ll get in so much trouble.”

And your heart sinks a little with apprehension because, surely, he’ll scoff at you again, but instead he just lets go, bringing his fingers to your swollen folds to part them.

A small whimpering sound escapes you when he latches his lips around your clit, but the sensation is nothing like what you anticipated. Of his previous roughness, only the bruising digging of his fingers into the plush of your hips remains.

His mouth is warm and soothing, a liquid caress, the touch from the tip of his tongue precise but gentle. He shifts with a soft groan, applying more pressure and you keen, head trashed back into the bed. Instantly, he adjusts his grasp, pulling you closer to his face, suckling on your clit with more insistence.

The smooth skin of your calves brushes over his shoulders, your heels digging into the muscles of his back and you’re reminded of that first night again, when he swiveled around to meet your gaze, soft sad eyes, hard cold stare. Your orgasm builds up fast, embarrassingly so, encouraged by his heavy breathing fanning the soft curls on your mound.

The wild creature melts into your blood and flows down to your core, branching out to every nerve from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. And when you come, you come sharp and bright, with your hand clasped over your mouth to muffle a loud mewl and your back arched from the bed.

He forsakes his restored restraint when you recoil from the overstimulation, hardening his hold and fastening his mouth over your cunt to lap up your release, tongue diving in, greedy, burning your walls.

You’re still shaking with the aftershock when he releases you and rises above your trembling body. Lying his forehead on your belly, heavy head, heavy breathing, sweat dripping on your skin, he stays there until his breathing slows down, falling in rhythm with yours. You reach down for his hair, threading your fingers through his curls, at last, and he gives in, leans into the tenderness of your touch.

A stray tear slides down into your hairline and it’s over, he’s gone, standing up, his broad back turned to you, gathering his clothes and dressing up.

The notion of the world around you resurfaces. Outside, tucked away in the heart of the night, countless other wild creatures dwell and carry on, moved by fear or desire, and you lie still in that crushing knowledge. Soon, you will have to leave this bed, confront your solitude to theirs.

You roll to your side and curl up on yourself, drifting with the soft droning from the sleeping creature between your lungs and the sweet soreness thrumming between your hips.

He’s at the door, putting his hat back on, when you call out his name.

“Frankie.”

It passes your lips for the very first time, a long kept secret, a forbidden vow, a usurped oath, and immediately you want to say it again. You want it to be real. You want it to be yours.

Frankie pauses and tilts his head towards the bed without facing you completely.

“Thank you,” you say.

He opens the door to a draft of air wafting in, charged with the salty, humid scent of the faraway bay. He’s about to cross the threshold, and disappear into the night, when he speaks.

“The room is paid for til morning. I’ll see you next Friday.”

****

Additional note: I woke up on day and decided to build a multiverse of orange bedroom Frankies 🧡 For those who've read PTMY, can you spot all the clues? This Frankie is really pissed off, though, but I kinda like it. I hope you'll like it too 🧡

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @your-voice-is-mellifluous @mylostloversbookmarks @readingiskeepingmegoing @lovesbiggerthanpride @youandmeand5bucks-blog @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @southernbe @blackvelveteen1339 @anoverwhelmingdin @casa-boiardi @nandan11 @jessthebaker @pedroshotwifey @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @noisynightmarepoetry

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floralpascal · 2 years

Text

Heartbeat - Part 1

Summary: When you cuddle up on Frankie to watch a movie, his rapid heartbeat makes you question if he has feelings for you, too.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 7k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: kissing, (semi-public) dry humping, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, protected p-in-v sex (let me know if I missed anything)

A/N: This started out as a short fluffy fic and it turned into this. My mind goes straight into the gutter for this man. It’s my first time ever writing smut, so I’m a little nervous, but I hope you all enjoy!

Part 2

Friday night movie night at Benny’s with the guys was a rare treat that you thoroughly enjoyed, even if watching a movie with all four of them at the same time was a pain in the ass. Benny and Santi were always talking over the movie and if the movie had any sort of action, they would all start commenting on how unrealistic it was. If the movie had anything to do with the military, all you heard for the entire two hours was how every small thing was actually incredibly inaccurate.

Though you would feign annoyance every time, you secretly loved it. Even if you never actually got to watch the movie, you got enough entertainment from the guys.

Not to mention that you somehow always ended up sitting next to Frankie, the man you had a hopeless crush on for years. Even if you sat in a different spot for movie night, Frankie was there next to you. He would often lean over to you to whisper jokes about whatever movie you were watching, completely oblivious to the way it gave you goosebumps every time.

Tonight was no different. You sat down on the couch with the popcorn bowl, Frankie coming to join you not long after. He plopped down to your right, stealing a handful of popcorn as he did. The popcorn bowl gave you a reason to lean in close to him as Benny started the movie and Will turned off the lights. Santi took the seat on the other side of the couch from you and Frankie. Benny laid sprawled out on the loveseat like always and Will took his usual spot in Benny’s huge recliner.

Nearly an hour into the movie - and about fifteen different interruptions from Santi and Benny later - you had begun to shiver, curling in on yourself in an attempt to warm yourself up. Frankie noticed immediately.

“You need a blanket?” He whispered to you, only loud enough for you to hear over the blaring movie, leaning in close enough to send a shiver down your spine for a different reason. You nodded, setting the now-empty popcorn bowl on the table beside the couch.

He twisted to his right to grab the blanket behind Santi’s head on the back of the couch. When he brought the blanket closer, you thought he would simply hand it to you. Instead, he flicked the blanket out and draped it across the both of you. You smiled as he turned to you then, moving to lay his arm on the back of the couch behind you, arm open in a silent invitation for you to get closer. He met your smile with a polite, slightly bashful one of his own.

You readily accepted, curling into his side and laying your head on his chest as his arm wrapped around your shoulders to tuck you into his side. You had completely forgotten about the movie now, opting instead to focus on how the heat from his body soaked through the fabric of his clothes to warm your skin. After a moment though, you noticed that you could hear his heartbeat with where your head was placed on his chest, just above his heart. You wouldn’t have noticed if not for how fast it beat, going at nearly the same rapid pace as your own.

After a few minutes, you shifted to look at his face, a movement that drew his attention from the screen to you. He looked calm, his demeanor not matching the way his heart raced. The only thing that seemed off was how intense his brown eyes had suddenly become as he gazed down at you.

“Everything okay?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. You couldn’t help but dip your gaze down to his lips as he spoke, a movement that did not seem to go unnoticed by Frankie.

You had wanted to ask him the same question. You didn’t want to broach the subject now, not with the soft way he was looking at you.

“Yeah,” you affirmed. You noticed his eyes flick down to your lips this time before meeting your gaze again. “Thank you, Frankie.”

“Anything for you.”

You both stayed like that, faces inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes. You couldn’t help but drop your gaze down to his lips again for a fraction of a second, his own following suit once again. His warm hand came to lightly press against your back. Frankie began to lean in-

BOOM!

You and Frankie jumped, turning to see the aftermath of the explosion on the TV screen.

“That would not blow up like that in real life!” Santi grumbled on the other side of the couch. Murmurs of agreement came from Benny and Will. They all seemed to be engrossed in the movie, not noticing the moment that had passed between you and Frankie in the dark.

You gave an awkward chuckle, shaking your head. When you turned back to Frankie, his eyes were already on you, a small smile on his lips. Maybe it was just the dark, but you thought he looked anxious now, a slight crinkle appearing in his brow.

You shuffled back into his side, once again laying your head on his chest. His heart was beating even faster than before.

Was it…you? Was his heart beating this fast because of you? Your mind wheeled from the moment you had shared with him. Had he been about to kiss you?

You spent the rest of the movie curled up against Frankie. You were no longer cold. In fact, you felt like you were burning up now with the way your body was pressed against his. Frankie’s heart rate barely slowed. You looked at the screen, but you weren’t really watching, your focus staying with the melodic beat under you, with the way that his fingers lightly fidgeted with the edge of the blanket that laid on your thighs, the way you could feel his breath rise and fall.

When the movie was over, you reluctantly sat up off of Frankie. Santi wandered off to the bathroom while Benny beelined it to the kitchen. When Will flipped the light back on, you could finally see Frankie completely again. He looked at you as if he wanted to say something, his eyebrows drawn and mouth open.

“Fish!” Benny called from the kitchen. “Do you want to take the leftover pizza home?”

Frankie rolled his eyes, deflating a little. “No,” he called back, “it’s all yours, man.”

Benny then called your name. “You want it?”

“No. Just take it if you want it, Ben.”

“Thanks, guys!”

You laughed, standing up from the couch. You stretched for a moment, feeling stiff from sitting for so long. Your shirt rose up as you stretched, a sliver of skin above your waistline exposed to the cold air. When you looked back at Frankie, he quickly averted his gaze from where he had been watching you, suddenly very interested in his phone.

Was he… checking you out now? You wondered if you were imagining everything that was happening between you or if you were just interpreting it all wrong.

Twenty minutes later, everyone was wrapping up for the night. Santi and Will left together, Will going to drop Santi off at his house on his way home. You and Frankie, inevitably, we’re the last ones to leave. He walked you out to your car in Benny’s driveway, making small talk with you about your week. He still looked so calm, no hints evident on his face that his heart had been racing for the past hour like he had been running a marathon.

When you arrived at your car, Frankie stopped, suddenly seeming nervous. Once again, he started to say something before deciding otherwise, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment. Instead of whatever he had wanted to say, he simply said, “Goodnight, hermosa.”

Hermosa. He had never called you that before.

You mumbled out a goodnight in response, your mind whirring. Frankie gave you a tight smile before turning to head towards his truck.

Your hand reached for your car door handle before freezing. Something was there between you two. It was right there, just out of reach. But if you let him go, you knew that the next time you saw each other you would be back at square one, as friends and nothing more. Neither of you would broach the subject again. You thought for a moment before whipping around to look for him again.

“Frankie?” You called, catching him as he was rounding his truck bed. His head snapped up from where he was looking at the ground.

“Yeah?” His wide eyes stared at you from the other side of his truck. You thought you saw a flash of hope cross his face.

You made the decision then. You ran around his truck, praying that your suspensions were correct and trying not to lose your nerve. As you approached him, he gave you a quizzical look. Before he could say anything, you were up against him, hands lightly cupping his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

It was a short kiss. You pulled away a few seconds later, Frankie chasing your lips slightly before his eyes snapped open again. You dropped your hands, too afraid that you had misjudged his feelings for you to stay close.

He looked utterly stunned. You could see as his mind worked to try to catch up to what you had just done. He blinked once, twice, before he closed the distance between you again, his soft, warm lips colliding with yours as he buried a hand in your hair and his other snaked around your waist to pull you closer.

Your own hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders, grabbing onto his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer.

It was a desperate, hungry, all-consuming kiss. Frankie kissed like it was the last thing he would ever do. He kissed like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

You broke the kiss, trying to catch your breath. “Frankie,” you whispered.

Frankie pulled back, both of his hands moving to cup your chin. His eyes were hooded now, the way he was looking at you sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. “I wanted to kiss you so bad. In there. I didn’t know if you… if you…”

You nodded, bringing your hands to grasp at his wrists. “I do. I have for a long time.”

“Me too, cariño,” he sighed. His thumb rubbed over your cheek and you leaned into his hand. “You were all I could think about tonight. Hell, you’re all I can ever think about.”

“I didn’t pay attention to the movie at all,” you admitted. “Just you.”

“I don’t even know what that damn movie was even about.”

“Whatever it was, it was loud.”

Frankie chuckled before becoming more serious again. “So where do we go from here?”

You shook your head slightly. “I have no idea. Just kiss me again, Frankie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It didn’t seem that Frankie needed to be told twice. In one swift motion, he grabbed the hat from his head, tossed it on the top of the truck, and leaned down to kiss you again, now without the hindrance of his hat in the way. He kissed you so hard you felt dizzy within mere seconds. All that mattered was him, that he felt the same, that he wanted you.

You swore you hadn’t meant for the next kiss to turn heated. You couldn’t even remember how the kiss that followed had taken a turn from sweet to something more. But now you were pressed between Frankie’s chest and the cold metal of his truck as his lips moved against yours and his hands explored unknown territory.

Neither of you could get enough of each other. Every one of your senses were fully focused on one thing: Frankie. Kissing him, you were quickly finding, was an activity that demanded all of your attention. Everything else seemed to fade away, replaced only with the press of him against you, the way he moved, the way he pulled you against him. The insistence he kissed you with sent you soaring.

After a while, his lips strayed away from yours, teeth lightly nipping as he made his way maddeningly down your neck. One of your hands grasped at his shoulder, the other lightly tugging his soft curls as his lips found the tender space between your neck and shoulder. You gasped a soft Frankie when you felt his teeth graze against your skin there, your body slightly arching against his. You could feel him smile against your shoulder in response before he continued to kiss any bit of skin he could find.

As he pressed against you, you could feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against your hip. He was getting hard from this. It gave you the confidence you needed to roll your hips slightly against his, causing a small groan to fall from Frankie’s lips on your shoulder. He rasped your name as he gave a testing roll of his own, sending a spark of pleasure through you.

He moved back up to kiss you properly, a new fire behind his kiss now, and you pushed against him again. Another spark of pleasure spread through you, but it wasn’t enough. There were too many layers between you two, you so desperately needed-

“Hey!”

For the second time that night, you both jumped. Frankie’s hands locked around your waist as you both looked to see Benny standing on his porch, his front door wide open. From the light spilling out of the open door, you could see that he wasn’t even trying to hide the shit-eating grin he had on his face.

“I’m happy for you guys, kiss all you want, it’s about damn time,” Benny yelled over to you both. “But you two are not gonna fuck in my driveway, okay? Take that shit home. Get a room. Something.”

You laughed, slightly embarrassed that you had been caught so close to doing something with Frankie in your friend’s driveway, and buried your face in Frankie’s chest. You had completely forgotten where you were, too caught up in Frankie to care.

“Fuck off, Benny,” Frankie called half-heartedly, chuckling a little as he pulled you closer. He turned his back to Benny and hugged you to him, as if hiding you from Benny’s view would save you from some of the embarrassment. It also helped to hide his surely-noticeable erection from his friend. His hands moved to your back, rubbing circles as you giggled into his chest even more.

“I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere, Fish, and this is it. It didn’t look like you two were slowing down anytime soon. You guys have a good night, just have it somewhere else.” Benny grabbed his door handle and started to go back inside. He yelled over his shoulder, “Also, Santi owes me $50 now, so thanks guys!”

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Frankie once again. You pulled away enough to see him. The smile that was still plastered on his face sent your heart soaring.

“They had a bet going on us?” You asked.

Frankie shrugged. “It’s news to me.”

You shook your head.

“Do you - Um…” Frankie started self-consciously, one of his hands leaving your side to scratch at the back of his neck. “Do you…want to come home with me?”

You almost couldn’t believe that the man you had been practically dry humping out in the open was asking you that like he thought you wouldn’t want to.

“I do, Frankie.”

“You don’t think it’s too fast? I don’t want you to think that I just want a quick fuck or just a one-time thing or-”

“Frankie,” you interrupted. You moved to whisper into his ear, “I don’t want just some quick fuck either. I don’t want a one-time thing. I want you. If you want me, take me home.”

The groan that came from the back of his throat filled you with excitement. He pulled back, his hand coming to your cheek, and kissed you hard.

“I want you. Fuck, I want you.” He kissed you again before telling you, his self-consciousness gone, “Hop in the truck, cariño. I’ll bring you back to get your car tomorrow.”

Benny would just have to deal with your car in his driveway for the night. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about it at the moment.

Frankie opened the driver‘s door for you, allowing you to step up into the truck and slide down the bench seat enough to let him into the driver's seat. On his way in, he retrieved his hat from the roof and tossed it in the back of the cab as he sat down. You had never seen him toss his favorite hat so carelessly before, like it was something that was only getting in his way at the moment.

You had been to Frankie’s house countless times before. You had even ridden with him in his truck on his way to his house. But you had never gone like this. You had never been able to sit right up against him. You had never had his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles. You had never had this much anticipation between the two of you.

Frankie was the most focused you had ever seen him as he drove. You wondered if this is how he looked when he would fly: concentrated on his destination, his movements deft and calculated. The hand he had on the steering wheel was gripped tight, his fingers lifting periodically before curling tight around the wheel again.

You raked your eyes over him, bathed in the light of the passing streetlights. On a normal day, Frankie’s pants didn’t leave much to the imagination. They fit a little too well, which was something that had haunted you for years. But now you could see so much more as he strained against the confines of his jeans. He was big, that you already knew, but now you were starting to get an idea of just how big.

You began to play with his hair, carding your fingers through the brown waves of unruly curls while Frankie raced home.

“Cariño,” he rasped out, his voice strained, “if you keep doing that, I’m gonna have to pull over and take you on the side of the road. I’m barely hanging on here, baby.”

You gave him a mischievous grin, continuing to run your hand through his hair. “Why don’t you then?”

He turned his attention from the road to you for a moment, letting his eyes sweep you up and down. He looked hungry and disheveled, a combination that you had never seen from him before but already couldn’t wait to see again. It made your heart race. You could see him consider it, pulling over somewhere secluded and finally fucking you. For a second, you thought he might actually do it. But then he shook his head resolutely and answered, “Because you deserve better… and I’m gonna need a lot more space to work.”

The promise in his words filled you with anticipation.

After what felt like an eternity, you arrived in Frankie’s driveway. He ripped the keys from the ignition before he opened the door and scrambled to get out. He immediately turned to offer you his hand to help you out of the truck. You took it and hopped out, Frankie closing the door behind you.

Then, Frankie was on you, his hand cupping your jaw and his lips finding yours once again. He broke away, leaning back to see you, his rich brown eyes drinking you in.

“Come on, bonita,” he said, taking your hand in his. He led you up the old wooden steps to his front door. Of all the times you had followed him up those same steps, you never thought it would be for this reason. That your hand would be in his, the taste of his lips still on yours, with more to come. You took a breath to steady your own racing pulse.

He hastily fiddled with his keys before fitting one into the lock and turning. He shoved the door open, turning to walk backwards through the entryway as he pulled you closer to kiss you again. Once you had cleared the door, Frankie reached out blindly to grab the door and push it closed behind you.

You quickly realized that Frankie had been quite well-behaved in Benny’s driveway, all things considered.

You felt his tongue ask for entrance, which you immediately granted. He kissed you with a fervor that made you dizzy as his tongue met yours. His hands were on you once again, exploring and grasping at whatever they could find. One hand pulled your hips flush with his again and the other found the skin of your back under your shirt.

Your arms were thrown over Frankie’s shoulders, grasping at the back of his shirt and neck. You felt just as desperate as him, years of pining for him finally pouring out.

After a while, your fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, hastily undoing them one-by-one. Once you had undone the last one, he helped you shrug the cloth from his shoulders. Your hands came to rest on his bare chest, your right hand just above where your head had been laying just less than an hour ago. Under your touch, you could feel his heart race just as it had earlier.

Then, Frankie found the edge of your shirt and lifted it over your head. Though he had seen you in a bathing suit before, he took you in like he was seeing you for the first time. Then he looked you in the eyes, his arms wrapping around your middle. You felt his fingers hook onto the clasp of your bra and then freeze.

“Can I?” he asked, almost at a whisper. You realized it was a bigger question than just that. He was checking to make sure you still wanted this. That you still wanted your relationship to move past being just friends. He was giving you a chance to stop, to go back before you both strayed too far away from the friendship you had known for years.

Like you could ever go back after even simply kissing Frankie. You nodded, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to his jaw.

Frankie worked the clasp undone and drew the straps down your arms. Once you were free of it, you saw the way his breath picked up as he took you in. He kissed you again, bringing your chest flush to his. Hands roamed your bare back as he walked you both backwards, his lips finding yours once again.

You hadn’t realized where Frankie had guided you until the back of your thighs met a hard object. Frankie broke only enough to speak, his lips still brushing yours, “Hop up here, baby.”

You turned to see that he had backed you up against his kitchen table. You did as he said, coming to sit at the edge and immediately making space for him between your legs. He connected your lips once again, one hand on your hip and the other coming to palm your breast.

“Can I taste you, cariño?” He asked breathlessly, his voice low.

You nodded, giving him an adamant and breathless yes automatically.

Frankie grabbed your hips and gently pulled you closer to the edge. You watched as he pulled back and dropped to his knees, his broad shoulders coming to rest between your thighs. He guided your underwear down your legs, throwing them to the ground once he had freed you from them. His brown eyes were blown black with lust as he took in the sight of your dripping core.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he admired. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought about this. How you would taste. How you would sound…”

“You thought about it?”

Frankie smiled, leaning closer to you. “More than you know.”

“I have, too.” You returned his smile. However, it lasted only a moment before your eyes snapped shut and your mouth dropped open as Frankie’s tongue met your folds for the first time, licking a stripe from your dripping hole to your clit. He then moved to focus on your clit with a proficiency that already had your breath hitching, devouring you like a man starved.

You couldn’t have stopped the moan that fell from your lips if you tried. One hand came to grasp at his curls, the other moving behind you to prop yourself up on the table. He grabbed your shins and tossed them over his shoulders for leverage.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby,” he cooed, his hot breath hitting your core. You opened your eyes to meet his gaze. “Let me hear you, don’t hold back.”

He kept his eyes locked on you as he brought his tongue to your clit once again. His brown eyes looked so sweet compared to the absolutely sinful way his mouth was working at you.

You let your moans run free. After he changed speeds, a high-pitched Frankie fell from your lips, eliciting a moan from him. The vibrations from it rocked through you. When you breathed out his name again, you got the same maddening response from him. You realized that he liked it when you said his name like this. No problem. You could already tell that you would be saying it a lot tonight.

Your cries of his name only seemed to spur him on, his pace increasing as his hands wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place. He seemed to learn from every moan and every movement of your body what sent you higher.

Soon enough, you could feel the red hot coil in your stomach building, pulling taut.

“F-Frankie, I’m close,” you gasped out. “Don’t stop.”

With a few more calculated swipes of his tongue over your clit, the tension finally snapped. You closed your eyes again as your head dropped back and you cried out. Waves of ecstasy washed over you as Frankie drew out your release, his head trapped between your thighs. As you came down, he moved lower to gather your slick on his tongue.

He passed his tongue over your sensitive clit a few more times, eying the way your muscles jumped from the attention. The lust and adoration evident on his face nearly leveled you as he stared up at you.

“Can you give me another like this?” he asked, his voice gravelly, mustache and beard glistening with your slick, before giving another testing swipe at your folds.

Oh, fuck. You hadn’t ever been with someone who enjoyed eating you out like Frankie seemed to. You were starting to see that Frankie had been telling the truth: he didn’t intend on a quick fuck. He was a patient and attentive man - you were beginning to see just how much.

In your haze, you mumbled out a yes. Frankie smiled.

“Lay back, cariño. Let me take care of you.” His hand came to your chest to guide you to lay back onto the table. The cold of the wood was in stark contrast to the heat of your skin and the heat of Frankie’s mouth as it met your folds again.

You were lost in the feeling of him, one hand gripping the edge of the table and the other finding its way back to Frankie’s hair. Just as you began to adjust to his speed and pattern, he would change it again, quickly sending you higher than you thought possible. Moans of oh fuck, Frankie and just like that poured from your mouth.

The tension began to build again, quicker this time. You lifted your head off the hard wood to watch as he closed his eyes and savored the taste of you. That was all it took to send you toppling over the edge once again.

He kept working at you until you had come down from your high and lightly pushed him away from your overstimulated clit. Frankie gave one last, savoring lick to your hole, savoring every last drop of your slick. He pulled away, licking his lips as he groaned, “Fuck, you’re so sweet.”

Breathing hard, you sat up and gently guided him up from between your legs, bringing his face to yours. You tasted yourself on his tongue, his lips still wet as they met yours. Frankie’s tongue moved against yours with the same skill as when he was eating you out.

“Frankie, that was-”

“Just the warm-up,” he finished for you, leaning his forehead on yours. He hadn’t even fucked you yet and you were already wrecked just from his mouth alone. You couldn’t imagine what you would be like later if that was just the beginning.

“Well, that was a hell of a warmup.”

You kissed him again, wrapping your legs around his hips, your arms once again over his shoulders. Frankie took full advantage of the position, pulling your lower half to his and snaking an arm under you to pick you up from the table. He carried you to his bedroom - a place that you had only seen glimpses of a few times before - without even having to break your kiss. He flopped you down onto his bed, causing you to giggle as he climbed to hover over you and kiss you again.

You reached up to pull at his belt, trying to undo the leather. Once you had gotten it undone, you switched your focus to his jeans.

“Need these off,” you panted against his lips. You weren’t unaware of the slight air of desperation that had slipped into your voice.

Frankie shed his pants and boxers and discarded them to the floor. And, shit, he was big. You had guessed from what you had seen and felt earlier that he would be, but it was another thing to see it confirmed.

You brought your hand to his weeping cock, giving him a few testing strokes. Frankie let out a small groan, his hips rocking forward in your grip a bit. You continued to pump him in your hand for a while, trailing kisses along his jaw before he stopped you, his hand coming to your wrist and his lips capturing yours.

“Querida, I’m not gonna last like this,” he said. ”I wanna be inside you when I come.”

“Please. I need you, Frankie.”

“Not yet, baby. I need to get you ready first. Don’t wanna hurt you.” Logically, with how big he was you knew that you should, but that didn’t seem to matter to you at the moment. You tried to protest, to tell him that you didn’t care, you just needed him now, but he shook his head, a wicked grin on his face. He drew out his next words teasingly, “Greedy, aren’t you, baby?”

Your brain shut off, butterflies stirring in your stomach at his words. Like there was anything you wouldn’t let him do when he talked to you like that.

You gasped as he slipped a finger into you and started to pump in and out. His finger was bigger and longer than your own, already hitting a spot you could never seem to reach with your own fingers. He started building up his pace as he began to kiss down your neck like he had earlier in the night. This time though, you could feel him suck lightly as he went, surely leaving bruises in his wake.

You bucked your hips up, his one finger no longer enough.

“Need more, baby,” you whined, all care for how desperate you sounded gone. All that mattered to you now was the drag of his finger inside you and the way he sucked at the tender area just above your collarbone.

He slipped a second finger into your heat as he murmured, “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

His fingers were so much bigger than yours, two of his feeling like three of your own, stretching you as he built his pace back up again. It burned in the best way, radiating pleasure through you.

You arched against him as he curled his fingers, hitting a spot that made your toes curl.

“Right there, Frankie!”

“Come on, cariño. Come for me again and I’ll give you what you want.”

You were so close, teetering on the edge maddeningly as he worked his fingers in and out. Suddenly, he added a third finger. It was exactly what you needed to push you over the edge. Your orgasm rocked through you as you clenched down on his fingers. He continued to work them in and out as much as he could with the way you were gripping him.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed. “God, you’re so beautiful when you come.” Once your orgasm had subsided, he slipped his fingers out and brought them to his lips. He sucked your slick from them eagerly, like he hadn’t just tasted you earlier.

“Frankie, baby,” you panted, “I need you to fuck me.” You could feel his hard length against your hip and you bucked against him. He had made you come three times already and you were still desperate to have him inside you.

“I don’t think I could wait any longer if I tried,” he admitted. Frankie reached over to his bedside table and pulled a foil package from the drawer. He ripped it open with his teeth before taking the condom to roll over his length.

You reached out to take him in your hand again, giving him a few more strokes before you went to line him up with you.

His mouth came to yours as he made the first push into you. You both let out moans, your high-pitched one contrasting with his low one. He made shallow thrusts, each time sinking deeper into you. Even after trying to get you ready for him, it was a stretch to fit him. You had thought his fingers had stretched you. They were nothing compared to this.

“You’re so fucking tight, cariño,” he grunted. “Squeezing me so tight.”

“You’re so big,” you responded breathlessly.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“No, no,” you hastily whined. “Feels so good.”

After a few more thrusts, he finally buried himself to the hilt in you. Then, he stopped, pulling another whine from you. You rocked your hips, trying to feel the friction, but one hand came down to still your hip.

“Just a second. Fuck, don’t move,” he told you shakily. He took deep breaths in, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just give me a second or I’m not gonna last.”

You let him be for a moment, but then you couldn’t stop yourself from softly begging him to move.

He let out one last breath before nodding. He connected your lips again, starting to rock his hips into yours in long, slow strokes. You wrapped your legs around his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts. The hand that wasn’t propping him up came to grip at your ass and thigh over his hip.

His kiss started slow, but incredibly insistent. However, as his pace increased, so did the heat in his kiss.

“You feel so good,” Frankie mumbled against your lips. “You’re so fucking perfect, cariño. Like this pussy was made for me.”

He continued to murmur to you as he fucked you. About how badly he had wanted you all these years. How he couldn’t ever think clearly when you were around. How beautiful you were. You returned it, telling him that he was all you had wanted since you had met. He shuddered before his grip tightened on your skin, his next few strokes harder than before.

You moved to bury your hands in his hair as you gave him a bruising kiss. You ran your tongue along his lips and he quickly gave you entrance.

It was so good, but you needed more and you could tell Frankie was holding back. He wasn’t allowing himself to go as fast or as rough as he wanted. You could feel it in the way he would let up if he felt himself move a little too hard or a little too fast. But that’s what you needed.

“Harder,” you pleaded. “Fuck me harder. I can take it.”

Your previous observation about him had been right: Frankie wasn’t the kind of man who needed to be told twice.

Frankie nearly growled before he smashed his lips to yours messily. He snapped his hips against yours at a new, blistering pace. He hit that spongy spot deep inside you over and over. You broke from his kiss to moan out, your head tipping back into the pillow. He took advantage of your position to attach his lips to your neck once again, kissing and sucking wherever he could.

“Oh, fuck, Francisco!” You cried. You clawed at his back, searching for purchase over the muscled expanse, the way he was fucking into you absolutely devastating. “Just like that!”

His hips stuttered before he groaned into your ear, deep and desperate, “Say it again.”

Even through the haze, you knew what he meant, what he really wanted to hear.

“Francisco,” you whined. In the past, you had sometimes called him by his full name when you were joking around with him. You were the only person he even let call him that at all. With revelation that he liked it when you said Frankie, you now knew why he let you call him Francisco. The difference was that now you were completely serious, letting it drip from your tongue over and over like a prayer.

“I need you to come, baby,” Frankie grunted as he moved against you. “I’m close, but I need you to come first.”

Nothing that came from your mouth was comprehensible other than his name. You were so far gone, climbing higher than you had thought possible, the coil in your stomach continuing to tighten as he slammed in and out of you. Rather than snapping, the tension just kept building and building.

Suddenly, Frankie got a better grip against the thigh under his hand, moving your leg to rest higher on his torso, your other leg following suit almost automatically. He was deeper now, completely filling you as you cried out.

After a few more strokes, your orgasm barreled into you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. The breath was knocked out of you from the force of it. You clenched around him hard as he worked you through it, your legs locked and spasming around his torso. Waves of pleasure rolled over you.

“That’s it. That’s it…” he murmured into your ear. He kept moving in and out of you as much as he could, drawing your orgasm out.

Once it had subsided, he began to build back up to his previous place, chasing his own high. You threaded one hand through his hair, the other grasping at his back as you held on.

You gave a tug on his hair and his rhythm faltered. You did it again, this time while whispering into his ear, high and breathy, “Come for me, Francisco. Let go, baby.”

That seemed to be all he needed to send him careening over the edge. He let out a strangled sound, fucking into you three more times before his hips stilled, buried deep in you, and he found his release.

Once he had emptied, he nearly collapsed into you, his face in the crook of your neck, breathing hard, his cock still buried inside you. His weight on top of you was a welcome one. You ran your fingers through his curls once again, lightly this time, as you both came down.

After a few moments, Frankie lifted up and pulled out of you. He took off the condom and secured it before discarding it in the small trash can on the other side of his bedside table. Then, he rolled over to lay beside you, totally spent, pulling you to lay with him. Your head came to rest where it had laid earlier in the night on his chest, just above his heart. You chuckled a little, listening to the familiar, hammering thrum of the beat as Frankie came down.

You began to leave small, light kisses on his chest. Then, Frankie’s forefinger hooked under your chin, guiding you up to meet his lips as he whispered, “C’mere, hermosa.”

Your lips moved languidly against one another, completely savoring the moment. Your hand came to his chin, feeling the prickle of the sparse beard under your touch.

“You weren’t kidding,” you told Frankie after you broke. He gave you a questioning look, adoration in his soft brown eyes. “That was just a warmup.”

He laughed, his head falling back before he looked down at you again. “You’re amazing,” he countered. “I don’t know how I’m gonna go another day without fucking you now that I know what you feel like… and what you fucking sound like.”

“Yeah? I may have a short-term solution to that problem.”

“I’m listening…”

You gave him a small smile. “We could leave my car in Benny’s driveway the whole weekend and not leave your house.”

A grin spread across his face. “Baby, you’re gonna be lucky if I let you leave this bed this weekend.”

“No problem. I don’t know if I’ll be able to physically walk after that.”

“That’s the idea.”

You laughed, collapsing back onto his chest, both of you spent and blissed out.

You both still had things to discuss, but you knew that you would figure it out soon enough. For now, all that mattered was that you both wanted each other, that he was here, his arms wrapped around you as he kissed the top of your head.

After a few minutes, you drifted off, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

#frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal #triple frontier fanfiction #will miller #william miller #william ironhead miller #benny miller #benjamin miller #santi garcia #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #my writing

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penvisions · 10 months

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the melting point {{masterlist}}

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: Running from the past to a new city gave you the perfect opportunity to open your own bakery. You're a regular at Brass Knuckles, and the owner is the right type of friendly you need in your life. Along with him, comes his group of friends, one Frankie Morales. You develop a crush on him nearly instantly. Can you manage to get your head above water long enough to tell him he's the most gorgeous man you've ever met?

Word Count: 68.9k - ongoing

Warnings: hurt and comfort, light angst, mild violence, one (1) instance of stalking, talk of past gun violence, ptsd, reader has trauma similar to the triple frontier guys, reader is described as having tattoos for plot points, reader is handicapped (expanded on in later chapters), reader has mobility issues, adult content, smut, p in v smut, oral (m and f receiving), the whole gang is here, plus oc inserts

*these are just general warnings, each chapter has a detailed list for specific content

A/N: this is a self indulgent fic in which my dream of opening a bakery comes true, and hey, if a man built like a wall and had curls for days became a regular, that would be okay too c;

chapter one || chapter two

chapter three || chapter four

chapter five || chapter six

chapter seven || chapter eight

chapter nine || chapter ten

chapter eleven || chapter twelve

chapter thirteen || chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen || chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen || chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen || chapter twenty

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gosmigenergy · 7 months

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KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Two

FROTTAGE / SEXUAL FRUSTRATION / VIRGINITY

( Triple Frontier Boys x F!Reader )

Summary: After a conscious decision to stop dating, your friend invites you to fight night where more than one person catches your eye.

Rating: 12A?

Warnings: Mentions of dating/bad relationships, allusions to a non-monogamous relationship, language, drinking, teeny bit of masturbation, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 4.4k

Notes: When @absurdthirst announced their Kinktober 2023 list, I actually got inspired to start writing and I’m now taking the plunge by posting them online. It’s been a few years since I wrote smut so bear with me. If there is anything spoken in italics, it’s Santiago or Francisco speaking in Spanish, I didn’t want to just Google translate and butcher it. My brain also didn’t do this in numerical order hence why there is no Day 01 though this story seemed more of a fitting start.

I may not complete the entire list so be ready for sporadic updates, enjoy!

(P.S. Hi Moyra!)

The story of how you ended up in an open relationship with four, rather handsome guys was a simple one.

You were lonely and horny but also indecisive.

Your notable chastity came after a series of shitty relationships and dates with men. After being ghosted, catfished and caught up in a quick partnership with a toxic dom, you had pretty much given up on the male species. Except, once a few months had passed, the sexual urge came back, you couldn’t fathom the strength to go out and find people but there is only so much a toy can do.

“A cage fight? What are we going to do at a cage fight?”

“I don’t know,” your friend spoke with a tone that indicated she knew something you didn’t. “But there will be plenty of men.”

You roll your eyes, she was desperate to get you back out there, she also knew you well enough to know fighting your sexual nature was soon going to become a struggle and she couldn’t handle the idea of another crap hook up for you.

“Fine.”

That evening you found yourself outside of town, in front of a sorry looking hanger with your friend waiting for the rest of the group, watching the slim picking choices of men.

“If I wanted a frat boy, I could have just gone to that one bar.”

Your friend scoffed, “Frat boys are not the only option here.”

They weren’t but they seemed to be the better option.

Every other man you saw, you wouldn’t touch with a barge pole. Amongst the Frat boys was portly bikers who could barely remain on their bikes, those who you could only describe as rednecks and guys so terrifying, the idea of approaching them didn’t even come to the forefront of your mind.

“How long do you think the girls are going to be?”

“Fashionably late,” she shrugs.

“There’s a strong possibility they’ll miss their guy.”

You have flashbacks to when you went to a concert and they arrived so late, they only made it in time for the main act. The pair of you had sworn never to attend anything with them unless you had your tickets and could make your way to the venue without them. Tonight, you were both a little worried about how they’d be when they turned up and in an event like this, they’d stand out in the crowd.

You hugged your frame, bobbing up and down on the balls of your feet.

“Could we just get them to message when they’re here?”

“We’ll give them another 20 minutes.”

The flurry of people thickened and you stood to one side to allow everyone to pass without having to go around you. You were watching the time pass by on your phone when your friend’s announcement interrupted you.

“They’re here.”

“Thank fuck.”

You raise your head, about to look passed the incoming audience when you caught sight of someone.

He has his head ducked low underneath a baseball cap, his outfit in shades of navy and grey, hands stuffed in tight jeans pockets. Under the brim, his brown eyes flicked up to yours like he knew he was being watched. A smile came to his lips, brightening his five o’clock shadow, the moment between you was brief.

He carried on walking and you kept your eyes in front, swallowing as you felt his gaze still on you.

“Are you ok?” Your friend queried.

“I’m fine.”

The temperature rises in your cheeks.

“Uh-huh.”

In the venue, the group of you squeezed into a middle row on one side of the cage. The rest of the girls had already arrived a little bit ‘squiffy’ as they put it and on the second round of drinks, you’d offered to head to the overcrowded bar.

You had spent the evening rejecting offers from all sort of men, the cheesiest chat up lines plugged to you in every kind of way - ‘when do you get in the ring’, ‘what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this’ etcetera, etcetera. Your mystery man was nowhere to be seen and you think he was just a figment of your imagination.

Pushing your way through the throng, you manage to grab onto the trim of the makeshift bar and haul yourself forward. You lean your weight on your elbows and wait patiently for one of the bar staff to finish serving another drunkard.

“So, what’s a little girl like you doing in a place like this?”

The way they said ‘little girl’ made your skin crawl, even the guy next to you clocked your discomfort.

“Out with friends and would rather be left alone, thank you.”

“Aw, come on, I just want to talk.”

“I’d rather not, I’ve had plenty of men try and talk to me tonight and I told them the exact same thing. Please leave me alone.”

There was movement behind you but you thought it best not to make eye contact. You felt the air pass your shoulder as the guy next to you threw up a hand and caught the other man’s wrist that was inches away from your body.

“Hey, she’s already asked you nicely to leave her alone.”

Oh god, was a fight going to start because of you?

The growing tension had your heart pounding and your knuckles became white as you held your nerve.

“Who are you, her boyfriend?”

“If I was, would it stop you harassing her?”

The man behind you mumbled something incoherently before squirming out of the guy’s grip and staggering away.

“Thank you,” you finally look his way, giving him a smile.

He smiled, giving you a gestured nod, “You’re welcome.”

Even in this light, he had baby blue eyes and delicate freckles along his cheek bones. His upper body was wide, holding it’s own against wave after wave of people coming in to wait along the bar.

“You have some pretty quick reflexes, are you sure you’re not meant to be in that cage?”

He laughs, shaking his head.

“Nah, not my kind of thing. How about you? That look could have knocked him dead.”

“There’d be a lot bodies on the floor if it worked,” you quip. “I’m here as chaperone to the group of forlorn looking girls waiting for their man.”

His smile broaden, digging dimples into his cheeks.

“And who might that be?”

“Benny Miller,” you shrug.

You’ve been invited to watch him fight but actually have no fucking idea what he looks like, the girls have just been swooning about his ridiculous six pack.

“Really? He’s going to be thrilled.”

“You think?”

“I’m his brother, of course I know.”

You cock your head, eyebrows arching, maybe you could understand the fascination with this fighter if his brother is anything to go by.

“Oh god, how many Millers are there?”

His laugh is contagious.

“Only the two of us. If you count brothers in arms, there’s four.”

You should have guessed with those reflexes he was some sort of military.

Just as you’re about to speak, a bar man appears and he allows you to order your round first, five shots should come quickly. Juggling to get a grip of five tiny plastic glasses in two hands, you flash him another smile.

“Thanks…” You falter, “Sorry, I didn’t ask your name.”

“Will.”

You introduce yourself and thank him again before slipping into the stream of people, excusing and apologising to anyone who got in your way.

“You were gone a while,” you friend said inquisitively after taking a shot of sour cherry flavoured liquor.

You hum, “I got harassed at the bar and Benny Miller’s brother stepped in as my knight in shining armour.”

She laughs, checking quickly to see if the other girls heard.

“What is with you tonight? First that guy at the entrance, now the brother.”

“His name is Will and I haven’t seen that other guy since.”

It was nice to know he wasn’t imaginary.

There were a few rounds before Benny’s, the girls squealing and looking away as two guys beat the living daylight out of each other. They shouldn’t have been there, too much blood, too much violence and too much sweat from the crowd washing over them and it wasn’t like they could talk either.

The break came and as the other girls insisted on another drink, you politely excused yourself to breath some cool outside air.

You refused the offer of a cigarette when you stepped out the doors, eyes flitting to see if there was an empty bench or some patch of grass where you could escape the huddle of people congregating. Wandering around, you found yourself at the side entrance of the hanger, a lone person leaning a brick low barring wall.

There couldn’t be any harm sitting with him, he seemed harmless enough.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

The man glanced over, brown curls flicking from under his cap.

“Go ahead.”

You side, jumping to rest your ass before taking a massive swing of water from the fountain you’d discovered on your way out.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke.

“No offence but you don’t seem one for violence.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You look too sweet and innocent,” he shrugged.

You hum, “Who says I’m innocent?”

He laughs, dropping his head before taking a swig of beer, eyes in front of him.

“I apologise.”

“That’s ok, I get what you’re saying, it’s been pretty brutal so far.”

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, “I’ve seen worse.”

“Well, for the sake of the girls I’m with, I hope Benny Miller don’t get the shit beaten out of him.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t.”

He sounded so sure and that’s when your brain made the connection to what Will said earlier.

“You’re one of his brothers in arms, aren’t you?”

The man leaned back, placing one hand on his thigh, the little target tattoo on his hand stretching. He faced you now with a furrowed brow and parted lips, his eyes dark as you could see his mind working out how you knew.

“I bumped into Will at the bar.”

His expression seemed to soften.

“He told you about me?”

“Not specifically,” you winced, trying not to hurt his feelings. “We just got talking.”

The corners of his lips twitched, “He did mention meeting a pretty girl at the bar.”

You had to look away, your cheeks and chest immediately on fire, a spark that travelled your lower belly, spreading with desire. Will said you were pretty and he just clarified the comment, your friend was right, what is with you tonight?

He was just about to speak until the heavy swing of the door made you jump, he barely moved an inch.

“You better get you ass in here, Benny will lose his shit if you ain’t there to walk him in.”

For a brief moment, you couldn’t see who was attached to the voice but it was smooth.

They step out from behind the door and you saw the edge of a blue bomber jacket and the navy peak of a cap, his soft slopping nose and the five o’clock shadow along his sharp jawline.

Oh no.

It was if he caught something out of the corner of his eye, like he saw his friend and wondered why there was another person sat next to him, who was the other person sat next to him. His one eyebrow was arched, his lip straight until he recognised the face.

“Didn’t I catch your eye earlier?”

“I’m sure it was the other way round,” you remark wittily.

He smiled, nodding, “Agree to disagree.”

“If you say so.”

“Are you going to chat up all my guys tonight?”

He points between you and the other guy.

“I think you’ll find they keep chatting to me.”

He laughs, nodding again.

Both of the men shared a look, understanding each other though no word was exchanged, it was annoying yet somewhat enticing.

You wished you could know what they were thinking.

“Come on, Fish, he’s going on in a couple of minutes.”

He got up from the wall, abandoning the empty cup but he glanced one last time at you.

“Fish?”

“Nickname,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s Frankie to everyone else.”

You tell him your name and he smiles, nodding as he walked away. Frankie pats the other man on the back, stating ‘hermano’ and sauntering away, readjusting his cap before he disappeared into the venue.

Slipping off the wall, you went to say goodbye before he gestured for you to come through the back.

“Thanks.”

The door slammed behind him and he followed you, body unbelievably close, his breath mixing with the heat contained in the hanger.

“So, do I get to know your name?”

Glancing over your shoulder, he still has that soft smile, eyes roaming what was in front of him that caused goosebumps to arrive on your skin.

“No.”

You walked passed rows of lockers and tired wooden benches before he stopped, letting you walk a little further.

“Go to your left and follow the corridor to the double doors.”

You nod, “See you in there?”

His smile grew, “Sure.”

Following his instructions, the corridor felt like it went on for miles, the music muffled through the brickwork, the only sound your shoes squeaking on tiles. You were trying to wrap your head around what was going on, how had you met three guys in one night who all knew each other and seemed, to you anyway, to be caught in your gravitational pull? Or was your friend right, were you just that ridiculously horny after months of your own hand or toys?

You shake your head, taking a deep breath before joining civilisation again.

“They wanted to get closer,” your friend said, rolling her eyes.

“Aren’t we technically in the splash zone now?”

“D’you think they’re bothered?”

She was right, the rest of the girls were far too gone to even worry about being covered in sweat, beer and possibly blood, all you prayed for is none of them got ahead of themselves and flashed the fighter at the worst time.

After Benny’s name got introduced over the speakers and the match started, you finally saw the other three from the group, distorted opposite by the wire hexagons that followed the cage. Even they were sensible enough to sit several rows back, they cheered and backed Benny the whole way through and when the opportunity arose, fleetingly looked to you.

A heat washed over your body.

“They said this is the way!”

The girls were giggling, tottering up the corridor as fast as they could in heels. You and your other friend held back, mostly to ensure you weren’t connected to the fangirls who were trying to find a battered and bruised man.

You pretended you didn’t know where the locker room was though you were there moments earlier, you couldn’t face the queries from your friend.

“He’ll be in here,” a friend beckons everyone over.

“And I’m out,” you hold your hands up. “I’m not sneaking into the boys locker room.”

“Really? I thought you’d quite like a photographic memory for tonight.”

You shake you head, “I have the internet for that.”

She laughs, nudging your hip.

“I’m just going to see how this all plays out.”

“Sure.”

She pushes you away and you stagger to an empty space on the wall, leaning against it and allowing the cold to spread across you back. Tipping your head back, you close your eyes, taking a breath.

“Don’t want to join your friends.”

A familiar voice breaks the silence.

“Do you always hang round in the shadows?”

He scoffs, “No.”

“I’d rather not be associated with,” you wave a hand. “Their actions.”

He moves to the wall opposite you, copying your stance, his smile curling as he can hear the chaos in the distance.

“You know it’s a shame,” he looked at you through the corner of his eyes. “He would have liked to have met you.”

You scowl, tilting your head.

“You’ve been talking about me?”

“Will and Fish are quite enamoured with you.”

“And you?”

Your heart was pounding, the blood rushing to your head. You were nervous to hear his answer, tongue sweeping over your dry lips and all he could do was smile, breaking eye contact.

“I don’t think you could handle me.”

You hum, “I like a challenge.”

He pursed his lips, cocking his head to one side.

“You look too sweet for me, honey.”

The way he said ‘honey’ was intoxicating, smooth with a hint of his Spanish pronunciation, it made your heart flutter. You push yourself off the wall and take a few steps over to him, folding your arms across your chest, standing tall.

You look him up and down, your expression scrunching, you’d seen someone like him before not exactly like him but they all appear the same.

“Maybe that’s just what you need… A good girl who’ll do as she’s told.”

He turned to face you, eyes almost black and you swallowed. His smile crocked into a smirk, he noticed the falter in your otherwise firm stance. Moving his body close, he leaned forward, hands placed to his hips. He brought his lips to the shell of your ear.

“Then give me your phone.”

You do as you’re told, unlocking the screen as you hand it over.

Taking it in one hand, he gives you space and taps away before giving it back. You check the details on the phone.

Santiago Garcia is a new contact.

“Give us a message if you need anything.”

You blinked at the screen then up at him, his face had softened.

“I’ll hold you to that, Santiago.”

He winked and walked away, out of your vision, he shooed the girls away.

—

“So, did ask her?”

The guys had driven to a late night diner after the match, part of Benny’s post match routine was stuffing his face with a load of carbs.

“Not quite,” Santiago took a bite of a fry. “I gave her my number.”

Benny practically made a raspberry noise like a child.

Santiago shook his head, throwing his hands up, “The balls in her court.”

“You should have just asked her.”

Frankie took a swig of his coffee, “This isn’t the kind of thing you just walk up and ask, she would have run a fucking mile.”

Benny pointed with his fork, “This is why I should have done it.”

Frankie burst into laughter, Santiago and Will shaking their heads, he has no fucking idea.

“What?”

“There’s no way she would have taken the offer from you,” Will was trying to contain his laughter, cheeks turning a faint hue of pink. “I trust Pope, the balls in her court now.”

Benny ladled the last of his food onto his fork, “Do you think she’ll bite?”

Santiago was praying to every god that you did even though he was far from religious. This is the first time back since he felt anything, it was unusual that he found himself vying for attention with the other boys.

This was new territory for him and he’s done a lot of shit.

He thinks back to the conversation with you, he didn’t expect what came out of your mouth and it was like the lure of a siren to a sailor. It’s why he reconsidered you as an option. Sure, you cracked a little when he got close yet who wouldn’t and that’s when he guessed you may have seen it before.

His fingers have been twitching to check his phone all night.

“You’re guess is as good as mine.”

And you were laying in bed contemplating whether it was too early to message him.

After the fight, you thought you’d just go home and crash, you thought wrong.

Stripping off, you decided to take a shower to get rid of the grime from the night. You had an idea you were wet, you just didn’t realise how much your arousal had pooled. There was so many factors you could blame - several matches where two sweaty, semi dressed men were in close proximity to each other, three men’s eyes watching you and your eyes met, Santiago centimetres from your face.

The water fell soothing down your skin and you settled two fingers against your clit, rubbing gently. Closing your eyes, you pictured the fine details, the blonde of Will’s hair, the wideness of Frankie’s hand, the musk of Santiago’s aftershave.

You dragged your fingers along your folds, gasping as you sunk them into your burning cunt.

It was embarrassing how quickly you came to the thought of them, you hands reaching for the cool tiles of your bathroom as your legs threatened to give way. Your breath was shaking, your body vibrating as the warmth travelled up your spine.

“Fuck.”

A message popped up on your phone from your friend, hoping that you had a good night, the winking face emoji a hint to the boys. Messaging now seemed desperate, your teeth grazed you lip.

Rolling over, you prayed that sleep would take you.

You decided against messaging Santiago in the morning, you were groggy and unmotivated with suggestions of a possible meet up would fall on deaf ears. It was in the afternoon, after some good food and a walk in the fresh air that you felt ready.

‘And when you say anything, what did you have in mind?’

That was the question that lead you to the bar tonight.

As it was a dive bar, or so you and your friends believed, you didn’t wear anything fancy however it didn’t mean you under dressed. You wore a dress that accentuated the curves of your body, hiding it with an oversized jacket and trainers. Taking a breath, you pushed through the doors, the vision of Santiago stood at the bar ordering.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“I’m fashionably late,” you retort, taking a note out of your friends’ books.

He laughed, “What are you drinking?”

He bought you a drink and you went to join the boys at the table, finally being introduced to Benny.

“I was kind of insulted you didn’t want to meet me but I’ll forgive you.”

The five of you talked about everything and anything, you learned that Frankie was a pilot, Santiago chased cartels for years after being in the military because he couldn’t stand still and the Miller brothers spent their youth on a family farm. After food and another round, Benny decided that it was the perfect time to get the conversation rolling on to why you were here.

“Are we gonna do this or not?”

He was straight to the point.

“Christ, Benny,” Will could have kicked him under the table. “Always thinking with that dick of yours.”

You guessed the implication would be something sexual, you got that from Santiago last night but his text gave you nothing, actually the whole evening gave you nothing. It was just nice to be in the company of four very different yet very attractive men who hadn’t push any boundaries.

Frankie lifted his cap and ran his fingers through brown curls, his focus pulling to Santiago.

“You want to start? You’re better with words.”

It’s also more his kind of thing, is what he left out, but it wasn’t easy.

Your eyes flicked to every man around the table. Frankie couldn’t make eye contact, Benny glanced between you and Santiago while Will seemed to be the calmest of the lot.

“We got talking yesterday about a girl we saw at the fight and it turns out we were talking about the same one. Now, the guys haven’t really done this before, I’ve shared before but not quite like this —“

“Wait, did you just say shared?”

It was alarmingly hot all of the sudden.

“Yes, I did,” he rubbed the scar along his neck.

Frankie chuckled to himself, “I guess there is no easy way of saying it.”

Santiago could see your mind working overtime, the knot in your brows tightening. Your lips opened before you stopped and thought over your words again.

“Do you guys want a five way?”

You wouldn’t complain if they did.

Benny and Santiago’s brows seemingly raised.

“Not quite, sweetheart,” Will lowered his tone, closing in on you so his frame blocked the rest of the bar from your vision. “We’re thinking more, we share you out evenly, four ways.”

You blink, tongue running over your dry lips, just the thought alone had settled between your thighs.

“So, a different guy every night?”

“If you want,” Benny chimed in.

Santiago shrugged, “I was thinking more of a weekly schedule.”

That would make sense.

Your mind was processing the concept, it could be good, yet it could also be bad, catastrophically bad. That’s what happened with that dom, they made all these promises, that they’d buy you all these rewards and gifts if you did what they wanted, they never came. They had you running round in circles, doing a load of shit you thought you wanted to do when in actuality, you didn’t. They manipulated you until you finally said no and then they gaslighted you into thinking it was all your fault when it never was.

Could these guys do that too?

“What are you thinking, querida?” Frankie broke through the silence.

“Just the string of bad relationships that came before this,” you take a swig of your drink, catching his puppy dog eyes. “Not that I’m saying this is a bad idea, it’s just…”

You chose your words carefully.

“I’d need to see the terms and conditions.”

He nodded, “That’s fair.”

“I’ll get the papers to you in the morning,” Santiago joked.

“I better not see any spelling mistakes or the deal’s off.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Will’s my copywriter.”

You tried to keep the upper hand but you broke, the smile cracking on your lips.

“Sooo, is that a yes?”

Benny’s eyes were darting from person to person, this conversation was too cryptic for him, he wanted a firm answer.

“It’s a maybe.”

He pouted, nodding, “I’m taking that as a positive, celebratory shots on me.”

The rest of the boys groaned as he slipped out of the booth towards the bar, Will apologising for his brother’s enthusiasm given the fact you didn’t give a solid ‘yes’. You thought you’d pretty much ruled men out and then suddenly the universe had gifted you four of them.

Maybe this was the end of that dry spell, the possibility of your sexual awakening and more and honestly, you didn’t mind at all.

#kinktober 2023 #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #reader insert #santiago garcia #frankie catfish morales #will ironhead miller #benny miller #slow burn #kinktober #first time posting #im gonna post this and log off

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