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loslentesdepedrito · 10 months

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I'm Your Wife- Chapter One

Top right gif by: @uuuhshiny , bottom left gif by: @userdjarin

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Word count: 4.7k+

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Two

Chapter summary: You're filled with excitement as you share news with your husband, Jack. However, his reaction isn't what you were expecting. His hurtful and hateful words leave you reeling, causing you to reconsider your marriage. Luckily, friends and family are there to help you through.

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these types of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut.

Warnings: ANGST, topics of death and mourning, language used by the characters is harsh and contains strong emotions, pregnancy, divorce, toxic marriage. (I hope I didn’t forget anything, it’s been years since I wrote this.)

A/N: Yes, I'm aware that this piece bears similarities to my first work (Jack Daniels and Frankie Morales) that I shared here. However, I only realized this after creating the graphic at the top. Oops! If you've grown tired of the Whiskey storyline, I have another piece with Dave York available!

"Jack?" You call out, anticipation and happiness filling your voice. Jack brings his head up and looks at you, his eyes reflecting the joy that radiates from you.

"Yes, sugar?" he responds, mirroring your smile with his own.

You can't help but let your smile grow wider. "I'm pregnant!"

But the moment the words escape your lips, Jack's smile vanishes before your eyes. Confusion swirls within you, and you can't understand his reaction. "No, you ain’t," he denies firmly.

You refuse to let his denial dampen your excitement. With a quieter voice, you insist, "Yes, I am."

Again, he denies your claim. "No. You ain’t pregnant." His Southern drawl carries a mix of shock and denial.

He’s got to be in shock, right? you wonder silently, trying to make sense of his reaction. He must be, you reason, which is why you decide to make it more tangible for him.

"I am. Look!" You declare proudly, pulling out the glossy black and white sonogram from your pocket, and presenting it to him.

But to Jack, it all feels wrong. He glances at the sonogram, your name on the top left corner, and the blurry white image representing the tiny life growing inside you. Overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, Jack shuts his eyes tightly, wishing desperately that this is all just a nightmare. Meanwhile, you remain over the moon, your gaze fixated on the sonogram, admiring the newly forming person you already love the most. I already love you more than words can describe. You’ll be loved so much, I promise.

In an instant, a sharp sting shoots through your right fingertips, eliciting a hiss of pain from your lips. Startled, you look down and see the crumpled sonogram on the floor. It becomes clear to you that Jack's intention was simply to drop the picture, but the force behind his action accidentally inflicted pain on your fingers. As you wince from the ache, Jack's realization dawns upon him, triggered by the audible hiss of pain that escaped you. However, the physical pain in your hand pales in comparison to the overwhelming confusion and hurt that now blossoms within you.

The sharp sting brings you back to reality, and you struggle to comprehend why you felt the need to step away from your own husband. Your heartbeat quickens, mirroring the pace of your racing thoughts, as you bend down to pick up the now-bent sonogram.

Jack has never laid a hand on you before, not even in the slightest way. You take a cautious step back, ensuring a safe distance between you. Your voice quivers with a mix of concern and hurt as you ask, "What's wrong with you?"

He shakes his head frantically, before he finally speaks, "This ain’t supposed to happen."

Confusion deepens within you, and you struggle to understand his meaning. "What... what do you mean, love?"

"This ain’t supposed to happen," Jack repeats, his voice filled with desperation.

You remain silent, your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for him to offer an explanation. But his next words cut through you like a knife. "You can't be pregnant... You just can't!"

You flinch back, wounded by his outburst. The pain in his words sears through, and tears well up in your eyes. "This ain’t supposed to happen with you," he continues, his voice filled with anguish. "I... I was supposed to have a family with my wife."

His reference to his first wife, tragically taken from him years before you entered his life, shatters your heart into a million pieces. The weight of his grief and loss settles heavily upon you, mingling with your own pain. You whisper, barely audible, "I'm your wife."

The words escape your lips, your voice barely registering as a hushed murmur. But Jack's confusion echoes in his question, "What?"

"I'M YOUR WIFE!" you shout, your voice filled with hurt and frustration. "It's me! You married me!"

"I held my tongue for so long, but I can't bear it any longer," you continue, your words pouring out in a torrent of pent-up emotions. "You make me feel like the other woman like you didn't even marry me."

"You always call her your wife when I'm right next to you. And no, this isn't being dramatic or exaggerating. Did you know you've always done it? Even my own family noticed and they keep having to pull me aside to tell me about it. It wasn't just a slip of the tongue, because you always do it. That's why no one in my family likes you!"

Tears stream down your face as you pour out your heart, laying bare the insecurities and pain that have haunted you for the entirety of your marriage. "I never told you because I didn't want to seem selfish or disrespectful, but you're the one who only thinks of himself and has no respect for me.”

“¡Dios mio!" You exclaim in exasperation. "I told myself I was going crazy for feeling this way. You said it when we were dating, then when we got engaged, and foolishly, I thought you would stop once we became husband and wife. But no."

"When we were dating and talked about our future, I made it clear that I wanted to get married and eventually have children. You knew this! If you didn't want the same things, we should have parted ways, but you said you wanted it too." You say, your voice choking with emotion.

Your voice cracks with frustration and heartache as you continue, "Well, I guess you needed a big wedding to consider me your wife, huh?” You let out a bitter chuckle, the sound carrying a tinge of despair. “You couldn't even give me the wedding of my dreams. I always wanted a celebration with all of my family, and you disregarded my wishes. Fuck, I should have seen this coming! You didn't want a big wedding to overshadow your perfect one, right?" Your words are filled with bitter resentment as you yell out your frustrations.

"YES!" Jack explodes, his own emotions coming to the surface. "I didn't want to replace her memory with you! My first weddin’ was perfect, and nothin’ could have beat it. So, why should I have tried to replicate it with you? I still love her and my boy so much... I tried with you, but it just ain't right! You need to get rid of it. Y'can't keep goin' through with it. She's the love of my life, and you..."

His words slice through your heart, leaving you in pieces. You collapse into sobs, your entire being overwhelmed by the weight of his contempt of you and the anguish of his lingering love for his late wife. "Your first wedding or your first wife?" You choke out through your tears.

"Marrying you was the worst decision I ever made." Jack's words hit you like a punch to the gut, intensifying your heartbreak.

Why the hell did he marry me then? Echoes in your head, tormenting you with unanswered questions and self-doubt.

"Then why am I still in your life?" you manage to say, your voice barely audible as you struggle to understand why he hasn't let you go if you're such a disappointment to him.

"Because you're needy and fuckin’ clingy, and you won't let g-" Jack's words are abruptly cut off by your interruption.

"Don't," You interject. "You don't have to finish that sentence." You say through the knot in your throat. "I know where I'm not wanted. Don't worry, I won't force you to stay in this so-called marriage, and I will not force you to be my child's father.”

Your voice trembles with a mixture of sadness and determination, as you gather the strength to continue. "I can't keep being the only one fighting for this relationship. The only one who wants to be in this marriage. I won't even suggest therapy. Remember the last time I asked you to go? You wouldn't fucking talk to me and kept going to her grave and god knows where else! For two weeks! Do you have any idea how I felt? I can't keep doing this. I won't compete with a ghost. Not anymore. I'm done.” After those two weeks, I don’t know how I believe we could have worked through his grief. I just.. I didn’t know he didn’t love me...

The words hang in the air, heavy with finality. You take a deep breath, mustering the strength to continue. "I'll contact my lawyer and initiate the divorce proceedings. The papers should arrive soon. I won't ask you for any financial support for my child. So, just do one last thing for me — I mean, you've never really done anything for me — but sign the papers as soon as you receive them, so I can stop being the wife you despise. I'll stay somewhere else tonight, and people will come tomorrow morning to move all my personal belongings. Anything we purchased together will be sold, and the payment will be spl- You know what? I don't have time for this. My lawyer will clarify everything." The words leave your lips with a mix of sadness and determination, the image of a shattered dream painted across your mind.

Through tear-filled eyes, you gather your strength and make a decision. It's time to take control of your own happiness, to reclaim your sense of self-worth. With a trembling voice, you declare, "I won't let myself be treated like this anymore. I deserve to be with someone who loves and cherishes me. I won't settle for anything less."

You feel drained, your heart shattered, but you know you need to leave. You put the sonogram in your purse and turn to head out, but not before you deliver a final blow. "When someone asks about your wife is, you can say her name. You already do."

Jack stands frozen, his mind filled with regret and the realization of the irreparable damage he has caused. Part of him wants to chase after you, to beg you to stay, but he remains rooted to the spot, consumed by guilt and sorrow. The room feels empty and suffocating, the shattered dreams and broken promises hanging heavily in the air.

Jack's eyes snap open to a sudden commotion reverberating through the walls of his house. His Statesman training kicks in, and he springs out of bed with the speed of lightning. The adrenaline coursing through his veins fuels his urgency to investigate the source of the disturbance. Hastily, he descends the stairs, his mind racing, and his heart pounding in his chest.

As Jack reaches the ground floor, he is met with an unexpected sight. A decent group of movers, your family, and your friends filling the space. Instantly, his gaze falls upon your cousins, aunts, uncles, and fucking Javier Peña. Jack's blood boils with a deep-seated hatred for Javier.

Javier had been your best friend during your early childhood, but with a move across the country, you never saw him again. Until, five months ago, when everything changed. You and Jack were out grocery shopping when you reached for a package of chocolate abuelita. In that split second, a large hand enveloped yours, jolting your attention towards a deep voice that called out, "Cariño?" The whirlwind of emotions Jack experienced was suffocating. He watched, consumed by jealousy, as you recognized the man before you. Witnessing the radiant expression on your face, he saw you embrace Javier and ecstatically exclaim, "Javi!" The sight of your reddened cheeks when you released him, burned a searing image into Jack's memory. Despite Jack’s language barrier, he observed how animatedly you conversed with Javier. Although he couldn't understand most of the conversation, he caught the moment when Javier mentioned that he was only in town for one day and then swiftly requested to exchange contact information. Concealing himself around the corner, Jack surreptitiously observed the scene of you giving Javier one last hug, unable to tear his eyes away.

Right after you parted ways with Javier, you excitedly recounted the encounter to Jack, oblivious to the torment it caused him. You spoke about your long-lost friend Javier, sharing every detail, and Jack listened, pretending it was all fresh information. Before the day was over, you informed Jack that Javier had called to tell you he accepted a position at the local police department and asked you to meet him so you could catch up.

The memories flood back for Jack, his resentment towards Javier intensifying. He vividly remembers the christening of one of your second cousins, a significant event, and one where your family showered Javier with adoration. It was another moment that added fuel to Jack's growing disdain for him.

Now, here he stands, witnessing Javier Peña loitering around his home, overseeing the packing of your belongings into cardboard boxes. The sight ignites an inferno within Jack, further fueling his abhorrence for the man everyone loved.

In a flurry of activity, everyone rushes about, their movements brimming with urgency. Oblivious to Jack's presence, they fail to notice him standing at the bottom of the staircase. Suddenly, your friend, colleague, and lawyer, Raul, approaches Jack, breaking through the chaos. The weight of the forthcoming conversation settles heavily upon Jack as Raul addresses him, his tone grave, "Mr. Daniels, we have some matters to discuss."

Jack tenses, fully aware of the impending storm that awaits him. Every word uttered by Raul feels like a stab wound, each syllable a reminder of the impending divorce. The word echoes relentlessly in his mind, sending shockwaves through his entire being. Jack longs for a blink, a mere blink to make all of this vanish, to have you by his side once more. Deep down, though, he knows he cannot be the father your child deserves, and he fears you'll never take him back after the hurtful words he unleashed. Helplessly, he stands there, his emotions raging, as every piece of your shared life is stripped away. Clothes, jewelry, pictures, shoes, bags, kitchenware, even the goddamn fridge magnets—every item is callously placed into clear bags and then transferred into their respective brown cardboard boxes, their labels written in bold red letters.

The pain intensifies as your favorite cousin removes your wedding pictures from the wall, carelessly flipping them upside down before removing them from their expensive frame, and then unceremoniously tossing only the pictures into a box labeled 'QUE ARDA.' Jack wonders what you plan to do with those cherished memories. He makes a mental note to translate that phrase later, his mind cluttered with thoughts and emotions.

As the relentless dismantling of memories continues, Jack withdraws into the sanctuary of your shared bedroom, seeking solace amidst the chaos. The weight of despair presses upon him, urging him to preserve a fragment of what once was. With trembling hands and a heavy heart, he surreptitiously slides one cherished wedding photograph beneath the protective shelter of his underwear drawer. It rests there, hidden from prying eyes, a bittersweet reminder of a love that now hangs by a thread. The image captures the essence of your wedding day, a moment frozen in time where love and hope intertwined. It represents a fleeting glimpse of happiness that Jack yearns to hold onto, to cherish, even if only in the confines of his solitary existence. As his eyes settle upon the drawer, a surge of emotions courses through his veins, reminding him of the role he played in their unraveling.

In the depths of his soul, Jack confronts the painful truth that he bears responsibility for their crumbling relationship. Regret claws at his conscience, its grip unyielding. The yearning to hold onto the photograph, to clutch onto the semblance of what they once had, tugs at his heartstrings. It is a bittersweet reminder of the love they had, now tainted by his own shortcomings and mistakes. To Jack, the photograph is a painful reminder of what he has lost, a reminder that this photograph, like their love, now resides hidden away in the depths of darkness. I did love her, I still do… he finally admits to himself

But even as he acknowledges his fault, the reality of their situation remains unchanged. The impending finality of divorce looms before him, a painful reminder that holding onto faded illusions will not resurrect her love. With a heavy sigh, Jack turns away, unable to escape the weight of his actions and the consequences that now unfold.

Stepping back, Jack's eyes lock onto the figure of Javier, approaching the room with purpose. Clutching a box labeled 'ROPA,' the weight of past joys and sorrows, Javier carries an unmistakable yellow envelope securely tucked beneath his arm. The sight sends a surge of conflicted emotions coursing through Jack's veins. There, within the confines of that envelope, lies the final decree that will sever the bonds his marriage once held.

Jack wrestles with conflicting desires. He longs to keep the photograph close, to savor the image that once symbolized their dreams and aspirations. Its presence would serve as a evidence of the love they once shared. Yet, the impending finality of divorce tugs at his conscience, reminding him of the futility of holding onto a fading illusion.

His moment of introspection is abruptly interrupted by Javier stepping into the room, "We just need this room, and then we're done," Javier's voice cuts through the heavy air, each word dripping with finality. He strides past Jack with deliberate intent, their shoulders colliding in a jarring collision. It’s a calculated move, a manifestation of tensions and unspoken grievances. The impact reverberates through Jack's being, jolting him with a surge of mixed emotions that threaten to overwhelm him.

Javier's voice pierces through the silence, demanding Jack's compliance. "Oh, and sign this," he commands, holding out the document that seals their separation. Jack's heart sinks further, aching with the weight of his mistakes and the harsh reality of his actions. He realizes that his choices and his inability to fight for their love have led them to this precipice of destruction.

A whirlwind of emotions swirls within Jack as he struggles to maintain composure. He longs to retort, confront Javier, to defend himself against the accusations that echo in his mind. But the fear of breaking down, of exposing his raw vulnerability to his nemesis, forces him to swallow his words and bury his pain beneath a façade of indifference.

Suppressing his emotions, Jack forces out a strained response. "I'll go get a pen," he mutters, his voice betraying the cracks in his armor. Of course, he notices a pen casually protruding from Javier's pocket, but doesn’t acknowledge it. Jack's intentions are twofold - to avoid indebtedness to Javier and to steal a fleeting moment of solitude, where he can gather his shattered pieces and shield his vulnerability from prying eyes.

"No need," Javier replies, retrieving a black fountain pen from his crimson shirt. "Here."

Jack accepts the pen wordlessly, turning away from Javier. A wave of emotions washes over him as he approaches the smooth surface of your cherished vanity. Its polished veneer reflects the dim light in the room, casting a soft glow that dances upon the surface like distant stars in the night sky.

As he places the envelope down, he can't help but notice how out of place it looks amidst the serenity of the vanity. The contrast between the cold, impersonal paper and the warmth of the polished wood is sharp. It's a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging within Jack's heart, a stark reminder of the shattered dreams and promises that now lie in ruins.

His attention is momentarily diverted, his ears pricking up at the sound of hangers clanging against each other in the closet. Javier's intrusion into this intimate space feels like an invasion, a violation of the sanctity that once existed between you and Jack. The echoes of the hangers serve as a painful reminder of how swiftly everything has unraveled, leaving him feeling helpless and adrift in a sea of emotions.

The entrance of more voices into the room disrupts Jack's already tumultuous thoughts, shattering the fragile stillness that once enveloped the space. Amidst the chaos, a distinct sound catches his attention—an unmistakable rustling of a bag. He turns, his gaze drawn to one of your uncles holding a storage bag. Its contents hold a precious piece of your shared history, the short, simple white dress you wore on your wedding day. The bag appears relatively small, but it carries an immense weight that lodges itself as a hard lump in Jack's throat.

A rush of memories floods his mind, triggered by your words uttered just the night before: "You couldn't even give me the wedding of my dreams." The sting of truth reverberates through his being, for he knows deep down that you were right. You had shared your dream for a celebration surrounded by all your loved ones, but he had selfishly protested. It was never a matter of financial constraints, as both of you were financially stable, but rather his fear of overshadowing the memory of his first marriage. The image of your tear-streaked face flashes before his eyes, when he said he “didn’t want to make a big deal about the wedding," a haunting reminder of the pain he inflicted upon you with his own demons.

His heart aches as he realizes that you had ultimately surrendered, selflessly agreeing to a courthouse wedding to avoid further conflict. There were no grand gestures, no best man to stand beside him, and only your parents as witnesses. The weight of his own choices and the consequences of his actions press heavily upon him, like a heavy stone lodged in his chest. Regret engulfs him, his remorse magnified by the sight of your dress being packed away, a symbol of the dreams he shattered and the happiness he denied you.

Jack sees your uncle place the storage bag in the 'QUE ARDA' box he noticed earlier, and he knows he will never see that dress again. Unable to bear the weight of these memories any longer, Jack lowers his gaze, seeking solace in the downward cast of his eyes. The room buzzes with activity as more of your possessions are packed away, each item serving as a painful reminder of the life he once shared with you. The anguish wells up within him, threatening to consume his fragile composure. He longs to shield himself from the mounting pain, to retreat into a fortress of emotional detachment, even as his heart aches with the knowledge of the devastation he has caused.

Jack knows he must face the inevitable. He doesn’t want to, but he knows he doesn’t have another choice. He didn’t love you as he should have. He wasn’t a husband to you in the truest sense. Reluctantly, he opens the envelope, gingerly withdrawing the papers contained within. The bold letters of "Decree of No Fault Divorce" sting his eyes, and tears threaten to spill onto the pages. A part of him wants to let them flow freely onto the papers, to show you just how deeply this affects him too.

His gaze traces the contents of the documents, fixating on your initials, your signatures, and the relinquishment of parental rights. He shouldn't be so close to letting out a sob at the sight of everything laid out. The pain is overwhelming, almost suffocating. He had said that he didn't want to be a father to your child, screaming those hurtful words at you. This is what he wanted, isn't it?

Thoughts whirl in his mind as he contemplates sending the papers to a lawyer, as your lawyer had suggested. But he doesn't want to prolong your agony. He senses your urgency to sever ties with him. He doesn't want to contest the division of assets, knowing that what rightfully belongs to you should remain with you. He reads a statement noting that while you're not asking for child support, he understands if the court mandates it.

With a heavy heart and trembling hand, Jack signs his name on the designated line next to your signature. By the time he surrenders his parental rights and agrees to everything else, his hands have gone numb.

Lost in his thoughts and emotions, Jack is unaware of the activity in the room until he notices your lawyer approaching him. Raul's presence jolts him back to reality.

"Very well. I will expedite these papers," Raul states, extending his hand to collect the envelope.

Jack hesitates, his grip tightening on the document, reluctant to surrender it. In fact, a surge of defiance pulses through him, urging him to tear it into countless pieces, to feed it to the pigs, and restore all your belongings to their rightful places within the sanctuary of your home. But he knows he must suppress these rebellious impulses. Reluctantly, his fingers loosen, and he extends the envelope, a mixture of sorrow and resentment coursing through his veins. The burden of the decision he made hangs heavy upon him, a haunting reminder of the choices that have led to this painful moment.

Unexpectedly, Raul reaches into the depths of his dark gray suit pocket, retrieving a small black box. Jack's heart clenches in recognition, knowing all too well the contents that lie within.

"Here is my client's wedding band and diamond ring. She wanted to return them to you." Raul informs him.

The box becomes a symbol of shattered dreams and promises, a vessel holding the remnants of the love that once bound them together. It serves as a perfect reminder of the life they had envisioned, now irrevocably altered.

The gravity of the situation bears down upon Jack's weary shoulders as he gazes at the box, his mind flooded with a whirlwind of emotions. It is a bitter pill to swallow, suddenly acknowledging the pain he has caused and the irreversible damage inflicted upon the once-vibrant tapestry of their relationship. Regret seeps into every pore, intertwining with the threads of sorrow that bind him, leaving an indelible mark upon his soul.

Jack's fingertips tingle with a mix of trepidation and resignation, for in surrendering the envelope, he recognizes the finality of their life together.

With a heavy sigh, Jack reluctantly releases his grip on the envelope, its transfer an act of surrender and acceptance. The bittersweet taste of resignation lingers on his tongue, a poignant reminder of the love that once burned brightly but now smolders in the ashes of what could have been. The echoes of his unspoken regrets reverberate through his being as the envelope changes hands, sealing their fate.

Javier's voice pierces the silence, "Ya está todo" ("It's all done"). Without a single word directed at Jack, everyone exits the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Your family and the movers pick up the boxes and load them into a truck that will carry them away, transporting them to a place where you can begin anew, free from him.

The sound of the door closing echoes through the nearly empty room, and Jack retrieves his phone, launching the translation app. He enters the phrase "QUE ARDA," and his stomach churns as he reads the translation of what you intend to do with your wedding items and the pictures you once cherished: "LET IT BURN"

Overwhelmed by emotions, Jack collapses onto the bed in the nearly bare room, tears streaming down his face. The weight of his actions and the consequences of his words crash down upon him, suffocating him in remorse and regret. He yearns for a way to turn back time, to rectify the pain he inflicted upon you throughout the years. How did she keep up with everything I put her through? He asks himself. But he knows it's too late. All he can do now is bear the burden of his mistakes and hope that someday, somehow, you can find it in your heart to forgive him.

In the depths of his being, Jack understands that the time for desperate gestures and sentimental hopes has passed. It is a painful admission, an acceptance that their love has slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. And as he looks at his underwear drawer, the image etched into his memory, he carries the burden of his own fault, knowing that he didn't want his wounds to fully heal, which, in turn, caused your own wounds.

Extended note: (Repeating from my previous Dave post from yesterday, because I believe there isn't much overlap between Jack and Dave fans. So I'm sharing this here as well.) As I mentioned in my initial post, I have been writing fanfiction for a long time. However, I recently decided to start sharing some of my work. English is my third language, and while I have experience writing and publishing grants, research papers, proposals, and so on, it’s nothing compared to fanfiction and erotica. Also, I have always had a team to revise my work, so this is definitely outside of my comfort zone. With this being said, I apologize for any and all mistakes because if I read this over, I’ll overthink and not post.

I don't know when the next part will be up because I like to create dividers and the image displayed at the top of the post. I'm not quite sure what to call it—Collage-like manner gifs? Banner? Oh, and I'm horrible at graphic design, so it took me an embarrassing amount of time to create the ones included here.

If you've read this far, thank you, and have a great day 🤎

Please feel free to comment and reblog! (If you would like to, of course :)

#angst #jack daniels x female reader #Jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels angst #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x you #kingsman fanfiction #Jack daniels #agent whiskey #no y/n #javier peña #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #not rpf #fic: iyw #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

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lavendertales · 1 year

Text

Sweet lies: Chapter 1

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

summary: you return to your beloved hometown and you're set for a night out with the old gang. But the night isn't short of surprises.

word count: 3.4k

SERIES WARNINGS: former friends who were in love with each other, angst, mutual pining, tension, eventual smut, jealousy, infidelity, wrong choices, kind of arranged marriage too I guess.

A/N: I NO LONGER USE A TAGLIST! If you want to be updated on my works, click “Get notifications” on this blog! Comments & reblogs are forever appreciated 💕

gif: @uuuhshiny

series masterlist | AO3

The pleasant memories of this place are still vivid. Unchanged, unsoiled by time and the pain it carried along with it. But it’s not that easy to focus solely on the good. It never is.

There is also melancholy to be felt. Deep and sharp, soaring through you like a black veil of smoke. It’s intangible, yet it still aches. All the contradictory emotions that come with you simply standing there, gazing around, are still very much alive in your chest, as it’s the day when you left it all behind.

And you sure remember that day, clear as the sky above you, and cold as the crisp February air around you.

You were only eighteen. Still a child, barely beginning to trace out the steps on your life’s map, but it was your dream. You had the opportunity to fulfill it, and you could not miss it. You knew you’d never forgive yourself if you missed it.

After months of sending out applications, you finally received the answer you’ve been hoping for. You had been accepted into one of the most prestigious universities in the world. Cambridge University, full scholarship. Just like that, you embarked on the most wonderful adventure yet, chasing the dream of studying abroad.

But it wasn’t that easy. That much was clear.

You were, of course, going; nothing was going to break your way. You packed all of your things, mentally prepared yourself to move abroad indefinitely, perhaps for good. Yet, you found yourself utterly weakened by the idea that you had to say goodbye to your friends. It would be tough, but you knew they’d be completely supportive. You wouldn’t even have dreamt of anything else.

On your last dinner together as a group, you were joined by the Miller brothers, Will and Benny, Santiago, Rose, the only other girl amongst you, and Frankie. They all offered you their sincere congratulations and support, just as you had anticipated. Though they were saddened that you would no longer participate in their daily lives—at least not that actively—they promised to call and write to you, and to catch up as often as possible.

But each time you looked around the table and noticed Frankie’s pleading and soft glare, you began to question everything, from your decision to study abroad, to your own damn sanity.

The impact that man had on you was simply magnetic. Even now, thinking back on it, nothing ever came close to the rush you had being around him. It was a warm thrill, if that made sense. You were the best version of yourself when he was around, and before you knew it, you were hooked. Being around Frankie was the closest you’ve ever gotten to feeling love in its most flawless and pure state. He was soothing, loving and warm, everything you forgot you could be. You thought that even if you were to spend every second of every day with him, it would still not be enough. There was just something between you two that boiled right underneath the surface, simmered in unbearable heat. Unspoken, begging to be released in one way or the other. It never materialized, though. Neither of you addressed it, for one reason or the other, so you left.

There were times when you swore you had imagined that Frankie could ever reciprocate your feelings. You managed to convince yourself that it was all in your head, that your mind had fabricated what your heart desired in order to cope with the fear of rejection and loss. And you survived on that knowledge. Knowing that it was unrequited love made it easier for you to survive abroad all those years.

Ten of them, to be more precise. Ten years you’ve been gone. Well, not gone gone, but it sure felt bizarre to return after so long.

Few things have changed in town: new shops, new infrastructure, but that’s about it. Nothing really palpable to you. You can’t help but look around though while you wait for Santiago to pick you up. The people seem the same, like you’re the only one who’s aged in the past decade. You wonder how many of those people walking by had dreams, and you wonder whether they followed them or had to push them aside in survival’s favor.

Tonight, you’re meeting the old party for dinner in the same restaurant you met ten years ago. With a few exceptions, of course: Rose can’t make it, but promised to make it up to you in the following days and the Millers are bringing their girlfriends. Santiago remains single from what you know, and you couldn’t bear thinking too much about Frankie, so you were running on sheer curiosity and a “we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it” basis.

But your subconscious runs wild with questions and scenarios: is he married? Is he bringing his kids? Is he single? Is he gay now? Anything feels possible at this very moment, when all you know is fear and doubt.

“One thing’s for sure, life abroad agrees with you.”

The voice is unmistakable; you turn, being greeted by Santiago’s bright smile and open arms. You practically sink into the embrace, a lovely sensation of friendliness and home nearly overwhelming you. He hugs you tightly, sincerely, rocking you a little to the left and to the right, then he lets you go.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” he continues, eyeing you up and down.

“Save something for dinner, Santi, damn.”

“Oh, speaking of that. Something you should know.”

You don’t like his tone when he announces that; your heart drops in your stomach. Don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it…

“Frankie isn’t coming,” he says, and you can’t help but feel relieved in the slightest. “Something about building… something. I don’t know, honestly. Might be furniture. I think.”

“Not really surprising, but good to know.”

Santiago looks at you in a way that’s meant to make you feel sorry for what you said.

But you’re not.

“Come on. It’s been ten years.”

“I am over it, Santi, I promise. But I do think I at least get to be snarky.”

“You know what, tonight is about you. Go for it. Shall we?”

You nod, getting in the car, all while entertaining Santiago with stories from your most recent whereabouts.

But there’s a warzone happening in the back of your mind. That part of your brain can only reminisce the cruel way you and Frankie ceased to exist as friends.

You loved him. That much was true and as real as it could be. But you loved him as a friend first. He had been the most positive influence in your life, so much so that you managed to quit smoking and get straight A’s on your SATs. You spent most of your time together in the senior year of high school talking, laughing, sharing music and stories, and simply caring for each other.

Then one day, it all stopped.

He had kept in touch with you for a little while after you moved away, but conversations grew thinner and rarer, and you could tell something was wrong. He insisted that everything was fine, and a week later, he vanished from your life altogether like he was never there to begin with. No phone calls, no texts, no emails, nothing. He was gone, without ever saying goodbye.

You even thought of him as being dead. It was infinitely easier than lying awake at night trying to understand what could have been done differently, what went wrong and what could you have done to prevent the rupture from happening. Cruel and bizarre, yes, but easier to cope with.

Because losing your dearest friend wasn’t something eighteen year-old you knew how to process.

Whenever you spoke with any of the guys, you asked not to be told about Frankie other than answering the question “Is he alive and well”. The answer was always yes. He was alive and well, and that made you happy for him, but in return it made you feel bitter and alone.

That was the extent of the contact you kept with Frankie. The guys respected your wish as well and never went into details about him, so you had no clue what his life looked like now.

“Now that you moved back in town and the group is essentially back together, are you just never gonna see or talk to Frankie again?”

Santiago’s question is blunt and to the point, but it’s only natural he be curious about it. Everyone in your little party knew about your feelings for Frankie, and they all knew how devastated you were when he subtracted himself from your life.

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly. “I could.”

“Can you though? I mean, you’re bound to run into each other at some point.”

“I—I don’t know, Santi, okay? I obviously miss him, I think I might miss him forever, actually, but at the same time it’s…”

“Yeah.”

He quickly glances over at you, offering a trademark Santiago Garcia compassionate look that, oddly enough, calms you down a little.

“It’s hard,” you finish saying, heart back in your throat.

“I know. But look, neither of us is forcing you to do anything. We’re just glad to have you back and we hope things can be okay between us all.”

“I sincerely hope so too.”

“And Frankie’s part of our lives whether you like it or not, so you either gotta get over it fast and accept that, or things will be very awkward.”

“I did move on.”

“Tell that to yourself.”

You feel some anger to his remark, though not the primal kind that got you in trouble.

“It’s hard to just erase someone out of your life, someone you cared for so fucking much,” you blurt out. “Obviously not to him, he did it perfectly, but I can’t do it so easily. It’s been ten years and it still hurts to think about it.”

“If you think it’s been easy for him too, like it was a light decision to take, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

You exhale loudly, hoping that will be a good reveal of your annoyance with the situation. Luckily, Santiago is great at picking up cues, so it does not require any more effort on your part.

“I’m not saying what he did was smart,” he tells you, his voice soft and filled with regret. “Personally, I think it was idiotic. But one thing I do know, is that he was in a lot of pain for a long time after it. Which means it wasn’t easy to do.”

You make a grimace, feeling surprisingly at peace hearing that. “Good,” you say, and even you recognize how mean you sound right now. “Why should I be the only one miserable?”

Santiago chuckles, nodding his head as if to say “you two idiots are killing me”. You know that look. You’ve seen it plenty of times before. You’ve even been on the receiving end of it a few times, too.

“But things really started to pick up for him,” Santiago continued. “In the past few years, he’s really—“

“Can we not talk about him or us or anything remotely related to that tonight? I just want to have a nice dinner with you guys and not think about him. Not yet. That’s… tomorrow’s problem.”

“Alright, sure thing.”

And true to his words, he didn’t speak another word about Frankie, nor did he even mention his name. Truthfully, even that is more than capable of awakening all the feelings you had fought so long and hard to bury deep within. You know it’s only a matter of time until you’d inevitably run into Frankie again, but that is an issue for tomorrow. You don’t have to mentally prepare for it until tomorrow.

All you want to do is relax, have a nice dinner with your friends and tell yourself that you are home.

The moment you walk through the restaurant’s door, you see a fairly big table on the right, and the first figure you notice is Will’s. Being the tallest of the group, it’s virtually impossible not to spot him in crowds. He’s always played the role of the mentor among you, the quiet, yet wise one that you all came to for advice at some point in time.

He’s the first one to remark you, too, and he smiles instantly, standing up to greet you. Then off goes Benny with his exuberant personality, excited like a loyal dog reunited with a friend. They both reach to hug you, patting your back and squeezing you gently into their arms.

“Long time, no see!” Benny exclaims. “And it is quite the sight, might I add.”

“First Santi, now you… I’m on fire tonight, huh?” you laugh.

“Here, have a seat,” Will encourages you, pulling a chair for you.

“Thanks.”

“This is Mia, my girlfriend.”

The girl named Mia extends a hand to you, smiling politely at you as you introduce yourself. She’s a beauty indeed; luscious, brown curls cascading down her bare shoulders, a red dress fitting her body, and when she smiles at Will, her eyes sparkle in a truly mesmerizing way. She even seems to be on the quieter side, which matches Will’s persona to a T.

“And this is Emily, my hot-shot girlfriend,” Benny says.

The other girl named Emily shakes your hand and smiles all the same. She’s just as beautiful as Mia: red hair, green eyes, stunning dress and lips so full even you’d spend all day kissing them.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Mia says. “The guys sung your praises a lot.”

“You really shouldn’t talk so much about other girls, you guys,” you tell them, menu in hand. “Especially not when your girlfriends could be models.”

Both girls giggle, but it’s not one of those fake laughs that you can spot from a mile away. They seem genuinely flattered and nice.

“Em did model for a while a few years back,” Benny gloats, wrapping his arm around her.

“Benny, come on.”

“What? I can’t brag about my incredibly sexy girlfriend?”

“You are, we can all hear you,” Santiago says under his breath, his vulture eyes locked on the menu.

Will chuckles and moves his glare on you.

“We heard you studied at Cambridge, is that right?” Mia asks you.

“Yes. I was lucky enough to get a full scholarship there for the Arts program.”

“Oh, what did you study?”

“Business Management.”

“So you know she really means business.”

Everyone giggles at Benny’s words and gets ready to order. Meanwhile, Will’s gaze never leaves your figure. He’s on your left, one seat over Santiago, so he gets a pretty good view at your creased brow.

“Did Pope tell you?” he asks suddenly, and you realize seconds later he’s addressing you.

“Tell me what?”

“About—Frankie.”

He falters, like the name is some forbidden cuss word neither is supposed to say.

“Oh. Yeah, he—he did mention that he couldn’t make it tonight.”

Will makes a grimace, exchanging a look with Santiago that makes you feel left out of whatever little secret they got going on. But then you begin to suspect maybe that’s not what Will meant at all.

You’re in no mood to discuss anything Frankie-related tonight, so you let it slide.

“Yeah, he couldn’t make it tonight,” Benny agrees. “Too bad. It would’ve been nice to have all of us here.”

“Mhm.”

You add nothing else after the hum, and the guys don’t ask anything else, much to the girls’ curiosity. But when the waiter asks for your order, you all place it without second thoughts.

Although you highly doubt you’ve heard the last about Frankie this evening.

“How long have you and the bros been together, ladies?” you ask.

“Well, Benny and I just had our one year anniversary a couple of weeks ago, and Will and Mia have been together for… what, five months?”

Will nods, stroking Mia’s hand. “Six month anniversary coming up soon,” Mia gushes. “What about you and Santi?”

You and Santiago look at each other in somewhat of a panic, then you both start to laugh, just as your drinks are being brought before you.

“We’re not together,” you laugh. “Nope. Not a chance. No. No, no, no.”

“Four no’s? Really?” Santiago asks. “Punch me in the face, it’ll hurt less.”

You pat him gently on the arm, which steals a smile from him.

“I’m sorry,” Mia apologizes. “I heard about you and the other guy from the group and I assumed—“

“No, no.”

“That’s—not me.”

Silence intervenes again, with Benny clearing his throat out loud, thus capturing everyone’s attention as he leans in to whisper to Mia, “No, that wasn’t Santiago, that was… Frankie.”

“Oh, that’s right, Frankie!”

“Okay, let’s clear the air. I had a fallout with Frankie ten years ago, and we haven’t spoken since, but that’s about it. No need to walk on eggshells around me, no need to act like his name is some ancient-long curse that cannot be spoken out loud. It’s okay.”

“Dully noted,” Benny says, sipping from his beer. “So what was his excuse for tonight?”

Everyone turns to Santiago, expecting an answer, with the exception of you. You slowly nurse your wine, finding the table cloth much more interesting than pretending to care about that man.

Except you still do, and it’s tearing you inside in ways you could never even describe.

“Something about building furniture, I guess,” Santiago finally replies. “He’s been quite into remodeling lately.”

“Oh, cause of—“

“Benny.”

Will’s voice is firm, yet low and menacing enough for his little brother to receive the message. But of course, that only captures your curiosity and interest alike, raising more questions rather than silencing them.

“Because of what?”

“We haven’t told him you’re back in town yet,” Will announces, seemingly taking it upon himself to be the spokesperson. “We weren’t sure if you wanted to tell him either.”

“That’s okay,” you say. “I know this is a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but… it’ll be fine.”

“Doubt it,” Benny whispers strictly to Emily, who playfully slaps his shoulder.

“We’re gonna run into each other at some point and we’re gonna have to talk. But until then, I just want to celebrate my return with my dearest friends.”

“Here, here!”

The sound of glasses clinking fills the salon and you all emerge into conversations over dinner. You immediately bond with the girls, discovering more and more about them, and thinking how perfect they are for their respective partners. Then again, either of the Miller brothers would be a great catch.

“So what really brings you back here?” Mia asks you after a while.

“I scored a position as editor at a publication in town. I��ve done business and everything related to it, but I’ve always loved writing, so when this came up… I couldn’t pass it. Especially since it’s in my hometown.”

“I think it’s so great you’re back,” Emily says with a fond smile. “Your whole life is here, your family and friends… you’re living your dream, basically!”

“Almost, yes.”

You don’t tell them how you’re always going to miss a piece of yourself from this very town.

You don’t tell them how much you missed and loathed this place at the same time.

You don’t tell them how you’ve felt incomplete for years, bruised and deceived, unfairly so.

Instead, you finish your meal and your wine and excuse yourself to go to the restroom, trying to organize your thoughts and not let them spiral out of control.

But that takes a turn for the worst.

You freeze on your way to the restroom, in the middle of the restaurant. The face you’re met with is unmistakable, both that of a ghost and of a friend. You can practically feel the color draining from your face and your limbs going cold. You can’t move; you feel frozen in space and time, like there is nothing but the two of you and like no time has passed, but also like an eternity did. Every contradictory sensation you could possibly fathom, it’s right there in your body, swallowing you whole.

Then, a whisper of your name brings you back to earth. Completely shook, you can only murmur one word. The one word you’ve tried so hard to forget.

“Frankie.”

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales angst #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco morales fic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #sweet lies series

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elliespuns · 3 months

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POV: you're Joel's thermos

[original gif: uuuhshiny]

#the way he gently blows on it before kissing it #my lady parts are crying #joel miller #joel tlou #pedro pascal #joel x reader #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo

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frannyzooey · 2 years

Text

Weeknights Drabble

Gif: @uuuhshiny ❤️

Frankie Morales x f!reader, Weeknights Universe

Rating: Explicit

“I wish I could have some alone time with Mommy.”

You rinse the dish you’re holding, placing it in the rack next to the sink and you look over at Frankie, cooing at your son. His body squirms enthusiastically in his grasp, Frankie’s fingers touching across his small back and looking at the dark swirl of hair across his tiny crown, you smile.

I wish I could have that too, you think to yourself. Your eyes linger on your husband, the curve of his jaw peppered in even more grey, strands of the light blending with the rich, dark brown waves that cover his head and his eyes crinkle as he smiles, his skin tanned and aged in a way that only makes him look more handsome.

It is those things, but maybe it’s the baby he’s holding on the counter right now that makes him look more handsome.

Yea, you feel your eyes hooding. It’s definitely when he holds the baby.

Sensing you looking at him, Frankie meets your eye and winks.

Standing, he places your son in a nearby rocker on the floor, bending to strap him in before tugging to make sure they’re secure and you take the moment to admire the muscles in his broad back, the sliver of skin exposed just above the waistband of his jeans.

When he stands up, you turn back towards the sink to resume the dishes and grabbing a bottle from the water, you feel the warmth of his body at your back without looking at him.

“I’ve missed you, baby.” He breathes the husky words into the nape of your neck, his fingers curling around your hips to pull you back into him and you close your eyes, limply dropping the bottle you were washing back into the sudsy water. You relax into his hold, relishing the press of his body, but also the comforting hold of it — it’s been a long few weeks.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His mouth is warm and wet on your neck, a hum at the taste of your skin escaping from his throat and you let your head loll to the side, biting your bottom lip.

The baby shrieks, then gurgles — the less often one of play instead of discontent — and the sound of the rattle he’s batting at fades into the background; Frankie’s voice taking over. “It’s been a long time. His tongue traces the shell of your ear, a kiss pressed to the lobe of it. “Too long.”

He’s right - the baby transitioning into his own room but still waking in the night, Lucia’s infrequent but no less alarming for it night terrors; the two of you haven’t been able to catch a break. In the morning, you’ve been interrupted by her barging into your room. In the afternoon, you sleep when the baby sleeps. In the middle of the night, the two of you are out cold.

“I wanna taste your pussy, baby. I need it.” His words are strained, lighting an immediate flare between your thighs, the heavy weight of arousal gathering there and as if he can sense where you need him most — or maybe he actually really knows you just that well — his hand skates down, cupping you over the thin fabric of your leggings.

The ones you’ve been wearing for days because they are the most comfortable things you own, the ones that fit you like a second skin making it easier to bend down and clean up toys and lean over the bathtub and crawl on the floor for tummy time. All this time, you’ve been mentally scolding yourself for feeling unattractive, for not trying harder.

And all this time, you’ve been driving him absolutely crazy.

His fingers flex and dig into you, pressing right over your clit before slipping down to follow the curve of your entrance and your hand covers his own, helping him.

“You wanna play, baby?” His teeth catch on your shoulder, his broad chest covering your back and when you nod dumbly, he grins against your shirt. “It’s almost nap time.”

The weight of his hand drags up to the waistband of your bottoms, pushing beneath them and it’s immediate, the way he seeks the warmth of you out. Your mouth drops open when he pushes inside, a hitch escaping when he lets out a low groan into your ear when you take two of his fingers easily. Your wetness coats the digits as he glides them in down to the knuckle and his mouth waters, imagining the taste.

“I bet you taste so fucking good.”

A slow, filling push in, a curled slip out.

Another one in, down to the base of his fingers and when he holds it there for a moment, you let out a small whine. Your feet shift slightly open, giving his hand more room and he takes it, grinding the heel of it against your clit. You curl forward, your hands clutching the rim of the sink and he pulls you back to him, breathing in your ear.

“I’m gonna put him down right now.” His beard catches against your cheek, his sweet breath warm over the slope of it. His fingers are a snug fit, even more when he smoothly adds a third. “And then I wanna go play Mommy and Daddy.”

no one look at me

Read Weeknights here!

#weeknights drabble #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/reader #pedro pascal

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astroboots · 2 years

Text

Let me come home to you

Summary: Santiago and Frankie are impatient to make up for lost time with you when you've been out of town.

GIF credit: @uuuhshiny

Rating: Explicit as fuck doesn't even begin to cover it.

Warnings/content: Double penetration by popular request. The writer is a fucking heathen. polyamorous shenanigans, you know the drill by now.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you) x Frankie

Wordcount: 3.4k words

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

The clock on the dashboard says 02:13 AM.

Your flight is over three hours delayed, and Santiago's been on standby with the car to pick you up ever since. Frankie has work tomorrow and Santiago figures he can play the martyr for once and do the man a solid so he doesn't have to go to work in zombie mode. It's not like Santiago isn't a night owl to begin with.

Plus... he misses you. You've been away for a week. He can do the 40-minute drive to the airport and sit and read a book in the car while waiting so he gets to see you one night early. Spend the extra 40 minutes driving back home with you. Maybe even slip into the shower with you and see how far he can get, before you inevitably crash.

It doesn't quite happen that way of course. When your flight finally arrives, you shuffle into the car, eyes bleary, your hair a battle zone. Before Santiago's had time to shove your luggage in the trunk and get back in the car, you're already sound asleep in the passenger seat. Dead to the world, and Santiago has to reach over and buckle you in for you.

The following 40 minutes drive back home is spent in silence, only the hum of the car and the sound of your snoring keeping him company. He's gonna give you hell about it tomorrow, make a long spiel about how he can't believe he drove that long just to hear you snore. But in all honesty, right now, as his eyes keep drifting towards you and linger at every red light on the way, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

When the car reaches the driveway of your home, he has to carry your sleeping ass inside. He's pretty sure with how deeply you're asleep, there's no point in even trying to wake you up (and if part of him also doesn't want to wake you because he wants to let you sleep, that's his business and no one else's). Wrapping your arms around his neck, he cups one hand on the top of your head, to make sure he doesn’t accidentally knock it against the doorframe of the car.

It’s fiddly, trying to lock the car when both of his arms are preoccupied with holding you up. Even worse when he tries to unlock the door without waking up the whole house. And the absolute worst, when he has to carry you up the stairs.

Santiago isn’t in a bad shape. But the way you’re slumped in his arms, coupled with the darkness of the hallway, and the need to manoeuvre you within the tight confines of the staircase, nearly breaks his back.

Then once he’s reached the bedroom, and put you down on the mattress, he doesn't even get the chance to change out of his clothes, because you refuse to let go of him even in your sleep. You’re clambering onto him like the very same Boa constrictor you share a nickname with and he has to stay in bed like that.

It doesn't matter that he is still wearing jeans, and has no blanket (since you hogged it all), with you back home, lying next to you, and Frankie on the other side, he falls asleep within minutes. It's perfect, so perfect he doesn't even mind how his plans for shower sex have been thwarted replaced by a peaceful, restful sleep, where his mind is wiped blank in calm.

"Frankie, you'll wake Santiago, Frankie, Fran-- oh fuck--God, Francisco there-- don't stop, keep--aaaah."

Santiago's eyes shoot open at the high-pitched moan.

The room is blindingly bright, and fuck, it hurts to even keep his eyes open. He's so discombobulated he's not quite sure where he is for a good 10 or 30 seconds.

White linen, flowery bed sheets. Bed, he's in bed.

He turns his head to his right, to see you, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted with your hair in disarray, spilling over the pillow. Santiago's brain hasn't had the chance to quite catch up yet. He hasn't even had coffee, it's why he's not fully processing the information he sees before him. Doesn't quite understand what he's seeing until the next thing he hears is Frankie's thickly rasped voice.

"Keep your legs open for me baby, want to make you come again in my mouth so I can lick it all up and swallow it. Tastes so sweet."

Frankie's also in bed. Head tucked between your thighs, messy brown locks curled with perspiration and effort on his forehead, your fingers gripping on tightly to them.

Whatever delay there was in his brain this morning, it quickly catches up with reality at the sight of Frankie, pussydrunk and hungry, tongue and mouth ravenously working between your legs.

Fucker, he can't believe Frankie got a headstart on him and didn't even bother to wake him up.

Santiago drags himself over the mattress, until he's pressed against your side. Moulding his thighs against the rounded curve of your ass, arm draping against the dip of your hips, lips pressing against the slope of your neck.

"Have the courtesy to wake a guy up next time, yeah?"

There's only a muffled chuckle in response from Frankie. Man is having the time of his life as always when his head is between your legs.

There's a tug on Santiago's shirt, and as he looks down, your fingers are curled into the fabric, tugging and prompting him to come closer.

"Good morning Santiago, I missed you.” Your voice is so sweet, it makes his chest ache with want. Because fuck, he missed you too.

"Morning, Sweetheart," Santiago greets, tilting his head until he's gazing down on you. You bite your lips, shooting him a half-sleepy smile, before wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Then you drag him downwards, closing the distance between your lips as you part your mouth for him and let him lick into you.

You shiver and moan, high pitched and lovely, as your whole body seizes up, eyes fluttering and rolling back. Santiago knows your body so well by now that he knows what that means. Knows from the way your thighs are trembling, toes curling trying to grip onto the sheets that you’re close.

His hand covers your throat, fingers curling around the beating pulse as you come in his arm, back arched and curling away from the mattress to the accompanying sound of Frankie's guttural moan as the man laps up your orgasm from between your legs.

"Good girl," he hears Frankie murmur, and as you continue to moan, Santiago swallows every single decibel of your pleasure with his mouth on yours.

You're warm and pressed up against him, and Santiago is already hard. How could he not be after hearing and feeling you come in his arms. How could he not be, when you've been away for over a week, deprived of you as he has been. Of course, he's fucking hard. The only surprising thing here is that his hard-on hasn't torn the seams of his jeans at this stage. Tight and uncomfortable as they are.

He reaches to unbuckle his belt, until the telling sound of metal clinks, and then there’s a shift in the fabric releasing some of the aching pressure. He slides down his jeans and underwear over the bulge that is stretching the fabric tight. Then he kicks them off until they're pooling somewhere on the floor.

Reaching for you, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly to him so he can execute a fluid roll that has you flat on your stomach with him on top of you. Taking the opportunity to let his one free hand grab the hem of his shirt and briskly pull it over his head and off.

"Santiago," Frankie's voice is low in that tell-tale warning that he is about to break out the sternness, but Santiago really couldn't give less of a shit right now, even as Frankie grits out his reprimand. "Do not hog her."

Santiago laughs, Frankie sounds like such a dad right now. Next thing Santiago knows, Frankie is probably going to tell him to share his toys. Too bad for Frankie, Santiago never did well with that on the playground.

"Fuck off Frank, you started without me this morning. Only fair you get a handicap."

The man's eyes narrow, a tinge of vexation coloring the brown shade until it simmers with something stern and dangerous in caution.

It doesn’t deter Santiago in the slightest. He already got sidetracked last night, after being away from you for a week, a whole long and boring seven listless days. Besides, it's Frankie's own fault for jumping ahead and getting a sneak preview. Like hell Frankie gets to go first after that. He can afford to wait his turn.

Santiago leans back down, with a happy grin. Revelling in the touch of his bare skin against you as he covers your form. His chest pressed warm against your back, mouthing a languid kiss on the slope of your shoulder when he hears you.

"Both."

You murmur the word so quietly into your pillow he can barely hear it at first. "Want you both."

Fuck... that works too.

There's a tingle of excitement starting from the top of his spine that singes its way through him down to his lungs until they must be short-circuiting given the way the air thins around him. His cock is twitching against the round curve of your ass in anticipation, already smearing against you, hot and sticky, dying to be inside you.

"Yeah sweetheart? Think you can take us both this morning?" He asks, knee pressing against your inner thigh to encourage you to open for him, and you do.

You nod with a sweet sleepy little hum as you let Santiago place his hand on you, spreading your legs wider for him in invitation.

Soft and welcoming to the touch. His fingers slide down each vertebrae of your spine, and you arch and curl into his touch like you're starved for it. Honeyed moans and even sweeter whines, as his lips follow the path of his fingers.

God, he's missed you.

You're warm and wet between your thighs for him. A mixture of your earlier climax and Frankie's over-enthusiastic mouth. Santiago parts you without any resistance, two of his fingers slipping easily inside as you moan for him. It doesn't take much coaxing. From the way you're dripping down the hand of his heel, to the point it's obscene, you're more than ready to take his and Frankie's cock.

As annoyed as he is that Frankie's got a head start this morning, he can't be mad at the fact that it comes with some benefits. His fingers slide out of you, trailing down, until they're dipping into the cleft of your ass and he rests them there. "You ready, cariño?"

You nod with hitched breath, and it's all he needs, he presses into you, to your inviting heat. Your body feels like it's burning, so fucking tight.

From somewhere to his left, he can hear the soft slide of a drawer. Before he knows it Frankie's back in bed, shoving a bottle of lube into his hand with the impatience of a drill sergeant.

"Santiago," you pant out, back arching into him, until his fingers slip even further inside of your body, "Hurry up."

You’re just as impatient as Frankie. But you don't have to tell him twice. Santiago pops open the lid of the bottle with his free hand, slipping out his fingers from you as he hurriedly squirts an obscene amount in his hand and over his cock. Then he's sliding his hand over the length of him, nearly doubling over at the stomach-clenching pleasure that takes him at the slick slide.

He doesn't know who's more impatient right now. Him or you, as your hand reaches out from behind you, fingers curling around his girth, coating the lube all over until he's so sleek for you there's more of it on his cock than left in the bottle. Your thumb swirls over the blunt head of his cock, and he shudders at the sharp pleasure spiking his gut, pressing his forehead into your shoulder for a brief reprieve.

The weight on the bed dips and shifts, and his short-lived breather is already interrupted.

"Santiago," Frankie's voice commands, snapping out of it.

Santiago opens his eyes, to see Frankie settled down on the bed. He’s lying on his side, next to you, pressed up close to your front. "Don't keep her waiting."

Everyone's in a damned hurry this morning.

Dropping one hand to replace your hand on his cock, he guides himself into you, the blunt tip notching against your entrance, before he pushes in. The first stroke is fucking heaven. It feels like coming home. Warm and inviting, a pleasure that rushes from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He holds himself still savoring it, resisting the temptation to thrust.

Then it’s Frankie’s turn.

From across him, Santiago sees the man’s large and competent hands, curving over the back of your knees as he pulls you to him and locks your leg over his hip. Santiago can see glimpses of the way Frankie's hand wraps around his own cock, spreading your legs even wider for him, and then without a moment's breather for either of you, the man thrusts up and into you.

Jesusfuckingholychrist, he will never get over the sensation of how he can feel Frankie through you.

Your hand throws out, wrapping them tight around Frankie's shoulders as you moan out with a choked sob into his neck.

Santiago barely has time to push all the way into you when he can see it. That all familiar tell-tale sign, of your eyes nearly rolling back to the back of your head. The way your gorgeous mouth goes slack and parts. He can fucking feel it, when your body seizes and locks up in his arm. The way you're clamping down and fluttering all around his cock. You're so fucking close.

"Shit sweetheart! Again? Already?"

"It's been a while," you say with a pitched whine that hints of exasperation, as if you took Santiago's words as a personal insult. You're squeezing around him rhythmically, in a way that steals the very breath out of his lungs, and fuck. Santiago can't move, can't get any deeper like this, not when you're clutching around his cock so relentlessly tight.

"Fuck, sweetheart, I can tell."

He holds there. Unmoving, trying his damned hardest to ignore your beautiful whines, tries to not give in and race for the finish, as your hips tilt back to meet his, begging him for more, begging him to make you come.

"Not yet, cariño, not yet. It's been a while, let's try to make this last for a bit, yeah?"

There's a protesting sound from you, a gorgeous cross between a whine and a mewl, that has his fingers itching with excitement to tease you, to force you to make that same exact sound again. But his own sanity is holding on by a thread. The only thing he can focus on is trying to stave off his own inevitable orgasm. He tries to pull out, but jesusfuckingchrist, you're clamping down on him like a fucking vice. Overworked and overwrought as you are. Santiago doesn't even think you realize you're doing it.

He slips two of his fingers between his lips, tongue tracing the digits as he coats them in his own spit. Then he drags them down over your body, down your soft stomach until he's sliding his fingers on your clit, slippery and wet, and-- there we go. He can feel you relax around him, easing and allowing his cock to slip further in. His hips cant up in a slow, wet drag of his cock inside you, until finally he's fully buried inside you.

"Think you can be good and hold on just for a little bit more? Can you do that? Cause I'm pretty sure the second you come, your pretty pussy is going to squeeze us so tight, Frankie and I are going to come with you."

You whine. Not quite a yes, and Santiago feels sorry for you. Knows it can't be easy to hold, because he feels like he's bursting, on the very edge of release.

"Just hold on for me okay sweetheart?"

Your teeth sink into the full and swollen bottom lip, until Santiago is almost worried you are going to draw blood. Then you nod.

"Good girl," he praises. His hips draw back, as he slides nearly all the way out, until only the blunt tip of him still rests inside your slick heat.

"That's right, cariño," he soothes as he thrusts back in, until he can see the pinched concentration on Frankie's face, jaw clenching down, trying desperately not to come as well.

"Hold off."

His hips draw out again, and he can feel the drag of Frankie's cock pushing his way in as he does.

"Just like that."

Thrusting back in. Then again. Hands gripping and palming at your ass as Santiago shoves into you, his teeth nipping at your neck and shoulder. Watching you shiver, Frankie drags himself out with the slow torture of it before the man buries himself to the hilt again with a maddeningly slow pace.

"Santiago, I--" your eyes squeeze shut like you're trying to shut out the very sensation of your looming orgasm. "I can't, I can't, please."

There's nothing more that Santiago loves than to hold you suspended there. To hold you off and edge you as you're standing there overlooking the cliff. But right now, it's been too long. He can't deny you, not when you look and sound this sweet.

"It's okay Boa, you can come," his hips hitch up, sliding in those last couple of inches until he bottoms out, and his head is swimming in the pleasure of you, struggling to find the words on his tongue. "Come for us, sweetheart, come."

Finally given permission, you do exactly that. You come around his cock, sobbing into Frankie's neck, a shivering and trembling mess.

The slivering pleasure that rushes through him is dangerous. His eyes are squeezed shut, and the sensation of you squeezing and pulsing around him drags him to the edge of madness. White aching bliss sears the inside of his thighs as he clenches his stomach with the desperate determination to stave it off. Not yet, not yet.

And Santiago could've held it off. Could've held onto that fine silver thread of his sanity, if he just hadn't done the grave mistake of opening his eyes. But he does, and as he does, his eyes meet Frankie's.

He can see it the moment it happens in Frankie's eyes. The man is overcome by pleasure as he groans out, grabbing your hips and forcing you closer.

Fuckfuckfuck, he can feel Frankie pulsing into you, spilling into you with greed.

There's no return for Santiago. He barely has the foresight to thrust into you before he can feel it too. An overriding pleasure so sudden. It takes him by surprise. It surges through him with a forceful rush, gripping his spine and squeezing at his lungs.

He spills, thick and devastating inside of you. The bed underneath him feels weightless like it's collapsing from under his feet, and fuck, he's still coming. Pulse after pulse as you squeeze him still. It feels like forever, a moment suspended and nothing outside of this room matters. The world outside doesn't even exist.

"Fuck, baby, that was--" Frankie's voice rasps out. Santiago is barely able to open his eyes, as he feels the weight of Frankie shifting, slipping his cock out of you, and Santiago hisses at the sensation of the subsiding pressure inside you against his own overstimulated cock.

The three of you lie there panting. Exhausted and wrung out. He doesn't know how long the three of you stay like that, none of you moving, disorientated and waiting for the room to stop spinning. Until you're twisting in his arms and turning around, with a warm infectious smile as you look up at him.

"I'm home," you say.

He can't help but smile back. "Welcome home, sweetheart."

A/N: I got like three requests for double penetration (we did it Jeffrey!.

Dedication/Credits: To my favourite clown sister @thirstworldproblemss can you believe this is the first DP fic I'm posting on here?!?! I cannot wait for the world to see your horny creations from our DMs (because we have like half a dozen in our wips that is all DP). I love you so.

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #oscar isaac #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #cici writes #homecoming

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uuuhshiny · 1 year

Photo

Pedro Pascal in the Last of Us

Fluffy

#by uuuhshiny #Pedro Pascal #the last of us #Pascal gifs #TLOU spoilers #uuuhshiny's gifs #OHK #kind-a #1000 plus

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kwistowee · 2 months

Text

Happy Birthday, Tom Wisdom! February 18th, 1973

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onevolon · 7 months

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same but very different vibes

(gifs: @uuuhshiny and @phantom-fund)

#joel miller #annihilation kane #oscar isaac #the last of us #annihilation #pedro pascal characters #oscar isaac characters #onevolon fun #pedro pascal #kane annihilation

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imaswellkid · 2 years

Text

I'm fine.

No but really. I'm good.

(👆🏻 @ewan-mcgregor )

(👆🏻 @nicolethered )

(👆🏻 @uuuhshiny )

#i'm not #the shape of him #look at the shape of him #pedro pascal

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plentyoffandoms · 4 months

Text

Main Masterlist ♡ Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Three Weeks (18+)

Frankie Morales x f/Reader

Warnings: Some swearing. Smut under the cut. Descriptive sexual acts. Unprotected sex. Breeding Kink. Oral (f receiving).

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy

Gifs and photos do not belong to me. 1st gif @@uuuhshiny

Also, Frankie doesn't have a kid in this story, but Tom is still dead.

WC: 1343

Summary: It is Frankie's wedding day, and there is only one thing on his mind. How he can get his new bride alone.

After months and months of planning, it is finally my wedding day. I am standing at the altar with Pope next to me as my best man, Will and Ben next to him.

The three of them in the tuxedo that my bride picked out, with my input, of course. She made sure I was involved with every single step of this wedding, right down to the napkin colour. I still remember when I tried to pass off all the planning on her shoulders.

"This is your day too, Francisco, and I will not be the only one planning this. You will be helping." She told me with fire in her eyes.

When I told Santi what she said, all he could do was laugh at me and tell me, "Good. She keeps your ass in line."

The music changing brought me back to this very moment. She was walking herself down the aisle, even though many men in her life offered to walk her down it, including Santi, but she said that she could do it herself. That no one needs to give her away.

All I could focus on was on her. It was like everyone else in the room disappeared, and it was just us two. That usually happens when I see her.

She looked absolutely beautiful. My eyes raked up and down her body, and I felt myself twitch in my own tuxedo pants.

It has been three weeks since the last time I touched her.

Three weeks since the last time I had her crying out my name as I made her cum on my tongue and fingers.

Three weeks since my cock was engulfed by her pussy.

Three weeks since I got to cum in one of her holes, instead using my own hand like a teenager.

Three weeks since I had her trembling beneath me as I thrust my cock in and out of her pussy, groaning her name loudly as I came, feeling her pussy flutter around my cock one last time before she finishes for the last time.

Three fucking weeks.

◆

The ceremony went by in a blur, and the moment the two of us were announced as Mr and Mrs Morales became one of the happiest moments of my life.

I wanted nothing more than to leave and take her to the hotel room that I rented a suprise before we actually left for our honeymoon, but I did what was needed.

We took our photos, were announced as husband and wife, and had our first dance to Yours by Russell Dickerson.

Her and I are not the biggest country fans, but this song was on when we first danced together, and it has been our song since. I leaned down to softly sing my favourite line.

"I came to life when I first kissed you."

"The best me has his arms around you."

"You make me better than I was before."

"Thank God I'm yours."

◆

As we ate, I knew I couldn't wait any longer. Her hand was on my thigh as she talked to her Maid of Honour.

I leaned over and told her to come with me. She looked at me, and she most likely could tell by the look in my eyes what the hell was going to happen.

She told her friend she would be right back, and the two of us left the reception. Some probably already knew what we were going to do. Some probably thought we just needed a break from everyone, as many people know that I hate this type of stuff, but for her, I would do anything.

"Frankie, baby, where are we going." She asked me. The sound of her heels clicking on the floor, as she tried to keep up with my pace.

"Need to be alone. Yes!" I opened up the first unlocked door and rushed her inside.

I closed the door to the bathroom and made sure to lock it. I cupped her face with my hands and smashed my mouth against hers, letting out all my sexual frustrations into this one kiss.

I turned us around, so her back was against the door. "Three fucking weeks baby." I muttered against her lips. "Making me wait this long, well, no more waiting."

I kissed down her neck and down her chest. I groaned as I pushed my face into her cleavage. Kissing and nipping at the flesh that was showing, once again muttering how I missed her tits, missed her body.

I got down on the dirty floor, not caring at this very moment. I needed just a taste.

I ran my hands up her legs and thighs, making sure not to break eye contact with her, but once I got to my destination, a surprised look came over my face.

I bunched up her skirts to make sure I was correct, and I couldn't help but smirk. "My naughty bride isn't wearing any underwear." I tutted.

"I was Frankie, but seeing you in your tux and knowing that we can finally touch after so long, they make soaked."

I groaned against the thigh I was kissing. "No need to wait any longer, baby." I wrapped my lips around her clit and slid two fingers in her pussy, the both of us moaning. Her moan was due to the fact that my fingers and mouth were quickly bringing her to the edge, and my moan was from finally tasting her.

I pulled my mouth away, can feel her juices on my chin and beard, but my fingers never stopped fucking her. "Come on baby, cum for me. You know she needs to be dripping for me to fuck you how you like. Your little pussy needs help to take my cock."

"Frankie, Frankie...shit." Her back arched the door as she came, her pussy gripping my cock. My mouth went back to her pussy, as I fingered her through her first orgasm.

I stood up and moved her so she was leaning over the sink.

Our eyes made contact in the mirror, I never once looked away from her as I undid my zipper and pulled my cock out of pants.

I placed the tip at her entrance and slowly pushed in, the both of us loudly groaning. I pushed in slowly until I bottomed out. I leaned down and kissed between her shoulder blades, knowing she needed to get used to my size again.

"Move Frankie, please. Fuck me." Came a broken whine, falling from her lips.

I pulled back until just the tip was left, and then I slammed into her pussy, quickly covering her mouth as she screamed. I fucked her as hard and fast as I could.

Never once stopping as I fucked her through each and every one of her orgasms.

I had sweat dripping down my forehead as I fucked her with all the pent up frustration I have had over these past three weeks.

"Never make me wait this long again." I said through clenched teeth.

My hand was still covering her mouth, so she couldn't answer.

"Gonna cum baby. Gonna fill you until you are dripping all night long. Gonna make you round with my child. Fuck."

The image of her round with my child had me moaning her name as my own hips still, flushed against her ass, as I came. The both of us groaned at the feeling of me finally finishing inside of her.

I was catching my breath, ready to help clean her up when there was a knock on the door.

"When you two are done in there, we are waiting for you to cut the cake." Came the voice of Pope. I could hear the snickering of Ben and Will.

"Be out soon." I called out as I turned her around to help fix her makeup and hair.

"I love you, Mrs Morales." I said as I gently cupped her face in my hands, leaning down to kiss her.

"And I love you, Mr Morales."

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