#frontier week day four

[beskarandblasters]

Bluffing Season

Enemies to Lovers!Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Author’s note: Ya know like “cuffing season” lmao!! Thank you to @pascalispretty, @fhatbhabie, and @hyzer34 for beta reading! 🤍

Summary: Frankie Morales is your next door neighbor of the worst kind. To put it simply, you two can’t stand each other. But when his girlfriend breaks up with him right before the holidays he asks you to be his fake date for Christmas, not wanting to go home to his family single yet again. You reluctantly say yes and as you spend time with him you realize he’s not as terrible as you once thought.

Word count: 14.6k (what the fuck lol)

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, reader is a baker, two years post Triple Frontier, slow burn, enemies to lovers, fake dating, jealousy, made up lore for Frankie/his family tree, reader lowkey got mommy issues (just a shitty family in general), drinking, mentions of drugs, food/eating, Frankie describing his trauma, some Spanish used, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, pet names (cariño), sort of ambiguous time skips, Frankie is either a Libra or a Scorpio!!, no use of y/n

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

Late October

Beep Beep Beep

Ugh. Another shit start to your day with shit sleep as per usual. Running your own bakery means a lot of early mornings. Normally you don’t mind waking up early since you love what you do. You bought a new house on Magnolia Drive eight months ago which made your commute to the bakery much shorter. However… Your realtor neglected to tell you that it came with the worst neighbor on the face of the Earth. His name is Frankie and you can’t stand him. When you first moved in, he seemed normal, an ex-military, single guy living on his own. The deception didn’t last long, though. Because after about two weeks of living next to him, the shitstorm commenced. And now you wished you picked literally any other house in this city. His friends are at his house all the time, one of them always blocking your driveway with their pickup truck. They stay until at least four in the morning, blasting music when Frankie knows you have to work early the next day. He’s probably the worst neighbor in the entire state of Florida. 

You’re getting in your car to start your morning commute for work when Frankie is grabbing the morning paper from his mailbox. You physically recoil when you see him. There’s a harsh line of demarcation separating your lawn from his because he cuts his grass once in a blue moon. It’s such an eyesore.  

“Have you thought about, I don’t know, cutting your lawn?” you ask before shutting your car door.

He shoots you the middle finger and mouths something you can’t hear. You roll down the window for him to take a few steps closer to your car and repeat, “Stop feeding the fucking stray cats.”

Okay, maybe you aren’t the perfect neighbor either. But doesn’t he deserve it anyway?

“Bite me,” you respond, rolling your eyes and backing out of your driveway.

He rolls his eyes, too, and storms off. You giggle to yourself, feeling proud that you got a rise out of him. If he’s going to piss you off the least you could do is return the favor. 

-

Work is fine, a little busier than normal. But the afternoon exhaustion is hitting. You can’t wait to go home, take a shower, and maybe get some sleep before Frankie’s friends come over. It’s Friday and they’ll be even more unruly than they normally are during the week. Don’t they have lives? Or like… a fucking family to go home to?? Probably not if they’re hanging out with the likes of him. 

But alas, it’s finally time to go home. You close up the bakery and get in your car to drive back, excited to just melt into the couch for a few hours. As you turn onto your street you see that Frankie’s driveway is empty, for now, that is. He’s not outside, either. So that means you get to just slip inside your house without a hostile interaction for once. Score!

You pull into your driveway, get out of your car, and start walking towards your front door when a disgruntled voice stops you dead in your tracks. 

“Hey!”

Not again. 

“What do you want now?” you say, whipping around and using the bitchiest voice you can muster. 

“Cut your fucking tree,” Frankie says, holding up a lemon. 

…Is he fucking for real? 

You have a lemon tree at the edge of your backyard and a few branches hang over the fence and into Frankie’s yard. You never thought to trim it because you assumed you were doing something nice for him, letting him have some of the lemons. But no, apparently he wants to complain about free fruit. 

“You’re complaining about… free fruit?”

He stutters a bit, tripping on his words as if he just realized how stupid he sounds.

“I guess not.”

“That’s what I thought,” you say, turning and heading into your house.

The fucking nerve of that man. 

The rest of the night is pretty uneventful aside from a bitter man complaining about free fruit. You hear Frankie’s friends next door and grumble to yourself. How do they have the energy to party every single day of the week? You turn in early and do your best to ignore how loud they are, getting ready for another busy day at the bakery. Tomorrow’s Saturday, the busiest day of the week, and you need to be well rested. Well rested as you can be with all the noise from next door. 

-

The morning’s been typical so far; wake up feeling exhausted, argue with Frankie in the driveway, drive to work, open the bakery; and the usual stuff. It isn’t until halfway through your business hours that something… interesting happens. A woman enters the shop and browses the cakes in your display case. 

“I’d like to get some writing on a cake.”

“Sure! Which one would you like?”

“That one,” she says, pointing to one on the bottom, a vanilla cake with vanilla buttercream and strawberries in the middle. 

“Okay,” you say, grabbing it out of the case and taking it to your decorating table, “What would you like it to say?”

“Well, it’s for my boyfriend, Frankie so I’d like it to say “Happy birthday, Franklin” with a fish. I guess his nickname was catfish in the military.”

You know for a fact this is for Frankie because of the nickname. You’ve heard his friends screaming it next door when they’re drunk. But you also know for a fact his name is not Franklin, it’s Francisco. You didn’t have to ask him or anything, Amazon has delivered some of his packages to your house in the past by mistake. So this is fucking hilarious. 

“Any specific color for the writing?” you ask, stifling a chuckle. 

“Black is fine.”

You get to work on the writing and have mixed feelings. It’s kinda shitty that his own girlfriend doesn’t know his full name. And it’s also shitty that he’s going to have a birthday cake at his party with the wrong name on it. You should feel bad but… Nah, this guy sucks. 

You glance over at his girlfriend before moving on to the fish. Although she clearly doesn’t know her boyfriend that well at all, you can’t deny that she’s beautiful. And all of a sudden you’re feeling… jealous? Wait, why are you getting jealous of her? For a guy you can’t even stand?

You gotta finish decorating this cake and get her out of here so you can try to deal with your conflicting feelings. You package the cake back up and walk it to the counter to cash her out. 

“Okay, your total is fifty-three forty-nine. Cash or card?”

“Card,” she says, tapping it on the counter. 

The receipt prints out of the machine for her to sign but before you hand it to her you look at the name printed on the bottom; Heather Ryan. 

“Okay, just need your signature and then you’re all set!” 

She signs her name on the receipt and slides it back to you. 

“It looks great! Thank you so much!” she says before grabbing the cake and leaving. 

Now that she’s gone you can process your weird and sudden emotions. You didn’t know he had a girlfriend and to be honest, it kind of surprises you that he has one in the first place considering his… lifestyle. But why are you jealous? He’s the worst. 

Although… When you first moved in, you did think he was kinda cute before he showed his true colors. He got you with his curly brown hair peeking out underneath his hat but the attraction didn’t last long. Once his antic began, the attraction dissipated. 

…Or so you thought.

Stop it, you tell yourself. He has made your life hell for the better part of a year. 

You bury down your weird and confusing feelings for now, trying to continue the rest of the day as normal. The rest of the day is pretty uneventful and soon enough five o’clock rolls around. Just as you’re locking up the bakery, you get a text from your friend, Ally. 

Hey, bestieee!! Drinks tonight?

You know what, why not?

You respond with: 

Oooh, what time and where?

You get in your car and drive home, excited to have something to look forward to tonight. And at least you’ll be gone for some of Frankie’s antics. As you pull into your driveway you notice his friends aren’t there yet, all the better for you. You  check your phone and Ally says;

7:30. Let’s go to the Harp tonight!! I’ll meet you there. 

She’s referring to a bar downtown but to you, it honestly doesn’t matter where you go. You need to blow off some steam and work through your weird feelings with your friend, get her opinion on this random burst of jealousy you’re feeling. 

You take a shower, change into a skirt and fitted tee, and do your makeup before getting ready to leave. Just to find one of Frankie’s friends blocking your driveway, of course. Why wouldn’t they do this shit on the one night you have plans?

Nah, this isn’t going to fly. You gotta say something. You march right over to his door and judging by the noise coming from inside, his birthday party is tonight. Alright, maybe you won’t be a huge bitch about this right now. Especially when you know how his birthday cake turned out…

You knock and someone other than Frankie answers the door. You recognize him as one of Frankie’s friends but you can put a name to his face. 

“Oh, shit! Neighbor girl is here!” he says, calling out to Frankie over his shoulder. 

Before you can ask him about the truck blocking your driveway he says, “I’m Benny. Come on in!”

Yeah, he’s clearly drunk. Whatever this will be quick. You reluctantly step inside and look around. You’ve never actually been inside Frankie’s house before. It’s honestly nicer than you expected considering his lifestyle and the way he keeps his lawn. You’re standing in his living room with Frankie and three other men. You’re feeling anxious all of a sudden but you don’t show it. Who knows what Frankie said about you to these guys? 

“Look who it is, Fish!” Benny says, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Guys, this is my neighbor,” Frankie says. He looks a little… nervous? You’ve never seen him like this before. 

“I’m Santiago,” a man with dark hair says, shaking your hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” you say, forcing a fake smile. 

“And this is Will,” Santiago continues, gesturing to a man with short blond hair. 

“You got anyone else coming, Fish?” Santiago asks, turning towards Frankie, “What about Heather?”

“Uh, she’s not coming.”

“Shit, man. Is everything alright?”

“We’re fine. But actually, can you help me with something in the kitchen?” Frankie asks, making eye contact with you. He looks bothered, like there’s something he wants to say but isn’t letting it come out. 

“Sure,” you reply, following him to the kitchen where he opens the refrigerator. The cake is sitting on the shelf in its box and your stomach drops. Poor guy. 

He grabs the cake from the refrigerator and sets it on the kitchen counter. 

“Can you help fix this? She put the wrong name,” he says, opening the lid to reveal the cake you decorated earlier today.

“I can try. Can you get me a butter knife?”

He opens his silverware drawer and hands you a knife. 

“Well, I think I can smear out the name and make a swirly pattern around the happy birthday?”

“Whatever you have to do,” he says softly. 

You take the knife and swipe away the “Franklin”, making a tie-dye design on the cake but stopping at the fish.

“You want me to leave the fish?”

“Nah, scrap it. Catfish is pretty much the only thing she knew about me anyway,” he says dejectedly.

“Right…” you respond awkwardly, swiping away your hard work from earlier. You can only assume he doesn’t know this birthday cake is from your bakery. But you fix the cake the best you can so it just says “Happy Birthday” with a swirly design. 

“That better?” 

“Yes. Thank you,” he says, letting out a sigh, “I just didn’t want them to see it.”

“I get that-”

“Let’s get this fucking party started!” Benny says, entering the kitchen and slamming a six-pack of beer on the counter. 

“Oh, actually I have to go-” you start. 

“What?? No way, you gotta stay,” Benny says, putting an arm around your shoulders. 

You could stay and just cancel your plans with Ally. But this is Frankie’s birthday party and you weren’t exactly invited. And you’re both aware of how much you painfully dislike each other. You look at Frankie, searching his eyes for an indication of how he’s feeling. 

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” he says softly. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna impose.”

“Nooo, stay,” Benny says, looking at you with a wide grin on his face. 

“By all means,” Frankie says. 

“Fuck yeah,” Benny says, “Can I get you a drink? We have all sorts of shit.”

“Hard cider?”

“A woman with taste. I like it,” he says, removing the arm around your shoulders and opening the refrigerator. 

You pull out your phone to text Ally. It has to be something inconspicuous. She knows you hate Frankie with a passion so you can’t exactly say you’re partying with him and his friends right now. Maybe just lie and say you’re sick? 

You do exactly that, saying your stomach is bothering you. Just as you press send, Benny’s hanging you your hard cider. And now it’s just the three of you in Frankie’s kitchen, standing around awkwardly. 

“I have some of the MMA guys coming, too. That alright?” Benny says. 

“Fine with me. The more the merrier,” Frankie smiles. But the smile seems forced. 

Just Frankie says that there’s a knock on the door and it’s the guys Benny was referring to. A handful of men pile into Frankie’s living room with Will and Santiago, and now you’re the only girl here. And also sort of regretting your decision to cancel on Ally. 

“Let me introduce to you some of my friends!” Benny says cheerfully, grabbing your hand and leading you back to the living room. You exchange hello’s with Benny’s friends, a group of four guys whose names you can’t really be bothered to remember. 

Soon enough the folding table is pulled out and all of the guys are playing beer pong. You decide to just stand and watch, sipping your drink and keeping to yourself… except for Benny, who has been by your side all night. At first, it was kind of annoying but now that you’re talking to him he’s actually pretty cute. Or it’s just the alcohol talking. 

“Can I get you another drink?” he asks when yours is empty. 

“Sure,” you smile, handing the empty bottle to him. 

Now that you’re alone for a moment your eyes are scanning the room again, and they lock eyes with Frankie, who’s playing beer pong but not really paying attention. Benny comes back with your drink, handing it to you and leaning against the wall with his arm raised over his head. 

“Frankie never mentioned just how gorgeous you are.”

“Oh! Thank you,” you respond, caught you off guard. You’re feeling awkward, not knowing what to say back so your eyes are searching the room again. And once again, they lock with Frankie’s, whose eyes are… angry? But why is he angry? Is he… jealous? Nah, no way. He has a girlfriend. But she’s also proved herself to be shitty. And besides that, you two hate each other. Unless… you really don’t?

You decide to do a little experiment. Benny is super hot, but maybe you could turn up the flirting a bit and see just how jealous Frankie gets. 

And that’s exactly what you do. You’re laughing at all Benny’s jokes, falling for every cheesy pickup line, doing the thing where you look from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes, literally anything to flirt. And even though it’s for an experiment, you’re having fun and you could actually see yourself maybe liking Benny.

You look over at Frankie, and to your surprise (and also delight?), he’s looking directly at you. His eyes are almost pleading with you. But at the end of the day, you don’t owe him anything. And he’s taken. So why stop all the fun?

“I just can’t believe this is the first time we’re meeting,” Benny says, shaking his head.

“I didn’t know Frankie had such nice friends!” you respond. 

Benny leans a little closer to you, his eyes fixed on your lips. Oh shit, is he really gonna kiss you? Right here? Right now? In front of everyone? 

But also… why not? 

You lean forward more too, inching closer and closing the gap between you two. Just as your lips are about to meet, Santiago shouts, “Jesus, Fish! What are you doing?!” 

You pull away from each other and look at what’s going on. It seems that Frankie royally screwed up the round of beer pong because he and Santiago just lost. 

“Alright, alright. Don’t yell at the birthday boy,” Will laughs. 

Santiago sighs and says, “Best two out of three?”

The other men shrug but Frankie excuses himself, saying, “I need another drink.”

You can’t help but feel like that was your fault. Shit, maybe Frankie does have some sort of crush on you? Because why else would he get jealous over his friend flirting with you? Wouldn’t he want that to happen, as a means of burying the hatchet between you two?

“I have to use the bathroom,” you say to Benny. 

“Down the hall on your right,” he says.

You set your drink down on the coffee table and walk through the kitchen, but before you head to the bathroom you take a look at Frankie, who’s sipping a beer and looking at his birthday cake. A look of confusion and uncertainty on his face. You just can’t help but feel bad for him in some sort of weird way. But there’s also a nagging feeling deep down inside you that’s telling you that you shouldn’t feel bad for him. This guy has been nothing but a complete asshole to you. Why do you care so much about his feelings? 

You head down to the bathroom and pull out your phone. There’s a text from Ally and thankfully she wasn’t upset about the plans getting canceled. But you look at the time and decide, you should just go home. Besides, it’s getting a little boring watching the men play beer pong and you’re running out of things to talk about with Benny. 

You head back into the living room and say to Benny, “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Aw, okay. I’ll catch you later. But maybe you can come to one of my matches sometime?”

“I’d like that,” you smile. 

You poke your head into the kitchen and tell Frankie you’re leaving.

“Happy birthday by the way,” you say. 

He nods and waves his hand a little before you bid your goodbyes to everyone else and walk next door. And the only thought on your mind is… What the hell just happened?

You flop down on your couch and the room feels like it’s spinning, your mind swirling with all sorts of thoughts and emotions. You’re feeling a weird mix of confusion, pity, and also… apathy? You run through the basics: 

1. Frankie’s girlfriend sucks. 

2. It’s shitty that his birthday cake was messed up. 

3. You really don’t mind Benny at all and can see yourself liking him. 

4. At the end of the day, Frankie is still an asshole. 

And that trumps everything else, no matter how bad you feel for him. 

-

Mid-December 

Several weeks have gone by and you haven’t seen much of Frankie, or his friends for that matter. Lately, it feels like you've been living at the bakery twenty-four-seven. Especially since Thanksgiving just ended. But that also means you’re heading into another busy season; Christmas time. 

The holidays are your least favorite time of year. But running your own bakery means that you get to keep busy during the holidays. It’s always the perfect excuse for when your mother calls and asks why you’re not coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. You can usually get out of one and not the other. This year you skipped Thanksgiving so you’ll be due home for Christmas… unless you can think of another excuse to stay home again. But then you’ll get another phone call from your father claiming that “you’re breaking your mother’s heart” or whatever. 

From what you can tell, Frankie stayed home for Thanksgiving, too. Though you don’t know if his family is around here or not. His friends didn’t come over for Thanksgiving so you assume they were with their own families respectively. And you’re not really sure what happened with his girlfriend. So the two of you were just… alone that day. For some reason, the thought makes you kind of… sad? But like you told yourself weeks ago, don’t feel bad for Frankie, like at all. 

But now that you’re thinking of Frankie… he’s been his typical self, but maybe scaled back a bit? His lawn hasn’t been cut in God knows how long and his friends still come over to party here and there. But it’s definitely been a lot less than usual. Maybe the holidays are tough for him, too. 

Just as you’re leaving to go open the bakery the week before Christmas, you get a phone call from your mom. You sigh and roll your eyes because you already know what this is about. And you’ve been dreading this phone call since Thanksgiving. 

“Yes, mom?” you say as you answer the phone. 

“Is that any way to answer a phone call from your mother?” she says. God, you can already feel the judgment and disappointment seeping from her voice, even over the phone. 

“Ah, sorry Mom. How are you?”

“I’m just calling to see if we can expect you home for Christmas this year.”

“Uhh-”

“You know, since you broke your mother’s heart and didn’t come home for Thanksgiving.”

“I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I’ve just been really busy, uh, with the bakery and all.”

“That’s always the excuse. I’m getting sick of your shit. I need a straight answer as to whether or not you’ll be home for Christmas now.”

As you open your mouth to respond, probably with some poorly thought-out rebuttal since you’re so heated, you spot Frankie walking across his lawn toward you. Perfect escape from this phone call maybe?

“Shit sorry Mom. Gotta go. My neighbor’s coming up to me.”

As you pull the phone away from your ear and hang up, you hear your mom’s angry protests. But you’re too focused on Frankie to care. Because what could he want with you now? You haven’t done anything to piss him off lately. That you can remember anyway… 

“Hey,” he says with a shaky breath.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

“I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Okay…”

“Feel free to say no because it’s weird but I don’t know what else to do. And I’m sorry to drop this on you but-”

“Spit it out.”

“Will you come home with me for Christmas as my date? It would be fake, of course.”

Oh. You definitely weren’t expecting that to be the favor he needed. And for some reason him adding in “it would be fake, of course” is so funny. It’s so funny that you actually burst out into a fit of laughter. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not being serious.”

“I am.”

“But… why?”

“My girlfriend broke up with me right before Thanksgiving.”

“Let me get this straight. She put the wrong name on your birthday cake and you let her break up with you first?”

“It’s not funny.”

“I know it’s not.”

“So, you’ll help me?”

“Why can’t you just go home alone?”

“Because I can’t go home for another holiday alone. I already skipped Thanksgiving. My family’s always pestering me about settling down and I can’t take it anymore.”

“What’s in it for me?” you sigh. 

“Uh, you don’t have to go home to your shitty family? I mean I’m just assuming from that phone call you just had.”

“Yeah and instead I get to go home to yours?”

“My family’s not shitty. They’re nothing like me.”

You can’t lie to yourself and say that the offer isn’t tempting. Because as soon as you mention the word “boyfriend” to your mother she’ll be all over it. Like Frankie’s family, your mom’s been pestering you to settle down, too. If you offer her some sort of crumb to give her the indication that you’re finally “settling down” maybe she’ll leave you alone for once. 

“Just think about it,” Frankie says while you’re contemplating his offer to himself. 

He turns to walk back to his house but you stop him before he goes anywhere.

“Wait!”

He turns around to face you again with a hopeful look in his eye. You can’t believe you’re actually agreeing to this.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess it beats going home to my family.”

“Thank you,” he says, pulling you in for a hug.

“Alright, the fake relationship hasn’t started yet,” you say, wincing at his embrace.

“Shit, you’re right,” he says, pulling away.

“How long are we there?”

“From the twenty-third until New Year’s. That okay with you? I know you have the bakery and all…”

It’s a little earlier than you prefer to close and it’s quite a long time to be gone but you suppose you can make do. Maybe you can catch a short flight home if you need to be back to the bakery by then?

“Yeah, fine with me. Where does your family live?”

“Savannah, Georgia.”

Oof, five hours in Frankie’s truck, just the two of you… But it’s worth it.

“Okay,” you sigh. 

“Great. Thank you so much. We’ll leave around ten, okay?”

“Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

“Oh, one more thing. Can you bake something?”

You let out a sigh. “Yeah, sure. I’ll think of what to make.”

“Thanks again,” he says, putting his hands together like he’s praying before turning and walking back to his house. You’re left in your driveway questioning all your life choices that led up to this moment. But now you get to call your mom and tell her about this mysterious boyfriend you just happened upon. 

You get in the car to leave for work and call your mom again, making sure to act a bit more pleasant this time. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom,” you say, putting on your cheeriest voice.

“What happened with your neighbor?”

“Oh, nothing. He just had a package for me. Got delivered to his house by accident.”

“Oh, okay. So are you coming home for Christmas or what?”

“Actually, I’m not. I’m sorry. But I have a good reason?”

“And that is?”

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s family’s Christmas.”

“Boyfriend? You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”

“Uhh, it’s sort of new.”

“What’s his name?”

“Frankie.”

“Well, don’t fuck this one up. I want to meet him after Christmas, okay?”

Classic mom. She always has to make this about how much you suck.

“Of course. I’ll talk to you later, though. I gotta go open up the bakery.”

“Alright. Love you, bye.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

That’s the best phone call you’ve had with your mom in a while. Maybe pretending to date Frankie will be a good thing?

-

It’s time to go. You're dressed in a comfy outfit for the drive. Everything’s packed and ready to go. You decided to make lemon bars from the lemon tree in your backyard. They’re packed away neatly in your to-go container. You head outside with all of your bags and Frankie meets you in your hard to help you. 

“Jesus, did you pack the kitchen sink, too?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

You’re already questioning why you said yes to this. But then your mother’s nagging voice is deep in the back of your mind. 

It’s better than going home, you tell yourself.

You get into the passenger seat and Frankie backs out of the driveway. You look at his lawn out the window as you leave. Still not cut, of course. 

For the first thirty minutes of the drive, it’s painfully silent. Until Frankie says, “You let me know if you need to stop to pee or something.”

“Okay…” you say awkwardly.

Another fifteen minutes goes by and he breaks the silence again. 

“You know, if we want to sell this we have to act like a real couple.”

You were dreading this conversation.

“Yeah…”

“For one, we’ll probably gonna be sharing a bed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And we have to act like we somewhat like each other when we’re not alone.”

“I know,” you sigh.

“Think you can do that?”

“I said yes to this, didn’t I?”

“Right…”

You can’t sit through another uncomfortable silence again. You’ve still got like four more hours of this drive to go. 

“I guess we have to get to know each other.”

“Right. So what do you do? Oh fuck, I know you have the bakery but I meant tell me about it.”

“Uhh, right. I opened it four years ago. I just make desserts, like pastries and shit.”

“Gotcha.”

“What about you?”

“I used to be in the Army, specifically the Delta Force.”

“Oh, wow. How long were you in the Army?”

“I joined right after I got out of high school.”

“Long time,” you comment, “When did you leave?”

“About three years ago. I was just a pilot for a while.”

“Gotcha. What do you do now?”

“Not much. I’ve been living off my pension for the past two years after some shit happened.”

“We don’t have to talk about-”

“Our friend passed.”

“Oh, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

He says nothing more and you’re so curious for more information but you don’t want to pry either. It falls silent again and then you decide to pry for more information about a less heavy topic. 

“So… if you don’t mind me asking, what happened with your girlfriend?”

“She broke up with me two days before Thanksgiving.”

“That’s rough. What did you tell your family?”

“I pretended I was sick.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t be. I probably should’ve ended things a while ago. I don’t think she had any idea about who I really am.”

“Right.”

“She didn’t even know my full name.”

The cake that you made. 

“Yeah…”

“She put the wrong name and didn’t even get a cake I like.”

“About that.”

“Hm?”

“Do you know where she got that cake from?”

“No.”

“She came to my store.”

“…Did you know it was the wrong name?”

“Well yes, but what was I supposed to say? She’s the customer. I can't correct her. I just have to write what she ordered.”

“I know…” he sighs. 

“Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that she was the wrong person for you, okay?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I felt bad making it.”

“You did?”

“I mean, it’s kinda shitty if your girlfriend doesn’t know your name, right?” You chuckle. 

“Right again,” he nods, looking over at you from the driver's seat. 

“So what kind of cake do you like then?” you ask. 

“Chocolate. I’m a simple guy.”

“Noted. So now I know Frankie Morales used to be in the Army, used to be a pilot, and likes chocolate cake. Anything else I need to know?”

“That about sums me up I guess.”

“Oh, come on! There’s more to you than that. What do you like to do for fun? Besides partying.”

“Oh, uh, I like to play poker with my friends. I’m into cars. And we’ll go support Benny at some of his matches. That’s pretty much all I do these days.”

“And also not cutting your lawn.”

“Listen-”

“And complaining about free fruit,” you tease. 

“Alright, alright. I know I haven’t been the best neighbor in the past.”

“Uh-huh,” you say sarcastically. 

“I guess after what happened I went down a spiral. And I was just… selfish for a while. Only caring about what I wanted to do and not thinking how it affects others.”

“That’s fair. You went through something traumatic.”

He opens his mouth to say something else but no words come out. It feels like he’s hiding something or not telling the full truth. And he wants to tell you, but he feels just can’t, that you’re not ready for that just yet. 

It’s silent again and this time you find yourself dozing off with your cheek pressed up against the cool glass window. Somehow you’re able to fall asleep to Frankie’s music that he put on to fill the silence. You recognize it’s a Tom Petty song, but as you’re trying to put your finger on just what song it is, sleep fully overtakes you. 

-

You were only out for about an hour and a half. It’s hard to sleep for long periods in a truck. As you open your eyes and stretch a little, Frankie says, “Wake up, sleepyhead. You’re officially the worst co-pilot in the world.”

“Whatever,” you say sarcastically, also while stifling back a yawn. 

“I’m just teasing. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t sleep for too long anyway. It’ll mess up my sleep schedule.”

“Oof, my sleep schedule is pretty fucked up.”

You glare at him from the passenger seat. But he doesn’t get why, looking at you and going “What?” with a shrug.

“I noticed,” you say coldly. 

Everyone knows the best time to air your grievances with each other is when you’re trapped in a moving vehicle together!

“Okay… Why do you seem mad?”

“You and your friends are just… loud.”

“Oh.”

“And I have to be up early in the mornings to open the store.”

“Oh,” he says again like the realization is hitting him. 

“It’s alright…” you say awkwardly, even though it’s not. 

“It’s not alright. I wasn’t being considerate.”

“I know, but I didn’t say anything either.”

“You sure said something about my lawn,” he teases. 

“Because it’s a fucking eyesore, Francisco!”

“Be honest. You just wanted to see me mowing the lawn with my shirt off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t lie! I saw the way you looked at me when you first moved in.”

“Oh, shut up!” you say, playfully slapping him on the arm. 

“You’re not denying it,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Maybe I thought you were cute when I first moved in. Didn’t last long, though.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m trying to be better. Ironically enough I think Heather dumping me was what I needed.”

“I think so, too.”

Before either of you can say anything else, Frankie’s passing a sign indicating there’s a rest stop ahead. 

“Can we stop? I have to pee,” you say. 

“Sure thing,” he says, pulling off the highway and into the rest stop parking lot. 

“Meet you back here?” you say, opening the door. 

“I’ll go with you. All sorts of seedy characters hang out at rest stops,” he says, getting out of the car and walking around to your side. 

He helps you get out of the truck and walks inside with you, placing a hand on the small on your back as you cross the parking lot. His head’s in a constant swivel, eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble. 

“I think I’ll take it from here,” you say, stopping in front of the women’s restroom. 

“I’ll be waiting here,” he nods. 

You nod back and look at what he’s wearing; a burgundy t-shirt with a black zip-up sweatshirt, gray sweatpants, and of course the Standard Oil cap. Now that you’re starting to see Frankie for who he really is… you don’t mind him at all? Seven months ago you never thought this would’ve happened, that you’d actually be civil with him. Maybe you just had to give him a chance. 

You do your business and walk back out to the lobby to meet Frankie. He’s on high alert, standing stiff as a board and taking in all of his surroundings. Until he sees you and his face lights up. 

“I got us some stuff for the road!” he says cheerfully, holding up a plastic bag. 

You look inside the bag and “some stuff” was an understatement. It looks like Frankie bought out the entire store. There are bottles of water, soda, different kinds of chips, candy, and gum- you name it, he bought it. 

“I wasn’t sure what you liked. So I just got a few different things,” he says, most likely noticing how wide your eyes got. 

“Thanks, Frankie. That was sweet of you.”

“Do you need anything else before we get back on the road?”

“I think I’m all set,” you nod. 

You walk back to the truck with him and he does the same thing he did before, placing a hand on your back as you cross the parking lot. He opens your door for you and you take the bag from him once you’re settled in your seat. He gets back into the driver seat and soon enough, you’re back on the road.

“So I should probably prepare you for meeting my family,” he says, reaching for a Slim Jim in the bag. 

“Oh god, why?” 

“They’re not bad. They’re just… a lot? But they mean well.”

“Okay.”

“So you have my mother, Rosa, and my father Francisco Sr. But he passed away when I was twenty.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I have three older sisters.”

“You’re the baby of the family?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing. It just tracks.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thanks. My sisters are Ria, Isabel, and Laura. Ria is married to Emmanuel and they have two kids, Luna and Camila. They’re college-aged. And then Isabel is with her wife, Aurora.”

“Okay,” you respond, mentally trying to keep track of all this. 

“And then Laura is married to Rafael and they have three kids, Sofia, Anthony, and Marcelo. Sofia is twelve. I think Anthony’s nine or ten. And Marcelo is four. He’s my favorite.”

“Frankie! You’re not supposed to have favorites.”

“It’s not like I tell them that. I also have two aunts, Aunt Linda and Aunt Maggie. They’re my mother’s sisters. And then my Uncle Tommy, he’s my dad’s brother. And then there’s Cousin Ben, he’s Tommy’s son, around my age.”

You’re doing mental gymnastics, trying to memorize everyone’s names, ages, and who they’re married to. 

“Got all that?” Frankie says with a smirk, noticing the puzzled expression on your face. 

“I think so?”

“Don’t worry. Everyone will introduce themselves when we get there. They’re not gonna leave you alone so sorry about that in advance.”

“It’s alright. It beats going home to my family.”

“What are they like? I’m assuming they’re… not good if you don’t want to go home for the holidays.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it pretty much. My mom is super overbearing and nitpicking. I can’t do anything, or wear anything, or even say anything without her giving her two cents. My dad just sits there and lets her spew her bullshit without a filter. And then my younger sister, Erica, is just… perfect. She can’t do anything wrong in their eyes.”

“That sounds tough.”

“It is. I stopped going home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I try to just do one each year but I can’t take it anymore.” 

“I understand,” Frankie says softly. 

“My sister’s in medical school to be a cardiologist. So to my parents, running a bakery just doesn’t compare.”

“That’s stupid. Don’t they know how hard it is to run your own business?”

“No, and they probably don’t care to be honest.” 

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright. Thanks for getting me a way out of Christmas this year, though.”

“Of course. You’re doing me a big favor.”

The rest of the drive goes smoothly and eventually, you’re pulling into Frankie’s parents' house in Savannah. The second Frankie’s truck is in the driveway, an older woman, probably his mother, is running out of the front door and into the driveway. He parks the truck and you get out to meet her. She immediately pulls Frankie into a big hug. 

“My baby’s home!!,” she says, embracing him and placing her hands on the back of his head. 

“You and that damn hat,” she says, “You have such beautiful hair, mijo. Why do you hide it?”

“You know I like the hat, Ma.”

She pulls away and her eyes are immediately on you. You’re nervous about her first impression of you, even though you’re not even Frankie’s girlfriend. But she thinks you are and you need to play the part. 

“It’s so nice to meet you!” she says, pulling into a hug, too. She gives the best hugs, rubbing your back and swaying just a little, even though you just met. 

“I want you to be comfortable here, okay? My house is your house,” she says, pulling back and grabbing your hands. 

“Thank you so much for having me in your home, Mrs. Morales,” you smile. 

“Please! Call me Rosa. Let Francisco get the bags and we’ll go inside, yeah?”

“Okay,” you nod, following her inside the house. 

It’s a beautiful home, decorated to the nines with the Christmas spirit. She leads you to her living film where there are pictures of everyone Frankie mentioned on the way here. On the coffee table, there’s one of Frankie’s parents with him and his sisters. You can really see the resemblance there between him and his mom. They have the same warm brown eyes and dimples. 

“You have a beautiful home, Rosa,” you tell her, sitting on the couch next to her. 

“Thank you, honey,” she says, “Tell me about yourself. It’s so hard to get Francisco on the phone these days. I feel like I know nothing about you.”

“I live in Tampa like Frankie. We don’t live too far from each other And I run a bakery.”

“Wow, good for you. It’s hard running your own business. Your parents must be very proud.”

“They are,” you say, lying through your teeth. 

“How has my son been? He’s been a little off since he lost Tom in Colombia two years ago. He’s not doing drugs again, is he?”

“Oh! No, to my knowledge, he isn’t?” you respond, stumbling over your words. That was a lot of information to take in, most of it Frankie hasn’t told you about yet. 

“That’s good,” she sighs, “I worry about him.”

“I get it. But I think he’s on an upward trajectory.”

“Thank you, honey. I know he’s a lot to put up with.”

Frankie meets you in the living room and plops down on an armchair across from the couch, letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“Tired?” you chuckle. 

“Yeah,” he pants, “Someone had to pack everything they own and the kitchen sink, too.”

“Francisco! You grew up with all women. Don’t you know this is how we are?” his mother says. 

“Yeah, Frankie,” you add sarcastically. 

“You two are gonna be the death of me,” he says, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. 

“Where did you put the lemon bars?”

“In the refrigerator.”

“You made lemon bars? Francisco told me you liked to bake.”

“Yeah!” you say, turning towards her again, “I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

“Why don’t you both help me prepare dinner for tomorrow night? After you rest, of course. You had a long drive.”

“Oh, yeah. I need a nap,” Frankie says, getting up from the chair and heading up the stairs. 

“Get some rest, honey,” she says, gesturing towards the stairs. 

“Okay,” you say, feeling a little awkward that you’re supposed to just go lay in a bed with Frankie. 

Frankie’s waiting for you at the top of the stairs, smiling down at you. For some reason the sight makes your heart skip a beat. You meet him upstairs and he leads you to his childhood bedroom. His walls are blue and his bookshelves are filled with baseball trophies from when he was a kid up until high school. There are a few car posters scattered on his ealls. The bags are at the foot of his bed that’s tucked away in the corner of his room and thankfully, it’s not a twin-sized bed. Across the room is his desk, a few comic books stacked in a messy pile like he never left. 

“This is my room,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the space around him. 

“Cute,” you say, walking around and eyeing some of the stuff he has on his shelves. There’s a picture in a frame of Frankie as a kid with presumably his father right after one of his baseball games. He was a cute kid, wearing a toothy grin with some holes for the baby teeth he lost. 

“That’s my dad,” he says, noticing you looking at the picture. 

“Now that I’m looking at him, I can’t tell who you look like more,” you comment. 

“Definitely my dad,” he says. 

You turn to look at him and realize he’s right. A lot of his facial features match his father’s, but his eyes- those are his mother’s. 

“Are you tired?” he asks. 

“A little,” you yawn. 

“I don’t have to sleep in bed with you,” he says quickly. 

“I thought you said we were going to? You know, to keep up appearances or something,” you say, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Oh, right. Just making sure.”

He takes off his sweatshirt and his hat, his curls matted down from wearing it on his head all day. He sets them down on the desk and walks over to the bed, pulling back the comforter and slipping in between the sheets. He moves to the side closest to the wall, letting you have the outside and the wall with the outlet to charge your phone like a true gentleman. You crawl in beside him, lying down side by side, mere inches from each other. 

“You don’t sleep naked, do you?”

He doesn’t say anything at first and you take that as a yes. 

“…I won’t while we’re home.”

“Cool,” you say awkwardly, rolling on your side and closing your eyes. 

“Goodnight?” he says. 

“It’s just a nap, but sure. Goodnight, Frankie,” you chuckle. 

…You do your best to fall asleep but to be honest, you’re freezing. You don’t really get why. You’re only a few hours north and Georgia doesn’t typically get too cold. Unless his mom has the air on or a window open; something. That doesn’t make sense, though. Don’t elderly people keep their houses entirely too hot?

“You’re shivering,” Frankie says, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“What? No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I can see you shaking.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t have to be cold.”

“What’s your solution then?”

“I could tell my mom to adjust the-”

“No, do not do that.”

“Or there’s the other option.”

“Uh huh…”

“I could hold you.”

“…You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.”

“…Fine.”

You feel him scooch closer to you and all of a sudden his warm chest is pressed up against your back. The comforter lifts for a second before his muscular arm wraps around you, pulling you even closer towards him. You’re immediately feeling warmer. He’s like a human space heater or something. 

“Better?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.”

As much as you hate to admit it, you’re much more comfortable now. However, there is one thing that’s keeping you from falling asleep. And that’s Frankie’s bulge presses right up against your ass. 

…You don’t hate it, though. If anything it makes you feel… good? Knowing that you have that effect on him. Maybe he really was jealous weeks ago at his birthday party. All of this begs the question; when did his feelings for you begin?

Lost in thought and enveloped in Frankie’s body heat, you drift off to sleep. 

-

You wake up an hour or so later to the doorbell ringing. Frankie wakes up, too, stretching and removing the arm that was slung over your waist. You already miss its absence. 

Frankie’s mom is talking to someone at the door. And it sounds like she’s talking to… a pizza delivery guy?

Frankie rolls onto his back, stretching again and yawning. You fall onto your back, too, lying side by side. 

“I think she ordered pizza,” Frankie says sleepily. 

“That was nice of her.”

“Just so we don’t have to worry about making dinner tonight while we prepare tomorrow’s.”

“Make sense,” you reply, rolling out of bed and stretching once your feet hit the floor. 

“Did you sleep well?” Frankie asks, sitting at the edge. 

“I did. Thanks for keeping me warm.”

“You’re welcome but it wasn’t all for you, though.”

“Oh?” you ask, wondering if he could be referring to the hard-on he had while holding you…

“Yeah, I can’t sleep next to you if you’re shaking like a leaf.”

You roll your eyes and he chuckles, leading you down the hallway and down the stairs, straight into the kitchen where the pizza awaits. 

“Dinner’s here!” Rosa says cheerfully, gesturing to the pizza boxes on the counter, “There’s a salad and garlic bread, too.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Frankie says, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you say, “Are you sure you don’t want anything towards it?”

“Nonsense! When you’re in my house, I take care of you,” she says, waving you off. 

A saint of a woman she is. Frankie’s lucky to have a mother like her. The three of you sit at the kitchen counter eating while Rosa talks about what Christmas Eve dinner will be. 

“So tonight we’ll prepare the pasteles. And tomorrow we’ll do the rice and beans. Ria is bringing rolls. Laura’s bringing salad. And Isabel’s bringing flan.”

“Ooh, I love flan. I can make gingerbread cookies for Christmas Day, too,” you say, finishing your slice of pizza. 

“Thank you, honey. We’ll have a great time tomorrow. And you’ll get to meet all of Frankie’s sisters.”

“How exciting,” you say looking over at Frankie. 

“Frankie’s the baby of the family,” his mother says. 

“I could tell,” you snicker.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You just have little brother energy,” you shrug.

“What about you, dear?” his mom asks. 

“It’s just me and my sister. I’m the oldest.”

“Well you have older sister energy, so how about that?”

“So I’m wiser and more responsible?”

“Whatever,” Frankie sighs. 

“It’s true, Francisco. You can ask Ria.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he says sarcastically, taking all your plates to the sink. 

You clean up from dinner with Frankie before preparing the pasteles. You’re standing at the kitchen island, stuffing the pasteles and listening to Rosa tell stories about Frankie when he was a kid. 

“He was my toughest kid to potty train,” she says, shaking her head. 

“Mom!” Frankie says, shooting daggers at her with his glare. 

“What? You were. And I have the pictures to prove it. For the first two years, you would only use the training potty. I’ll bring out the photo albums tomorrow.”

“No,” Frankie says quickly. 

“Oh yes,” you laugh. 

“Ughhh,” Frankie sighs while you and Rosa share a laugh. 

Soon enough all of the pasteles are prepped for tomorrow and the kitchen is clean again.

“Thank you both for helping me. Now get some sleep! You’ll need all the energy you can get to deal with this family.”

“Goodnight, Ma,” Frankie says, heading towards the stairs. 

“Goodnight. Thank you again for everything,” you say to her. 

“Of course, honey. See you in the morning!” she says. 

As you’re heading up the stairs, she calls out to Frankie, “Francisco! Make sure you show her where the fresh towels are!”

“I will, Ma,” Frankie says, calling down the stairwell. 

“You want to shower?”

Before you can respond he quickly adds, “Not with me of course.”

“I know,” you snort, “But sure. Where’s the bathroom?”

He leads you down the hallway and stops at a door on the right, opening to reveal a linen closet. 

“Towels are here. Bathroom’s over here,” he says, pointing to a door directly across from the linen closet. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, grabbing a towel and heading to the shower. You shut the door behind you and now that you’re alone for once, you let your mind wander…

What happened in Colombia? And what sort of drugs was Frankie on?

You turn on the shower and strip, letting the hot water run down your body as you think about all the possibilities. He did say he lost a friend. Maybe that’s what happened in Colombia. But that doesn’t explain the drugs. 

A knock on the door brings you back to reality. 

“Can I come in?” Frankie asks. 

“Uhh-”

“I just have to brush my teeth. I won’t look.”

“I guess.”

He opens the door and enters the bathroom, keeping his word and looking away from the shower curtain. In fact, he looks at anything else in the bathroom but the shower curtain, picking up a bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet and reading the warnings. You poke your head out of the shower, watching as he brushes his teeth and reads the label on the bottle. And there’s something so… cute about it, so endearing. And now that you think about it, you wouldn’t particularly mind if he saw you in the shower. You can’t believe you’re actually admitting this to yourself. 

But before you know it he spits the sink and rinses his mouth, exiting the bathroom and leaving you with your confusing feelings yet again. You finish your shower and dry off, thinking about his mysterious past again. All of this strange information begs the question… What was he doing in Colombia in the first place? Does he have some dark secrets he’s hiding? And if so, how could he be so cute? 

You look at the toilet and see that Frankie also brought you your pajamas, flannel Christmas pants, a short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of lacy underwear…

That means he went through your bag, which should make you mad but the fact he decided to bring you your pajamas so you didn’t have to walk down the cold hallway sopping wet is adorable. 

You’ll ask him about his past later you decide. For now, he’s your cute pretend boyfriend and you’re going to live in that fantasy for a while. 

Once you’re dry and dressed, you hang your towel up on a hook and walk back to Frankie’s room, where he’s tucked into bed waiting for you. You crawl into bed beside him, lying down on your side and feeling his warm embrace again. His arm returns around your waist and soon enough you’re falling asleep, comforted by his warmth and his scent. 

-

The smell of food cooking downstairs wafts up to Frankie’s room, pleasantly waking you up. Frankie’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded neatly on his tummy. 

You roll over and ask, “You okay?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous for what? Your family sounds awesome.”

“They are. They can just be overwhelming, I guess.”

“I get it. It’ll be fine, though. Like you said, I don’t think they’ll leave me alone.”

“Right,” he says, shaking his head, “It’s stupid. Today’s gonna be fun.”

“Wanna help me with the gingerbread cookies?” you say, getting out of bed and stretching once your feet hit the floor. 

“Sure,” he says, sitting at the edge and yawning, “Do you need to get anything for them?”

“I could just DoorDash some stuff. I don’t want to raid your mom’s kitchen.”

“Ah, she won’t mind. Let’s go downstairs.”

He stands up and stretches, the short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing lifting a little and exposing some of his tummy. His flannel pajama pants are hanging low on his hips and he’s got a little bed-head going on, his curls slightly matted in the back. God, he’s just so… cute. You can’t deny it any longer. As much as you don’t want it to be true, Frankie Morales is a cute man.

You follow him downstairs to the kitchen where his mother is cooking away, stirring different pots and pans on the stove. 

“Good morning you two,” she smiles. 

“Good morning,” you respond, “It smells amazing down here.”

“Thank you, honey.”

“Ma, I think we’re going to make the gingerbread cookies if we won’t be in your way.”

“Go ahead! By all means. Maybe you can decorate them with the kids tonight?”

“Good idea! Do you need me to get anything from the store?”

“Nonsense! I should have everything you need.”

“Told you,” Frankie says, opening a cabinet and looking through the shelves with you. 

To your surprise, she has everything you need for the cookies. And as you sit down at the dining room table Frankie says, “This kitchen is always fully stocked.”

As you roll the dough you think about tonight, meeting the rest of Frankie’s family. You’re excited to meet them but you’re also wondering what you should wear. You packed a few different options for outfits because every family’s vibe is different. Your family tends to lean more formal when it comes to holidays but Frankie’s family could be the complete opposite. 

“Frankie?” you ask, cutting the gingerbread men out with a cookie cutter. 

“Yeah?”

“What does your family wear on Christmas? Like do they dress up?”

“Oh, we abandoned trying to look nice a long time ago. Especially once my sisters started having kids.”

“Oh, okay. So don’t dress up?” 

“Nah.”

That makes you feel at least a little relieved. For some reason, you’re dying for them to like you. And you don’t even get why. You’re not Frankie’s girlfriend. There’s a large chance you’ll never see them again after you leave and go back to Florida. 

Once the cookies are on the trays, you pop them in the oven and set a timer on your phone. Rosa’s just about finished with dinner for tonight and Frankie’s cleaning up the mess from the cookies. You look at the clock on the stove and ask, “What time is everyone coming?”

“Around five or so.”

It’s already two-thirty now. You should probably get ready soon, in case Rosa and Frankie need the shower. 

“I’ll pull the cookies out if you want to go get ready,” Frankie says as if he read your mind. 

“Oh okay, thanks. Fifteen more minutes.”

“Gotcha,” he says, leaning against the counter beside the stove. 

You go upstairs and into Frankie’s room, going over all of your outfit choices in your head. You decide to wear option 3, light wash jeans and an emerald green sweater, nothing too fancy. You grab your clothes and your makeup and head to the bathroom, taking extra time to get ready. The timer on your phone for the cookies goes off and you hope Frankie remembers to take them out. You continue your shower, anxiously thinking about meeting the rest of his family. 

Eventually, as you’re dressed and putting on your makeup, Frankie knocks on the door. 

“Can I come in?”

“Go ahead,” you say, leaning forward toward the mirror and putting on your mascara. 

He opens the door and looks at you, practically bent over the sink. 

“You look…”

“Huh?” you, turning your head towards him. 

“You look nice,” he says, eyes wide. 

“Thanks. I’m almost done and then the bathroom’s all yours.”

“No rush. Take your time.”

You finish your makeup and gather all your stuff, leaving him in the bathroom and heading back to his room. You plop your stuff down on his bed and think of what to do next. Might as well make yourself useful while he’s showering and get the icing bags ready for the gingerbread cookies. You head back down to the kitchen, where Rosa’s sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. 

“You look beautiful, honey,” she says. 

“Thank you,” you say, sitting down across from her. 

“Francisco’s in the shower?”

“Yes, he is. I think I’m going to get the icing bags ready for the cookies if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she says, springing up from her chair and rifling through the kitchen cabinets. 

She pulls out an electric mixer, confectioners sugar, and food coloring, setting them down on the table. 

“Milk’s in the refrigerator and let me get you some Ziploc bags…” she says, reaching into the cabinet again.

“Thanks,” you say, getting to work on the icing while she sits across the counter and watches. 

“I know I’ve just met you but I want to say thank you, for taking care of my son,” she says. 

“Of course,” you smile, scooping icing into the ziploc bag for makeshift piping bags.

“He hasn’t been the same since Tom died. But now that he’s here, it’s like he’s his old self again.”

Tom. There’s that name again. You have to know what happened if you’re going to keep up this charade. This is the second time she’s mentioned it and you’re playing along like you know what happened. It’s bound to come up again. 

“I’m glad he’s doing much better,” you say, adding food coloring to the bags. 

Eventually, you hear the water turn off which means Frankie must be getting out of the shower. Rosa gets up from her stool and says, “Well now that Francisco’s finally done, I guess I’ll go shower. I’m sure he left me no hot water.”

You two share a laugh and she heads up the stairs. You’re left alone with your thoughts until Frankie comes back downstairs again. So for now, in the fleeting moments of solitude, you think of ways to ask Frankie about his past that don’t sound completely insensitive. You could ask him under the guise of just trying to keep the charade going. This whole thing was his idea. He’d have to understand, right?

“Hey,” he says, snapping you from your thoughts. You didn’t even notice him coming downstairs. 

“Hi.”

“These look good. The kids will have fun decorating them.”

“I hope so,” you say.

You’re both just standing awkwardly in the kitchen, not saying a word. You think to yourself that maybe now would be the best time to ask, in case you need this information for tonight to go smoothly. 

You open your mouth to ask, “What happened in Colombia?” but you’re interrupted by the front door opening. 

“Feliz Navidad!” a woman’s voice shouts. You’re assuming it’s one of Frankie’s sisters or aunts. 

He pokes his head down the hallway and shouts, “Ria!” 

You glance over at the clock and she’s early. Frankie looks over at you and says, “She’s always early.”

“She’s the oldest?”

He nods. It makes sense. 

She comes into the kitchen and pulls Frankie into a big hug. She looks like a younger version of Rosa, a little bit shorter than Frankie. Her husband and kids pile in behind her, her girls hugging Frankie and her husband shaking his hand. 

“So nice of you to show up for Christmas. Not battling some mysterious illness this time, huh?” she teases. 

“I’m not lying! I was really sick.”

You’re standing there awkwardly in the kitchen, not trying to interrupt the family reunion. It isn’t until one of Ria’s daughters looks over at you and asks, “Who’s this?” that your presence is acknowledged. 

Frankie walks over to you and snakes an arm around your waist, proudly saying, “This is my girlfriend!” followed by your name. 

“Nice to meet you!” Ria says, “It’s been such a long time since Francisco’s brought a girl home!”

This is the second family member to refer to him as Francisco and now you’re wondering if you should be doing the same. Before you can continue she motions her daughters over and says, “This is Luna and Camila. Luna’s in her junior year of college and my Camila’s a senior in high school!”

“Exciting times for both of you,” you comment, not really knowing what to say. 

But Ria continues anyway. “And this is my husband, Emmanuel,” she says, gesturing to her husband in the corner. He seems like the quiet type, letting his wife do all the talking in social situations. 

“Where’s Ma?” Ria asks Frankie. 

“In the shower. Are the others on their way?”

“Laura’s almost here. Isabel and Roro will probably be late as per usual. Will you grab the rolls out of the car?”

Emmanuel nods, again not saying much of a word at all before heading out to the car in the driveway. Ria and the girls take off their coats, hanging them on a coat rack by the front door. While Luna and Camila retreat to the living room, Ria takes the rolls from Emmanuel and puts them in the drawer underneath the oven, putting them on a low setting to keep the rolls warm until dinner starts. Soon enough, you’re all sitting in the living room together, awkwardly exchanging glances and waiting for either Rosa to come downstairs or for someone else to arrive. 

And for a while, it feels like the front door doesn’t close, a slew of family members coming in left and right. First, it was Aunt Maggie. Then it was Laura with her husband, Rafael, and their kids, Sofia, Anthony (who insists you call him Tony), and Marcelo, Frankie’s favorite. And Frankie wasn’t lying about Marcelo being his favorite, his eyes practically lit up the moment Laura walked in the door, carrying him on her hip. After Laura’s family, Uncle Tommy and Cousin Ben came. Frankie’s arm around your waist tightened when Ben looked you up and down which made your heart do somersaults. Aunt Linda followed soon after. And finally, last but not least, Isabel and Aurora (who goes by Roro) arrived. 

Somewhere in between all of the commotion Rosa returned downstairs. And you’re left with your head spinning, trying to keep track of everyone’s names and trying to make a good first impression. And you think you succeeded? Laura and her kids are really nice. Marcelo’s been hanging off you and Frankie since he set foot in the door. Isabel is definitely the coolest Morales sister out of the three of them. You don’t really have any complaints about Frankie’s aunts. And Uncle Tommy’s been dozing off on the couch, reminding everyone to wake him up when it’s time for dinner. You don’t mind Ben at all but he definitely has a little crush on you. You don’t spend too much time talking to him, just enough to learn he teaches high school English.

You also noticed that Isabel, Roro, Uncle Tommy, Ben, and his brother-in-law all call him Frankie and not Francisco. But his mom, Ria, Aunt Maggie, and Aunt Linda call him Francisco. And to the nieces and nephews, he’s Uncle Frankie of course. 

Eventually, Rosa announces that it’s time for dinner. Frankie and Ben set up a small folding table for the kids, except for Marcelo who sits on Laura’s lap. You sit in between Frankie and Isabel. Rosa sits at the head of the table and before everyone digs in she says, “Now who would like to say grace?”

“I will,” Tony says, raising his hand from the kids' table.

“Go ahead,” Rosa says.

“Grace. Okay, we’re done. Let’s eat, everybody!”

Everyone shares a laugh and Rosa decides, “You know what? It’s good enough for me!”

The rest of Christmas Eve goes smoothly. After dinner, you help the adults clean up before bringing out the gingerbread cookies to decorate. All of the kids, even Luna and Camila, sit around the table with you, decorating the cookies with your makeshift piping bags. Ria takes a picture of you guys, brows furrowed in concentration as you all try to make the cookies absolutely perfect. 

“Aren’t you gonna do one?” you ask Frankie, who’s standing beside you and watching. 

“Sure,” he says, pulling up a chair. 

He grabs a gingerbread woman and begins to draw a face on her. But before he’s done he gives her a frown and angry eyebrows, holding it up and saying, “Look! It’s you when I don’t mow the lawn!”

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, grabbing your own gingerbread man and giving him not only angry eyebrows but a yellow blob in his hand. 

“Look! It’s you when you complain about free lemons.”

The kids laugh even though they don’t know the full context of the joke. But once the last cookie is decorated, people begin to head out, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and saying goodnight. Once the main level is cleaned up you and Frankie say goodnight to his mom. She tells you that Christmas dinner is at Ria’s and that it starts at two. 

With that, you’re off to bed, returning to your rightful place of being spooned by Frankie. And for once, the two of you are alone again. Your mind goes back to Tom, what happened in Colombia, and Frankie’s drug addiction. You’re just gonna do it, rip the bandaid off

“Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Well, earlier your mom was talking about your friend Tom and what happened in Colombia… I know it’s not really my business but should I know what happened? You know to keep up the act-”

He sighs and you fear you’ve overstepped.

“I figured it was going to come up sooner or later.”

He pulls away to rest on his back, staring at the ceiling and recounting what happened. You lie on your back, too, looking over at him as he begins his story. 

“A few years ago, I developed a really bad addiction to coke. And it cost me almost everything. I lost my pilot's license. Santiago approached me, Tom, Will, and Benny about going to Colombia to steal money from this drug lord, Lorea.”

“I see,” you comment, letting him continue.

“It seemed appealing at the time. I needed the money, you know?”

“I get it,” you say softly.

“The mission was a fucking shitshow. We took fucking two hundred and fifty million dollars and lost all of it. It was too heavy for the helicopter so we crash-landed in a cocaine farm. They thought we were DEA and Tom killed some of them. So then we had to pay them as some kind of reparation. We went through the Andes on mules and two of the villagers followed us. One of them shot Tom and we had to carry him, the rest of the money through the mountains. When we finally reached the coast, the getaway boat was there waiting for us but the town was filled whatever was left of Lorea’s crew. There was no way we could carry all that cash with Tom’s body and make it to the boat without being killed. So we had to dump most of it down a fucking ravine.”

He’s getting more and more upset as he tells his story. And you feel guilty you even asked in the first place. He didn’t need to tell you all the details. He could’ve said his friend Tom died on a military mission in Colombia and that would’ve been enough to quell your curiosity. 

“Somehow we made it to the boat, but not without a fucking car chase and shootouts. By the end, we were left with a little over one million dollars each, but we decided to give it all to Tom’s family,” he says, finishing with a deep breath. 

You roll onto your side and look over at him. He’s not crying but you can tell he’s visibly upset, his eyes misty. 

“Thanks for sharing that with me. I know it’s hard to recount a traumatic experience like that.”

“It’s okay. Figured you should probably know. My family thinks it was some sort of mission for the Army, not that we went rogue. I don’t want them to know the true nature of what it was… greed.”

“Understandable.”

“So after all that I came home with a dead friend and no money.”

“I guess the overgrown lawn and the constant partying make sense now.”

That actually gets him to laugh. 

“I guess it does,” he chuckles, “But thanks for putting up with me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“And thanks for coming here and doing this for me. That happened two years ago and my family has been worried sick about me since. Whenever my mom calls me I just… I just lie. I think if she saw how I was doing now it would break her heart. But here with you, she thinks you’re like my saving grace.”

You don’t say anything because you really don’t know what to say. It’s nice his mother feels that way, but it’s all a lie. 

“I know that was a lot…” he says.

“You’re okay. I’m here to listen,” you reassure him. 

“You should probably get some sleep. You’ll need all the energy you can get to deal with my family for another day.”

“Okay,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side. Frankie spoons you again like he always does. This time you don’t feel something hard against your lower back, instead you feel Frankie’s breath by your ear. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, holding you a little tighter as he falls asleep. 

-

You wake up to Frankie still holding you just as tight. You’ve never had a Christmas like this, one so peaceful. 

And then it hits you… it’s Christmas. Which means you need presents, something you completely forgot all about. You were too wrapped up in pretending to be Frankie’s girlfriend. 

“Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

Has he been awake this whole time? And still holding you just as tight… 

Whatever, worry about that later. 

“I forget to get everyone fucking presents.”

“Already took care of it.”

“Really?” 

“Mhm,” he says, propping his elbow on the pillow and looking down at you, “You’ve never met them before. How could you get presents for people you don’t even know?” 

“Right,” you say, lying on your back. 

“Merry Christmas,” he smiles. 

“Merry Christmas,” you respond. 

“Let’s go exchange with my mom.”

You roll out of bed first and let him grab the presents from his suitcase. 

“What did I get her?”

“A sweater. It’s her favorite color.”

“Ooh, good idea.”

He hands you the present and it’s wrapped like a typical guy would wrap it. 

“I’m telling her you wrapped it.”

“Oh, she’ll be able to tell,” he laughs. 

You follow him down the stairs where his mother is sitting on the couch watching a Hallmark movie. She smiles and wishes you a Merry Christmas when she sees you, grabbing presents from under the tree. 

You give her the present “you” got her and she clocks Frankie’s wrapping job right away. 

“I can tell Francisco wrapped this,” she chuckles, unwrapping the gift and opening the box. She tells you she loves it and pulls you in for a big hug. Even though you didn’t actually buy the gift, you can’t help but appreciate the sense of approval. Your mom would’ve criticized whatever you got her, no matter how great the gift was. 

Rosa got Frankie a wallet with his initials engraved in the leather. She got you an apron with your name embroidered on it. Both presents were very thoughtful and as she’s pulling out the photo albums like she promised the other day, Frankie whispers in your ear, “She’s big on getting things personalized.”

The three of you spend the rest of the morning looking at photo albums until it’s time to get ready to go to Ria’s. For once, Frankie can’t wait to jump in the shower, anything to get away from the “embarrassing” pictures his mom is showing you. 

Once the three of you are ready you drive to Ria’s in Frankie’s truck, with the gifts piled in the back seat. He parks on the street and you head inside to the already bustling house. Everyone shouts “Feliz Navidad” as you’re taking off your shoes before joining them at the table. 

The menu for Christmas dinner is empanadillas, tostones, pernil, and arroz con gandules. And for dessert, there’s tembleque, the gingerbread cookies you and the kids decorated, and of course, the lemon bars. 

Christmas Day goes even better than Christmas Eve. All of the presents got for you to give to his family were a hit, but not without a sly comment from Frankie.

“You know… She did have some help,” he says with a smirk and a wink.

That earned him a smack on the arm.

Eventually, the evening is winding down. The kids are sitting under the tree playing with their toys and the adults are scattered around the house. For once, there’s no one paying attention to you two.

“Come with me,” Frankie says, getting off the couch and grabbing his coat.

“Where are we going?” 

“For a walk,” he says. 

You follow him to the front door, slipping on your shoes and coat. The two of you walk side by side on the sidewalk. It’s silent between you two but it’s a comfortable silence. But as you stop underneath a streetlamp, Frankie says, “I have something for you.”

“Frankie! You didn’t have to.”

“No, I really did. And I wanted to. It’s not just a Christmas present but it’s also a thank you for doing this for me… And also an apology for being a shitty neighbor,” he chuckles.

He pulls out a box from his coat pocket and hands it to you. You lift the lid to reveal a gold chain with a pendant, and a lemon stamped into the metal.

“Aw, Frankie… This is so sweet.”

“Look at the back,” he says softly.

You flip over the pendant and engraved on the back is your street name, Magnolia Drive. You look back at Frankie and his face is nervous, as if he’s waiting for your approval. His brow furrowed, his face dimly lit under the streetlamp, and his curls peeking out under his stupid fucking hat. All you can do at that moment is kiss him. He’s shocked for a second but it doesn’t take long for him to melt into your touch and wrap his arms around you. 

He pulls away for a second to ask, “I take it you like it?”

“I love it, Frankie,” you nod, leaning in for a kiss again.

And for a moment you two stay there, holding each other under the streetlamp on Christmas night. 

“I didn’t get you a present,” you admit, resting your head against his chest.

“You already did. You did me a huge favor. It’s a lot to deal with my family.”

“I didn't just deal with them. I liked being with them.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, like you said before, they’re nothing like you.”

“Shut up,” he says, pulling you in for another kiss. 

After a while he says, “We should probably get back.”

You nod and follow him back to Ria’s house where you bid your goodbyes to everyone and head back to Rosa’s for the night. She turns in early and now it’s just you and Frankie alone again. But being alone with him feels different this time. Not only because you just kissed but also because you think… you have feelings for him. Maybe it’s the holiday spirit talking or how vulnerable he was last night, but you have to admit to yourself that Frankie Morales is not only a cute man but a man you misjudged this whole time. 

Once you’re back upstairs to Frankie’s room, you’re sitting side by side on his bed. The silence is back and you’re wondering if you shouldn’t have kissed him earlier. Maybe all you are to him is someone who did him a favor, someone who’s just his neighbor and nothing more. 

“I’m sorry about the kiss. I-”

“You’re sorry?”

“Well yeah, I-”

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long, cariño.”

“How long?”

“Soon after you moved in next door.” 

“Really? I thought you hated me.”

“No, I never did. I just liked pushing your buttons. You’re cute when you’re irritated.”

Your brain is short-circuiting, in disbelief at what he’s saying.

“Even when you were with Heather?”

“Mhm.”

“Is that why you were so jealous of Benny at your birthday party?”

“...Maybe,”

“Mmm, you’re cute when you’re jealous,” you say, leaning in for another kiss.

This time the kiss is needier, and more passionate, like you can’t get enough of each other’s touch, scent, and taste. His hands caress either side of your face as his body leans into you more, coaxing you to lie down on his bed. His mouth leaves yours, trailing along your jawline and down your neck. Your breath hitches as he nips at your skin, immediately licking the bruised skin afterward. He moves down lower, lips moving along your collarbone, until he’s completely kneeling on the floor in front of his bed. His hands hook around the waistband of your pants, sliding them off in one clean motion before going to remove your panties.

“Frankie?” you ask, resting on your elbows and looking down at him.

“Yeah?”

“What about like… your mom?”

“She sleeps like a rock,” he says bluntly, returning to what he was doing before. 

He pulls off your panties and spreads your legs, looking at how wet your cunt is already. 

“Mm, so wet for me, cariño,” he muses, his warm breath tickling your core.

Before you can respond, he licks one long, slow stripe up your cunt, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you breathe out, eliciting a chuckle from him.

He goes back in for another, licking up and down your entrance slow, enough to drive you crazy. And then, he moves to your clit, tongue swirling around it as your back arches up off the bed. He hooks his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place as he gets to work, nose grinding against your clit while his tongue licks your cunt. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, his face taught against your cunt as you do so. 

Once you’re done, he rests his head against your inner thigh, admitting the mess he just made. The lower half of his face is soaked, his patchy facial hair glistening. He returns back to your cunt for one more lap of his tongue, just to taste you one more time before rising from the floor and taking off his clothes. You sit up and take off your sweater and your bra, tossing them on the floor and lying back down. You inch up a little higher on the bed to make room for him as he hovers over you. 

“I have a confession to make,” he says, looking down at you with a sly grin.

“Oh??”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you naked.”

“Uhh-”

“Your bathroom window faces mine.”

“...It does?”

“Mhm. Saw you drying off one day.”

“Oh yeah? And then what?”

He bends down and whispers in your ear, “Jerked off in the shower to the thought of you.”

Your whole body shudders.

“Touch me, Frankie, please,” you whine.

“Are you begging, cariño?”

“Fuck. Yes, I am,” you whimper.

“Good girl,” he whispers in your ear, his hand caressing the outline of your breast before moving to your nipple. His other hand gathers some of your releases and strokes his cock, getting extra hard before sliding inside you, all while he plays with your nipple. You gasp at the sensation, feeling his length stretch your walls; feeling like you’re being split apart.

“You can take it,” he softly commands, bringing his face away from your ear and looking into your eyes again. He studies the expression on your face; the open mouth and the tears in the corners of your eyes, and his lips curve into a smirk. He draws his hips back and thrusts into you again, your cunt feeling completely full. Your soft moans are like music to his ears but he needs to hear more, not necessarily more sounds but a confession from you, too.

“Be honest, cariño. You’ve thought about fucking me too, haven’t you?”

It’s actually insane that this is the same sweet man who gave you the most thoughtful Christmas present earlier tonight. The same man who confessed to jerking off in the shower after seeing you naked.

“Y-yes…” you confess.

“What was that? Didn’t hear you,” he says as his hand to your other breast, taking your nipple in between his fingertips. 

“Fuck, Frankie yes, I’ve thought about it.”

“When?” he presses further, keeping the same pace with his thrusts.

“All the time. Even when you piss me off.”

“Knew it,” he teases, slamming his hips back into you. He rests his elbows on the other side of your head, face to face with you as he fucks you relentlessly.

“Frankie, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Let me feel it, cariño,” he says, studying your face again.

You close your eyes as you cum but that just won’t do for him. He wants you to look directly into the eyes of the man who made a mess of you.

“Look at me,” he softly commands.

You open your eyes, locking with his as you cum around his cock, feeling your walls flutter and pulsate in rhythmic patterns.

“Good girl,” he praises, thrusting into you one final time before coming, too. He paints your insides with his cum before pulling out of you and lying down on the bed. You roll over and situate yourself in the crook of his neck, resting your hand on his chest.

“You’re amazing,” he says, taking the his hat off his head and propping it on the bed post before wrapping his arm around you. There’s his sweet side again.

“I can’t believe you saw me naked,” you tease, still sort of in disbelief.

“Two times now. It’s a Christmas miracle,” he jokes.

You have to agree with him. He feels you twitch against him and he whispers, “Goodnight. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper back, letting sleep consume you.

New Year’s Eve

You’re spending New Year’s Eve at a bar with some of Frankie’s friends from high school. Ever since the night you got together, you’ve been leaning into the girlfriend role more, feeling like it’s not a charade anymore. Frankie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he welcomes it. This is what the two of you wanted all along, even if both of you didn’t know it.

You’re watching the ball drop in New York City on the TV at the bar with Frankie’s arm snaked around your waist. As the clock strikes midnight, you kiss, feeling like you’re starting the year off right for once.

“Look at you,” you whisper against his lips, “Ending the year in a fake relationship and starting the new year in a real one.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” he whispers back. 

Tag list: @wannab-urs @noxturnalpascal @hiddenbabynyc @littlegrungegirlaf @hyzer34 @catchallfangirl @pamasaur @paleidiot @runningmom94 @butiknewyoudlinger @sydneyinacoma @yorksgirl @wilderwizard @hnt-escape @axshadows @fanficlover1414 @lavema @yazsos @tarot-freader @dundienominee @pedropascalfan221 @khindahra @janaispunk @tuquoquebrute @perotovar @clawdee @immarocketman @whoreofabuckethead @grogusmum @idungoofed @fluffygoffpanda @meveispunk @beefrobeefcal @magpiepillsjunior @pr0ximamidnight @elvinaa @survivingandenduring @lincolndjarin @missladym1981 @heavennumber2 @covetyou @anoverwhelmingdin @hellfire-state-of-mind @joels-shitty-puns @stevie75

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction

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𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 6) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 13.1k

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, p. in v, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 (𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢?), 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 😵‍💫, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯

note: i really hope this isn’t too angsty and confusing? also i noticed the atrocious amount of typos i had in the last part and holy moly... hopefully this one had less because i very lightly proofread it 😭 but if it does i am sorry (im really lazy about proofreading help 😵‍💫)….

two months later

you had not talked to Simon for two weeks. you had not even seen him for days.

the last time you did, it was late at night in the office.

most nights, just like days ago, you were up late working, rain pelting against the window where you typed at your desk, just the irregular patter of rain filling the empty office and the quick clatter of the character keys beneath your fingers. there was a sharp ache in your shoulders and you sighed, rolling them back and wincing at the cracks along your spine. 

rolling your head back, you looked at the desk beside your own—painfully empty in the dim lighting.

as promised, one-four-one had filled the gaping power chasm within the western frontier, shifting headquarters to the capital of the west and buying several properties on every key corner of the sprawling city—much like the brand new townhouse you called an office. 

not many rival gangs had stood up to the power shift because they couldn’t. widespread federal crackdowns had swept through the city. the anonymity of one-four-one had still been preserved—though over time, you had grown to doubt that—and one-four-one had won the war.

it didn’t feel like it though. it felt like you were in hiding all over again, but not from Turner’s men. it was the law this time.

now, at least, one-four-one disclosed all business endeavors to you.

you poured over their financial bookings. Simon had grumbled about it, saying something like it was dangerous for you to be so involved, but it didn’t matter much anyway. you were their main operation of business now, and all ordeals went through you… and your father’s saloon chain.

Kate implored, with the heat of the law breathing down one-four-one’s back, that they needed a legal guise for their illegal ventures. and you offered the saloon chain as an outlet so long that  you would remain the major shareholder.

one-four-one had agreed and Simon, albeit grudgingly, with a grumpy disposition, had agreed.

but establishing a saloon in every town, city, and borough of one-four-one’s proved to be difficult, making Simon busy and you even busier.

eyes darting back down to the empty desk, you missed the vacant absence by your side nonetheless. rubbing at your face, you decided to call it quits, reaching over to turn off the lamp at your desk. the room plunged into darkness, and only the murky light of the moon seeped through the window.

a chill swept through the place and you couldn’t help but shiver, swiping away all papers and materials into the filing cabinet beside your desk when there was a knock at the back door of the office.

“who is it?” you called, sliding the drawers shut and wiping your palms against your dress.

when there was no response, you paused, craning your neck to peer at the door. through the opaque glass, you could make out a tall, shadowed figure at the door.

sighing, you snatched a revolver from your purse, cocking it just in case, and strode over to the door to twist it open.

“business hours are closed—” you began, looking up to the tall figure in the entrance, breath hitching when you saw a familiar scarred face.

Simon looked tired—more tired than you remembered him after two weeks. maybe older too, you worried, watching the downpour roar of rain slip off his trench coat. he just watched you with quiet eyes and a blank expression, swaying slightly in the doorway, which only worried you more.

“Simon—” you said, voice pinched as you reached out to him, then muffled a yelp when he suddenly lurched forward and pressed his wet body to yours.

your hand was still outstretched when he curled into you, big body bent down to wrap around your waist and pull you flush to him.

“missed you,” his whispered, pressing his nose into your neck, then kissing there. the water seeping through your dress made you shiver and he rubbed at your sides, like he was trying to warm you.

an overwhelming crash of confusion wracked you. Simon wasn’t due to be back for a while. at least a few more weeks. nonetheless, you twisted your hands into his clothes, amazed to find him solid and real in front of you.  

“Simon. why are you here—?”

he pulled back from your neck and suddenly pressed his lips to yours, the kiss cold and wet from the rain, his stetson tipping off his head when he angled his head to kiss you deeper, messier, his teeth knocking into yours as his tongue dipped through your lips.

you muffled a squeak, trying to match the fast movements with your own, curling your arms around his neck and letting the revolver clatter to the floor. when his tongue brushed against yours, there was a rich and bitter taste in your mouth, and you gasped. alcohol.

you pressed against his chest and he pulled back with a disgruntled noise, frowning, before trying to kiss you again. but you pushed him away by his jaw and his frown only deepened.

“why?” he asked softly, brows furrowed. 

you rubbed his chest, quelling the hurt look on his face to melt away.

“you’re drunk, Si,” you whispered back before gently tugging him towards the vacant chair in the office.

when he sat in it, the chair groaning under his weight, he tried to pull you onto his lap, fingers curling around the back of your thighs and tugging you forward. when you didn’t budge, he huffed, and jerked you forward with enough force that you fell into his lap with a yelp.

“Simon—!”

he curled you up into his lap, snaking an arm around your waist and the other up your chest, hand gripping at your shoulder to keep you locked against him. with a sigh, you let it happen, smoothing your dress free of its wrinkles Simon had just created. his eyes lazily followed the movement, nose pressed into your cheek and hot breath against your skin.

“pretty dress,” he remarked, squeezing you tightly. you just rolled your eyes.

you were about to give him a sarcastic quip when, voice deceptively soft, he asked, “why are you avoiding me?”

the breath left your lungs, and you went very still.

when you didn’t give a verbal response, Simon shifted beneath you, just winding around you tighter.

“supposed to be my wife,” he said, forehead sinking into your neck. his voice was so somber that you had to stifle a laugh of disbelief.

“you haven’t even proposed,” you reminded him. he just grumbled something you couldn’t hear, words smothered against your skin.

you didn’t know why you were avoiding him. 

Soap had told you—very briefly during one-four-one’s inhabitation of san francisco—that it gets worse before it gets better. he had said it so briefly that you hadn’t know what he meant, didn’t really think it meant anything, until your life resumed in a new bustling city that felt impossible to get accustomed to.

now you know exactly what he meant. swallowing hard, you willed the thoughts away, burying them under a thick layer of bitter denial that Simon sniffed out like a hound.

“marry me then,” he offered, and you pinched the skin of his wrist.

“no. you’re not proposing to me while you’re drunk.”

he huffed out. “why not?”

you ignored him. “why were you drinking?”

when he was silent for a long moment, you smothered a smile of victory, feeling like you had won for some stupid reason.

then, he grumbled out quietly, “you were ignorin’ me.”

the smile slid from your face.

after a pause, you hiked up your dress, uncaring for indecency when you twisted in his hold, hooking your thighs around his in the chair. he gripped your hips tightly, looking up at you with hooded eyes. the small, unpleasant twist of his lips soured any warm feeling in your chest.

“m’not ignoring you,” you said softly, reaching up to brush the tangle of his blonde hair from his brow. his hair was getting too long now—the close shave on the sides of his head shaggy and unkempt.

he looks pretty anyway, you decided dreamily, kissing his forehead gently. his hands slid up to your waist, gripping you tighter.

“feels like it,” he grumbled and you suppressed a smile.

“sorry,” you said, the ache in your chest only swelling when you noticed the crestfallen look in his dark eyes.

“i’ve been busy,” you admitted, rubbing a comforting hand over his chest.

he just pulled you closer, forehead knocking against your shoulder. his hands crept up to your upper back now, clutching at your dress.

“so have you,” you pointed out.

he mulled in silence, hands sliding back down your torso, a shiver wracking you in his hold. then, he dropped his hands to your legs, fingers brushing over your legs as he edged up your dress, hands sliding beneath the fabric to play with the hem of your drawers. the leather of his gloves was cool against your skin.

“Simon,” you chided, blushing when his fingertips slithered beneath the fabric.

“missed you,” he reiterated, grip firm on your upper thighs as he pulled you tight against his hips. the blush bloomed across your ears and neck when you felt his hard arousal beneath his pants.

“not in my office,” you hissed, and he grumbled.

“you were gonna shoot me,” he complained, picking his head up to glare at the revolver that lay forgotten across the carpet floor, just by Simon’s fallen stetson.

you rolled your eyes. “i was not gonna shoot you.”

“you should make it up to me,” he interjected, voice a seductive, low rumble.

with another roll of your eyes, you swatted at him, pulling off his lap despite the string of expletive protests that left his lips.

you knew him too well to be fooled by his manipulative seductive tendencies. instead, you gathered your items and your purse, ignoring his big, sukling body beside yours. when he tugged at your dress, and you ignored him again, he made a sad noise.

upon observing the dark cloud of disapproval that roiled off his body, and the deep scowl on his face, you promised, “later Si.”

at that, he perked up, looking hopeful as he followed you to the back door of the office. you picked up your revolver on the floor and shoved it in your purse. opening the door to the pouring rain outside, you sighed, wishing you had an umbrella as you craned your neck out into the night.

instead, Simon picked up his stetson from the floor and pushed it onto your head. it was too big on you and tipped forward, concealing your vision of the city streets. at that, he huffed a laugh and drew you closer, hitching up his coat so that you were tucked beneath his arm and the flap of his trench coat.

“lead the way, lovely,” he said, voice tinged with an amused lilt as you frowned, tilting his hat back so that you could see as he led you down the little steps from the office and out onto the street—bound for his horse by the cobbled sidewalk, the black stallion stomping in the rain. bound for home.

looking over at Simon whose eyes were trained ahead, you took in his content, handsome profile with a greediness, only realizing just then how much you had missed him. down to the very bones of your body, you had missed him. 

just then, you couldn’t help but feel that you were already at home in his arms.

but that was days ago.

Soap had ridden into the city with a panic that same night, roving around to find that blonde brute of yours, he had explained in the comforts of your new, big apartment. the third place he had looked was your home, and you had tried to hide the flush of your skin behind the cup of tea you sipped.

he had explained that Simon had gone home prematurely without a notice, too drunk to reason through with things. too drunk to be able to quell how much he missed you.

with a sinking feeling, you had come to acknowledge with a tinge of guilt just how much you had been neglecting him. not that it was your responsibility to take care of him in the first place. you weren’t married.

though, after everything, that didn’t seem to matter at all. you were completely his anyway.

with a wince, you couldn’t help but wonder, was he yours as well? could you even dare to wonder if your relationship was an equal give and take? if it was anything more than a silent power imbalance?

eyes darting from Soap to your open bedroom door, you eyed the large lump beneath the blankets of your bed. you hadn’t even done anything upon arrival at your home. you had pushed him toward the bedroom and he had sunk down into the mattress, exhausted from his long ride to san francisco, and promptly fell asleep, thoroughly soaking your sheets.

you had let him sleep, content to lay flush by his side and tangled in his wet embrace, till there was a pounding on your door. you had opened it to find Soap dripping with water and looking just as tired as the hulking man who slept in your bed.

and there you were on the living room sofas with Soap, sipping tea as he explained that they needed to go back and finish taking care of things in arizona and mexico. then they would be home bound again. it was a promise.

once the sun crested the sky along the horizon, you gently shook Simon awake, looking confused and sleepy in the morning light.

he had gone without much reluctance—much more sober than the night before. a composed stoicism overtook him again and he was curt in his goodbye. so curt it made your heart ache.

he could barely look at you, brushing his gloved fingers gently against your cheek in a brief reminder of his deep, lingering affection, before he disappeared with Soap out your apartment. the only remnant of him was your drenched sheets and the soft smell of smoky ash and woods against them.

this was how it had been for months. it gets worse before it gets better, Soap had said to you when things had grown tense between you and Simon. you were managing a business. he was managing the entire western frontier through the business you managed.

was marriage an option anymore?

your mind chanted a quiet reminder that it wouldn’t be long before one-four-one would be in san francisco permanently. Simon’s stoic presence would be more resolute and then maybe, maybe, you could do something about it.

there were nights when you caved when he was home, staying just across the hall from your apartment, knocking at his door and desperate for his touch on your skin. he would always relent, picking you up and throwing you onto his bed, crawling over you and setting your whole body alight with sensual touches and long, breathless kisses as he fucked you through several earth shattering orgasms that had your nails scratching down his back, hands twisting his hair, sometimes biting down on his shoulder to try and quell the overwhelming pleasure of it.

you’d roll in the sheets for hours, tangled together until the sun came up after a long, pleasurable and sweaty night. there were always bruises left along your skin, a darkened splotchy purple against your hips where his had slammed into you over and over, making you see stars.

there were nights when he’d do the same. you remembered opening the door to him—half-naked and his bare, muscled torso on display, a scarred, discolored twist of skin over the side of his chest and shoulder that matched the skin of your own arm. there was always a tinge of plea in his voice, of desperation, as he edged you into your own apartment and you always, always relented.

you remembered being down on your knees for him for the first time, throat swollen and tight as he eased his cock down your throat, a gentle hand in your hair.

“thas’ it,” he had praised, voice slurred as he guided you through the unusual motion. your head slid up and down his thick, hot length that pulsed in your mouth, sucking him with closed eyes.

“look at me,” he had commanded, thumb pressing against your cheek and you had fluttered your eyes up at him, head feeling light and airy from the lack of oxygen circulating in your system.

“fuck,” he choked out, head tipping back at the sight of you, so small and obedient between his thighs.

it was just like this every time—mind blowing and unforgettable. content in his strong arms after every night of intense passion, your cheek pressed to his warm chest and soft, lulling whispers into your ear as he stroked your hair till you fell asleep to his random bursts of rambles about work, one-four-one, and you. soft, loving words about you.

he was always the most talkative those nights. in the morning, he would always be gone, and in the light of day, you’d half ignore each other for fear of…

you didn’t know what you should be fearing but you feared something so strong that you buried yourself in work and allowed yourself to be selfish. trying desperately to forget everything and always failing much to Yue-Yi’s amusement.

damn special privileges, you had hired Yue-Yi as a personal assistant after the majority of brothels had been shut down with the crackdown of law across the west. managing so many of her own personal clients throughout her life, Yue-Yi proved to be adept at organizing your busy schedule and especially adept at keeping you company when one-four-one was gone. when Simon was gone.

she reminded you to take care of yourself when you were overworking. you always countered by saying that one-four-one was working twice as hard, though with the incredulous look she would send you every time, you grew to become unsure of yourself.

and here you were in the present, days since you had “talked” to Simon though his mind seemed to be barely present underneath a veil of intoxication. days since Soap had whisked him back to whatever duties that lay east of san francisco.

you tried to ignore it all, taking long strolls through the park during lunch to avoid the hustle bustle of your office during the busy hours. you preferred to work in silence, but that proved difficult with the growing number of employers that were corralled into your business, no matter how perturbed they thought an unmarried woman as their boss.

you heard their gossips and whispers. they thought you were hiding a secret marriage with the prophesied ceo from them. Simon Riley. little did they know, their ceo was actually you. you didn’t have the heart to tell them that they were wrong and allowed them to continue thinking you were some favored personal assistant of Simon—just a typist and nothing more.

you only let a few men—vaqueros who knew good english with proficient math and business skills—into your secret, pressing real business matters to carry out into their hands. they never questioned it, and whether it was a command from Alejandro or not, you thought of them as amiable acquaintances.

the fall leaves littered the path in the park on this day, your hands clasped behind your back as you observed the sun flecked surroundings. a husband and wife ambled through the grass as their children trailed behind, throwing up colorful leaves into the air with pitched laughter. immediately, you looked away from the sight.

that’s when you spotted a familiar man staring at you, splayed across a nearby bench in a fancy three-piece suit and ginger hair fiery in the sunlight.

you stopped in your tracks.

“Konig?” you choked, slowly edging toward him. he tipped his head to you with a smile that smothered something strange in his pale green eyes.

“pleasant to see you little lady.”

your mouth opened and closed and you would’ve sat by him if it weren’t for the thrumming, ominous instinct in you to stay away.

and you did just that, stopping a comfortable distance from the big man, his eyes never leaving you as he took a swing from a flask before tucking it back into the breast pocket of his suit.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, dismayed, wondering if you were hallucinating it out of your own loneliness.

he ruffled his hair, smile lopsided but eyes still flat and dead and cold. Konig had disappeared on the move into san francisco. he would reappear every one and a while, poking around in your business and checking on your well-being before disappearing all over again. it was frustrating and left you beyond confusion.

it left Simon seething because Konig would conveniently pop up in the midst of a random, bustling street, tell you with joy that he was staying just around the corner of your new apartment and make Simon sulk at the very sight of the austrian man.

“my employers in Austria,” he said with a tilted head, “they want me to stay in san francisco for business.”

your mind spun. business? assassin business?

your throat ran dry. “you won’t kill Simon, will you?” 

the smile on his face was malicious.

“i already tried,” he said slowly, and you suppressed a shiver, remembering when Kate had told you that Konig had left Simon for dead in that fire but took you with him. saved your life.

“that british boy,” Konig said, brow furrowed like he was concentrating hard, “i do not like him, Engel.”

you sighed out, rubbing at your temple. “i know, Konig.”

when Konig only kept staring at you in silence, you decided to probe him with questions. “where have you been?”

you were surprised by the hurt in your voice. his brows only rose slightly. “san francisco—”

“what have you been doing?” you interjected, twisting your hands in your dress.

he stared at you for a long moment. “business.”

his voice dropped an octave. “and watching you.” then, he rephrased, “watching you and Ghost.”

you wrinkled your nose. not ominous at all.

“you care about him,” he observed lightly, looking away from you. a frown twitched at his lips and you sighed, gaining the courage to sit on the very opposite edge of the bench. though with his sheer size, he took up more than half of it, his arm splayed out over the back and his fingers pressed against your shoulder when you leaned back to look up at the clear, crisp sky.

“i do,” you confirmed, and he shifted beside you, picking up his hand to play with the ends of your hair.

“why? he’s an insufficient boy,” he grumbled and you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. you had never heard someone describe Simon as a boy, though sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel the same.

“i am an insufficient girl sometimes,” you countered, surprised when Konig shook his head.

“i have always seen you for what you are, Engel.” his pale green eyes flitted from your hair up to your eyes.

“capable.”

at that, you swallowed hard, but he continued on. “i want to stay in america. for you, little american.”

quickly, you countered, “you didn’t know me before, Konig.”

he shook his head again. “i don’t need to.”

there was a dizzying panic that rose in your chest. 

“i’m not innocent,” you practically hissed, pinning him with your most intense gaze that he easily held. “i have mental issues. i don’t know who i am or what i want. i just want…”

your voice faltered. “Simon.”

then, you whispered so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear yourself, “i love him.”

the admittance of it was like a weight that slid off your shoulders, and you gasped a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Konig had gone very stiff beside you, a pure look of something dark and angry twisting his face before it was swept away. he took his arm from you, letting your hair drop against your shoulders, sighing as he looked away.

“i don’t get it,” he grumbled.

you could only agree. “i don’t either.”

after a long moment of silence, Konig stood from the bench and whirled around on his heels, hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face, though you could see the strain in his eyes.

“no matter. this will be the last time you see me, Engel.”

“i doubt that,” you said bitterly and his smile only grew.

“you are a business woman,” he said carefully, giving you a slight bow, “i am sure we will do business later in life.”

i’m counting on it, you thought, but didn’t voice as he turned on his heel and strode out the park with a confident step. your heart shrunk with every step he took. maybe you cared about him more than you realized.

you winced, trying to imagine how you would tell Simon about this strange encounter. then, you corrected yourself, reminding yourself that you actually didn’t need to tell him anything at all.

“excuse me!” a voice called from afar, and you turned to see Yue-Yi standing at the edge of the park, hands balled up by her side.

at the sight of her, a smile crept up to your face as she impatiently tapped at her wrist. 

“you’re late for a meeting,” she hissed as you strode over. with a nasty look, she whirled around to trudge toward the office with a huff. 

you looked back at Konig one last time, towering as he weaved around people who glanced at him with a wariness.

when he didn’t look back, you hurried to catch up with Yue-Yi, a strangled laugh escaping you when she quickened, throwing a mischievous look over her shoulder as you chased her up the steps to the office.

the meetings went smoothly. as usual. most of Turner’s men had been decimated or scattered, lost to the winds as they left western gang life for a mundane one. few changed sides to work for one-four-one. there wasn’t much threat to your livelihood now, especially now that there was a legal outlet for illegal activities. you implored one-four-one to set up a horse race betting system within each saloon—semi-discrete and something local law enforcers were a part of from time to time…

the rest of the day continued to go smoothly till it was late in the evening, nearing dinnertime, when you passed Yue-Yi typing at her desk. gathering the necessary papers she typed up, one paper by her typewriter caught your eye. 

familiar, obnoxiously loud handwriting in all caps lined the top, addressed to YUE-YI from SIMON RILEY. you immediately picked it up, eyes darting over the paper, just reading the first few, formal sentences when Yue-Yi snatched it from your hand.

“didn’t anyone ever tell you it was rude to read someone else’s letters without permission?” she said with a scowl, wagging a finger at you.

you ignored her, reaching for the letter but she leaned back, crumpling it into a ball in her hand.

“Yue-Yi,” you whined, and she just rolled her eyes with a little smile.

“what is this about?” you probed, endlessly curious as to why Simon had written to Yue-Yi.

and not you, a slither of a whisper spoke in your mind. you grimaced. in all fairness, you never wrote to him either.

mulling by the edge of her desk, Yue-Yi sighed at the sight of you, lost and confused, as she resumed her work and lined up a fresh piece of paper at the typewriter.

“one-four-one is coming back tonight.”

you balked. “tonight?”

she shrugged. “Ghost addressed the information to me several days ago. the letter did not arrive till this morning. we will dine together at six o’clock.”

checking the clock on the opposite of the room, you bristled.

“it’s half past six, Yue-Yi,” you gritted out between a clenched jaw.

she stopped her incessant typing, giving you a brief glance full of impatience. “your meetings didn’t end till half past six.”

you groaned with frustration, stomping back into your office and moving past Simon’s vacant desk without even a glance at it—a bad habit that you had developed to somehow will him to return quicker.

not this quick, you lamented in your head, rifling through the wardrobe (for special occasions just like this) by your desk, undressing in your personal bathroom with quivering hands.

someone knocked on the door politely, a three beat rhythm you recognized as Yue-Yi, and with huff you tugged it open, not sparing her a glance out of your own frustration. she closed the door behind her softly, moving closer to undo the back of your dress for you.

you wasted no time to pin up your hair, eyes darting to hers through the mirror, flushing to find her gaze already pinned on you.

with a grumble, you complained under your breath, “how could you do this to me.”

she lightly smiled, helping you pull on the fine gown, exposing your neck and a glimmer of your collarbones.

“i knew you would’ve ran away if i told you weeks ago.”

grimacing, you chose not to say anything, remembering how you had done the same a couple months prior. but it was just once—Simon had written to you saying that he would be in town for the night, and you had written him back saying you were just too busy that night.

it was a lie. 

oh how the tides had changed between the devil and his angel. it wasn’t out of your own revenge, but the gnawing fear wracking your bones and those simmering, painful questions running circles in your mind.

could Simon ever be yours?

it just wasn’t so simple anymore. maybe it never was.

Yue-Yi hummed softly as she pulled your corset tighter for good measure and buttoned up the back of your dress, smoothing it over before giving you a hug from behind.

“you look divine,” she said as you pulled silk gloves up your forearms.

“thank you,” you squeaked with a flush. she patted your sides before opening the door for you like a proper gentleman.

you curtsied for her and rolled her eyes, smacking your backside on your way out of the office as you squealed, and she laughed when you rubbed at your ass that stung beneath your gown.

moving through the townhouse, rooms of the place had been converted into work spaces, lined with desks of busy men with cigarettes between their lips that filled the room with a smoky haze. they paid you no mind as you followed Yue-Yi to the end of the hall, passing by the room of women typists who bid you kind goodbyes and waved as you descended down the spiral steps to the lobby.

there was already a horse and buggy stationed at the sidewalk with an impatient looking coachman, whose eyes darted between you and the watch in his breast pocket.

“do you women not know how to tell time?” he spat, and you gave him a narrowed side glance.

“it would do good on you to remember who your employer is, Mr. Busby.”

“that would be Mr. Riley, miss,” he shot back, opening the door for you nonetheless.

you ignored him but Yue-Yi didn’t.

“and you should remember that the miss is his lady,” she quipped, brow furrowed with a glare as she helped you up into the carriage.

that shut him up, grumbling something under his breath you couldn’t be bothered with as you slid into the leather carriage, Yue-Yi flush at your side as the coachman snapped the reins, horses taking off over the bumpy cobblestone road.

with a sigh, you said to her, “we ought to buy one of those fancy model t’s after today.”

she choked a laugh, clasping her hand with yours as you watched the passing scenery with a smile, though it didn’t last for long, melting from your face with every passing minute—every minute the distance between you and Simon closed.

the one-four-one mansion neared on the twinkling horizon, a good time’s travel from the inner boroughs of the sprawling city, far away enough from commotion where you could hear the soft drag and pulls of the ocean lapping at the shores. the mansion sat just near a cliff overlooking the pacific ocean.

the first night you had stayed for a formal event with important stockholders and other prominent figures involved in the family business, you had laid stock still in the ginormous bed, buried beneath blankets and thick, expensive furs, listening to the lulling roar of the ocean crashing against the cliff rocks through the open windows. a breeze danced through the room, brushing against your cheek so real and strong it felt like skin against your own.

blinking open your eyes, you saw Simon by the edge of the bed, his hand brushing over your cheek and hair in a mess like he had just awoken. without a word, he clambered into your bed, snaking beneath the blankets and pressed to you, bare skin hot to the touch and soaked through with sweat.

some words of concern had left you, some words you had forgotten now as you sat in the carriage, some words he had smothered with a sweet kiss. a kiss that you returned as you pushed him onto his back, shimmying out of your nightgown and undergarments with a practiced ease before straddling him, rolling your hips against him to pull gentle groans from his throat.

you leaned down to pepper kisses over his skin, sucking along his neck and his sharp jaw. then, with an earth shattering reminder of just how strong he is, he tugged your hips up his body till you hovered above his watering mouth, hot breath against your swollen cunt.

with a squeak of confusion, you had gripped at the fluffy pillows above his head, meeting his dark gaze as he pulled your pussy flush to his lips, guiding your hips over his face as he devoured your cunt, suckling your clit into his mouth till you were a shaking, crying mess.

it was strange and felt too dirty but your neediness betrayed you, just wanting more and more of him. even when he flipped you over, pliant and weak from a strong orgasm, and stretched your tight cunt open with his thick cock and low comforting words. 

good girl. my sweet little angel, my sweet little slut. just f’me, all f’me.

you weren’t sure why it always ended up like this exactly—somehow tangled in each other’s bed and desperate for skin against skin, tongue and lips on each other, and his low throaty whispers in your ear that sent you reeling over the edge every time with breathy, pitched whines and his fingers rubbing addictive little circles into your clit.

shivering at the memory with a hot flush of embarrassment, you pressed your thighs together, taking your embroidered fan and flapping it at your face as the coachman drew the carriage up the drive-way to the mansion, the butler and servants lined along the extravagant entrance of the victorian mansion.

just beyond them, one-four-one filed out the doors of the mansion, Soap striding up to the carriage with a loud greeting. the coachman opened the door for you but Soap waved him away, outstretched his hand to you with a rugged smile.

you took it, holding the hem of your dress up as you stepped to the ground.

“yer a sight for sore een, bonnie,” he said with a big grin and you choked a laugh.

“sore what?” you asked as he kissed your hand brusquely, not elaborating as he moved to help Yue-Yi out the carriage as well.

you walked up the steps of the entrance, John and Kate calling out to you in greeting. your eyes darted over Gaz and Simon, looking like a pair of twin statues with the way their arms were crossed over their chests and a stoic look pinched their face.

you bit back a scoff, letting Kate pull you into a soft hug as John looked down at you with an affectionate smile, hands clasped behind his back. turning to Gaz, he gave you a curt nod which you returned.

eyes sliding to Simon’s, his arms dropped to his sides, hands clenching and unclenching, lips parting like he was going to say something, but Yue-Yi materialized at your back in an instant, and his mouth closed, jaw clenched.

“Yue-Yi,” he greeted with a nod. she just tilted her head in response, a menacing scowl twisting her lips.

the look they shared passed something between them that you couldn’t decipher—like a silent argument ensued in the air between them before he let out a low huff, sending you a lingering look, before he followed one-four-one into the mansion.

promptly, you turned to Yue-Yi.

“what was that?” you probed, and she completely ignored you, pushing you into the mansion with an impatient, hushed reminder that you were late.

you bit back your frustration, letting yourself be led by the butler to the banquet table stacked with half-eaten food and empty bottles of whiskey and wine, the vaqueros loud laughter and chatter filling the cavernous dining room. they all stood at your presence, which you protested with a startled squeak, sitting down in an plush chair near the head of the table where John sat, and right beside Simon.

Simon pushed in your chair with an ease, face blank as he plopped in the seat next to you, lacking manners when he leaned an elbow on the table, a tense silence filling the space between you.

desperately, you ignored it, grateful that Yue-Yi flanked your other side, and looked down to the other end where Alejandro, Rudolfo, Kate, and Maria sat, a raucous laughter and chatter ensued. it filled the whole room with an expanding joy that you rode—joining in on a few conversations across the table, hyper aware of the quiet, hulking man beside you sharing low murmurs with John and Gaz.

his hand crept over to the arm of your seat, long fingers hanging off the edge where he rested his forearm, fingertips barely brushing over your thigh. you shot him a look from your peripheral, but he was still braced against his other forearm, leaning over to speak in John’s ear, his face furrowed as he nodded along to Simon’s words.

across the table, Soap piled your plate with food, one hand spooning out generous portions from different platters and the other tipping back a glass of whiskey into his mouth.

with a sheepish laugh, you thanked him, happy to finally have a meal after such a long, exhausting day.

you took a big spoonful of mashed potatoes, chewing happily when a vaquero across the table pointed out you got some on the corner of your lips with a mix of sign language and a couple words in english. embarrassed you swiped at it, but he just laughed, saying something in spanish as he smiled at you.

then, you recognized him—his twinkling brown eyes and gentle smile, tanned skin, dark slick backed hair that parted and curled around his ears. handsome in a soft, pretty way.

“it’s you!” you exclaimed, happy to see a familiar face.

he nodded, pointing to himself. “i am Javier.”

“your name is Javier?” 

he nodded again, then pointed at you. “you are Angel.”

with a blush, you shifted in your seat, changing the subject quickly. “how are you?”

when he looked confused, you tried to rephrase, “how are you feeling? good? bad?”

his let out an ah, eyes twinkling as he leaned forward in his seat. “good.”

then, he tilted his head. “escuche que eres la chica de Ghost. pero ya no lo parece.”

he was looking you up and down. “te ves tan bonita esta noche, Angel.”

his words were hushed, just loud enough so that only you could hear. there was a different, more intimate tone in them that had the heat in your cheeks just thickening.

“what?” you choked and his smile only widened.

you looked to Yue-Yi beside you, locked in conversation with someone on her other side, growing uncomfortable under the vaquero’s curious, lingering gaze.

you had thought that no one had heard when a strong arm had curled around your waist, dragging your entire chair across the floor with a screech so you were flush to his side.

“¿todavia parece que no es mia cabron?” Simon’s words were a low snarl that carried through the room and cut through the end of the other table. immediately, the room quieted, and Alejandro’s eyes darted up from his conversation, the smile melting off his face.

with a deadly amount of leisure, Simon threw his revolver on the table, eyes a glare full of challenge at Javier. you stared at the hard lines of his face and panicked, knowing he’d hold to whatever word he had just delivered if it was something as trivial as his male ego being threatened. especially if he thought you were being threatened.

when Javier reached for his own revolver beneath the table, you threw up a hand, standing to shield Simon.

“wait—!”

but Alejandro beat you to it. “Javier.”

Javier looked down the table at his leader that stood, hunched over and knuckles pressed against the table. Alejandro shook his head lightly, and Kate heaved a sigh, her cutlery clattering against her plate as she put them down.

“here they go again,” she grumbled distantly, blue eyes flashing when they met yours.

after a long pause, Javier finally leaned back into his chair with a huff, then turned his gaze to you once more.

“debo haberme equivocado. lo siento Angel.”

the smile on his face was deceptively soft, eyes never leaving your wide ones as he spoke, and Simon’s grip only tightened on your waist.

“Javier,” Alejandro repeated, sounding impatient, though Javier’s gaze on you was unflinching.

for a long, terrible, twisted moment, you watched Simon’s hand twitch by his revolver before it curled into a fist, and he sat back against his chair with a thud and a low grunt. finally, Javier looked away, and you sunk back into your chair, gasping a breath you didn't know you were holding.

at that, Alejandro straightened and held a bottle of whiskey up into the air with a smile.

“no need to fight my brothers and sisters. we’re here to celebrate our victory, vaqueros and vaqueras!”

at that, the table cheered and resumed its festivities, retopping their drinks with a tipsy hand so that their drinks fizzed over with liquid that soaked into the tablecloth. then, Alejandro gestured his bottle to you, meeting your eyes, mouthing out the words so that only you and Simon could see.

“to the devil and his angel.”

he took a big swing of the whiskey bottle, and the muddled feeling in you only sunk, jolting when Simon pressed his lips to your ear.

“sit in my lap,” he commanded and you shot him a glare.

“you haven’t talked to me all night,” you hissed under your breath and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“you haven’t either,” he countered, which you thought was rather immature as you looked up at him with a pinched expression.

with a little yelp, you jolted when his hand lazily slid around your throat. “and i wasn’t asking, princess.”

swallowing hard, you let him pick you up and drop you in his lap, curling both arms around you in a vice, chin tucked over your shoulder. you told yourself, chanted to yourself, that you were doing it to prevent any further bloodshed already spilled between the men and women of the room, your eyes darting over Kate and Maria flush together at the end of the table.

you clutched at Simon’s strong arms, leaning back into his massive body, turning your cheek so that your forehead was against his jaw, closing your eyes.

“sleepy?” he offered, voice gruff in your ear. gently, he kissed the lobe of your ear, and a resolute ache wracked your chest.

you realized, in his arms, this was the first time in multiple days since he had held you. you reached back to clutch at his neck, sinking into him.

“mhmm,” you hummed, grateful that Gaz and John ignored the pair of you in their own conversation.

then, he kissed your neck softly. “i can take you to bed.”

the suggestiveness of his words don’t go unnoticed. “now?”

“no one will say anythin’,” he promised, already pushing you off his lap softly. even if half the table watched you disappear through the rooms of the mansion with Simon’s arm wrapped around your waist, you found yourself completely uncaring, just nuzzling closer into him.

once you were both completely out of sight, he hooked an arm under your knees and carried you up the stairs and into a random room shrouded with darkness, the blankets and furs soft against your back when he laid you out over a bed.

you watched him undress in silence, undoing his vest and then his button up before you heard the clink of a belt in the dark and his dress pants dropped to the floor. he crawled over to you, completely bare for your greedy eyes.

“let me?” he asked softly, finger hooking in the low collar of your evening gown, and you nodded, letting him sit you up and unbutton the back of your dress. you tugged it over your head, uncaring that it crumpled the fabric, and flipped your hair over your shoulder, turning so you offered your back to him.

when he made no move to your corset, you sent him a confused look over your shoulder, lips parting at the sight of him breathing shallow, and swollen, veiny cock pressed against his thigh.

he edged forward with a low curse, kissing your shoulder as he untied your corset expertly, too expertly now, with a clumsy rush, your breasts bouncing when he practically ripped the thing from your torso.

a gasp escaped you when he bound an arm around your chest, kneading at your breast while his other hand tugged at the hem of your drawers. you lifted your hips, awkwardly shimmying out of them in his tight hold. he tore it the rest of the way down, and you chided him with disapproval that he ignored, arms squeezing you tight to his muscled, warm chest.

you could feel his feverish cock pressed into the curve of your ass, and you reached down blindly to stroke him but he grumbled out something like a no, burying his face into your hair and neck as he just held you there in that awkward position.

you clutched at his arms, feeling the muscled strength of them tense beneath your touch. “Simon?”

he hummed distantly, pressing pleasant kisses to your skin.

“i need to show you something,” he said, untangling himself from your body for a brief moment to step away and search for something on the floor. he took something from the pocket of his discarded pants, silvery and shiny in the dim light as he crawled back onto the bed and pulled you flush to him once more.

he looped both arms in front of your chest, the silver thing dangling in the air in front of your face.

you gasped at the sight of the pink jewel embedded in an ornate silver casing—dazzling even in the low light. it wasn’t unlike Simon to bring you back trinkets and small mementos from his travels, though they were always discrete, left on your nightstand after an intimate night, or the kitchen table in your apartment. 

this was the first time he had directly presented you with something so romantic.

with a content hum at your reaction, he clasped it around your neck, pulling your hair out from under the silver chain, pressing his lips along the necklace against your skin. the contrast between its cold metal and his hot kisses left you shivering.

“what is it?” you asked in wonder, clutching at the jewel against your chest.

“pink tourmaline,” he slurred against your skin. you met his half-lidded gaze from over your shoulder.

“s’my birthstone,” he said, voice deceptively soft as he reached around to toy with it in your fingers. a heat slithered down to your core, and you had to clench your thighs together to stave off the aching pressure of it.

the act was so possessive it left you hot with delirium.

physically branding you as his, a happy voice sung in your somewhere, though the logic of your mind swatted at it, reminding you this wasn’t how you wanted it.

you bit down on your lip, feeling conflicted as you stared down at the jewel in his fingertips.

when you didn’t respond to him, Simon gently pressed you onto your back, sliding over your body to study your face with a blank expression.

“what’s wrong, lovely? you don’t like it?”

you shook your head, reaching up to cup his cheek. “no. i like it. it’s just…”

he tilted his head, eyes flitting down to your exposed, swollen breast from his kneading, then up again.

“fuck me,” you offered, and his face pinched, pulling back from your touch so he sat back on his haunches.

“what’re you not tellin’ me, lovely?” he asked, angling your chin down so you were looking right into his dark eyes.

you swallowed hard. “Konig came and talked to me.”

he stiffened, grip on your chin tightening as he frowned. “he didn’t touch you, did he?”

“no,” you said, clutching at his wrist, “he told me that he wanted to stay in the city for me.”

with as much honesty as you could muster, you told him, “i realized that i care about him more than i believed.”

his hand dropped from your face, jaw clenched as a new void look swept through his expression, which left you icy inside and out.

“you want to tell me that you love him?” there was such a strain in his voice that it didn’t sound like his own.

“no,” you said immediately, and the tight bunch of his shoulders dropped. “i want...”

that voice in your head screamed and you tried to bury it but it came out wracking and loud. you screwed your eyes shut. 

you Simon, it screamed. i want you. you wanted him so bad it was soul-crushing. you wanted him so bad you’d rather deny yourself of the need, ignore him endlessly, if it meant that he wouldn’t… reject you.

those same, sharp questions pierced finally broke the barricade of your mind. could you ever hope for Simon to be yours? would he ever think you an equal? was it more than the power balance you felt it to be?

you looked into his stoic face.

“i want to start over.”

he tilted his head, voice rough. “start over.”

you nodded. “i’m a business woman. i’m a murderer. i’ve done awful things. i’m not innocent anymore.” 

you held your breath, hoping with all your might he would believe your words. you were so, so, so very afraid that he cared for a girl that you weren’t anymore.

you are a woman now, Yue-Yi had said to you with wonder after your reunion in san francisco, marveled that you had survived the harrowing gang war. 

he edged closer to you, creeping over you so his body bowed down to your own. his hands slid up to your cheeks, holding your face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. his dark eyes flitted between yours. 

you pressed on. “let’s do everything over. no more secrets. retell me ones i’ve already learned.”

when he was silent, you reached up to gently hold his face in your palms in return.

“the one i love is you,” you admitted, amazed at how the weight slid right from your shoulders into some intangible pit below, just how it had been that noon with Konig.

you searched his eyes, finding nothing changed in them after your words. just Simon’s brown eyes. still just Simon. the clarity in that realization was like finally finding a foothold after months of free fall.

“you’ve changed Angel,” he said, quietly, like he was in awe.

your breath hitched. “is that bad?”

“‘course not. is this what you’ve been worrying your pretty little head about for months?”

you frowned. “yes.”

his whole body relaxed, easing down to trap you beneath his muscled body. “i thought you were rethinkin’ about marrying me.”

you winced, because in all technicality you were, but not because you were doubting him. you were doubting all of the unreliable circumstances that danced around the two of you.

he said softer, “i thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“i want you more than anything,” you squeaked and he cocked his head. 

only you could decipher it as the silent question that it was. then why’d you do all that to me?

your breath hitched, the guilt of neglecting him like a crashing, icy wave splashing over you. or, rather, you had neglected yourself.

“i can’t explain it,” you choked and he rubbed a hand over your chest.

“take your time Angel.”

shimmering tears glossed your eyes, and you said quicker than you thought, “i wanna be equals.”

the slow, soothing circles he drew against your chest stopped. “equals?”

“i wanna be more than this,” you said, clutching at the jewel on your chest, hoping with every fiber of your being that he understood.

more than the once innocent and naive girl he kidnapped.

but he was just silent for a long moment, eyes darting between your face and the little jewel, and you made a strangled noise of frustration.

“i want you to be mine, too,” you admitted, so embarrassed by the proposition that you couldn’t look at him.

when his silence just continued, your eyes darted over to meet his, face void of anything perceptible before he suddenly smothered a laugh, pressing a fist to his lips and twisting away so you couldn’t see his face.

“what—”

you scrambled up to see him keeled over by the edge of the bed, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Simon!” you shouted, kicking at his shoulder to get him to quit it, but that only goaded him on. 

with a sniffle, you wiped at the tears in your eyes and scrambled from the bed, standing up to stomp out of the room. even if you were naked and all, you didn’t care.

“don’t even try to run away,” he growled between laughter, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you back so you fell back against his chest with a yelp, fighting him as he wrestled you back down to the bed.

when your cheek was pressed against the mattress, back arched and ass pressed to his hips, you slumped with defeat and he let out a low, approving hum, laughter finally subsiding as he bent over you to nose at the crown of your head.

once he settled above you, he hummed again, an iron grip around both of your forearms that were pressed to the bed. he kneed your thighs apart, cunt spread and presented to him in the most indecent way possible. 

you shuddered, a burning heat in your tummy.

“silly girl,” he murmured, hips sliding forward to press his leaking cock into the softness of your inner thigh.

you gasped, squirming around in his grip, trapped beneath him.

“my cock was made for this pretty pussy,” he rasped, low enough that it sent goosebumps across your skin, a little whimper torn from your lips. 

“made for you,” he emphasized, picking up a hand that pinned down your forearm.

you looked down between your quivering legs, watching him wrap a large hand around his length and pump his cock a couple times before lining up with your entrance.

“already?” you whined, shaking at the feeling of his drooling tip pushing through your gooey folds.

“you can take it can’t you?” he cooed softly, leaning down to press a messy kiss to your cheek.

of course you could, you wanted to say, but the memory of how the stretch of your cunt around his big cock burned even when he prepared you made you tremble.

but that didn’t stop you from wiggling your hips back into him, wanting him to just slide in already, the wetness of your cunt hot and unbearable. you couldn’t keep from whimpering against the sheets for him.

at your meek display of submission, he whispered in a low, throaty tone, “good girl.”

slowly, he pressed his cock into your unstretched cunt, smothering your cries against the blankets. you screwed your eyes shut, tears slipping down your cheeks as you half-sobbed.

Simon smoothed a hand down your spine, his other hand going between your thighs to circle at your aching clit as he plunged further in.

“hurts,” you whined and he hummed, kissing your shoulder blade.

“want me to stop?” he offered softly, but you immediately shook your head, wanting to please him.

always wanting to please him.

“you’re perfect,” he purred against your skin, bullying the last thick inches of his base into your pussy till he was flush against your ass.

lingering there for a moment, letting the sharp burn subside as you sniffled against the sheets and he peppered kisses all down your neck and back, fingers still massaging your swollen clit.

“needed this so bad,” he admitted, hot breath against your back making your shiver, “needed this pretty little, tight cunt so bad.”

the first snap of his hips punched the breath from your lungs, the rest leaving you gasping, breathless, and mind dizzy as he fucked you. rough. rougher than you felt in a long time.

punishing, you thought dreamily as his hand reached around your throat and squeezed periodically to keep you from passing out.

his hips slammed against your ass, growling out low grunts that coupled with your breathy hiccups in the quiet of the room. it had you delirious and out of your mind, thick tears rolling down your cheeks and pooling at the mattress below.

when he stopped abruptly, hips flush to the back of your thighs that stung from repetitive impact, he manhandled you onto your back, twisting you on his cock as he draped your legs over your shoulders, bending you in half and ignoring your little whimpers as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

when his hand snaked up to your throat again, you thought he’d give you those delicious little squeezes that had your cunt throbbing and aching, but he wrapped his fingers around your necklace instead, pressing the jewel of it into your throat.

his head was tilted, eyes predatory and clouded beyond recognition. 

“pretty,” he snarled, fingers digging into your cheek to keep you still as he pressed more messy kisses to your face as you whimpered.

not punishing, you realized, choking out a sob when he slammed deep into that sweet spot in you, possessive.

so possessive that it made your head spin, clit twitching for his attention, your hips bucking up into his rough movements as you whined for his touch desperately.

“touch yourself,” he commanded roughly, and you sobbed out a thank you, running a hand down your stomach to rub at it—but it just wasn’t as good as the rough pads of his fingers that knew exactly how you liked it.

whining again, he chided you with a tsk, leaning down to shut you up with a hot, wet kiss, tongue invading your mouth as he pushed your hand aside. he pressed his thumb against your needy clit, fingers splayed across your stomach as he abused the pebbled bud to perfection.

“oh, Simon,” you gasped into his full lips, watching the silvery scar of his upper lip stretch when he smiled, malicious and pupils blown wide.

“hm? tha’ good, baby?” 

“yeah,” you choked out, more tears running down your face when you screwed your eyes shut. he kissed them away with a softness that made you melt, curling into his touch, taking and loving every one of his rough thrusts that drove you a little further up the bed. 

so far that he held up a hand against it, broad and big body towering over your small, shaking one, dwarfed by him in the darkness.

he groaned, little strings of praise leaving his lips. “so perfect takin’ me, Angel. so small and tight and takin’ it all.”

you nodded, gasping for breath as your fingers twisted in the sheets, overwhelmed 

“this cock yours? hm?” he goaded, and you just kept nodding through your hiccuped gasps, hands running up his strong arms to sink your nails into his shoulders, tugging him down to you with a whine.

he relented, dropping down to squish you beneath his heavy weight, your thighs almost pressed to your ears as he fucked his thick cock into you, your eyes rolling back when you felt it throb inside you.

“tell me m’yours,” he growled in your ear, and you moaned, snaking a hand into his hair to pull at its roots and quell the crashing pleasure wracking your body with little overstimulated shakes.

“you’re mine,” you squeaked back, and he chuckled low in your ear, talking you through an orgasm with throaty murmurs.

good girl. come for me now. wanna watch your pretty face while you come. thaaas’ it, pretty thing, come f’me, come f’me—

and you did, every one of his words spurring you closer to the edge, thrown over it when he snuck a hand around your throat and squeezed, the cold metal of your necklace digging into your skin.

it was too much, and you came so hard you saw white, throaty groans in your ear as you came down from the high, Simon’s thrusts slower and more affectionate.

“did so well f’me,” he cooed, and you nodded weakly, still clutching at his hair as your body continued to shake.

“think you can do it again?” he asked softly and you immediately shook your head.

“no,” you sniffled, but he pressed his lips against your hair, a telling smile twisted them and you whimpered, knowing exactly what that meant.

you gasped when he suddenly pulled out of you, feeling light and airy and cold from the weightless absence of him. dizzy, you picked up your head, blinking your eyes against the darkness, pacified when he leaned down and enveloped your lips with his warm ones, movements slow and soft when he flipped you to straddle his hips.

you leaned against his chest, feeling just as woozy and dizzy as he angled your hips, dripping length pushing through your folds and catching against your sensitive clit.

“i think you can, lovely,” he said, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hip. “can you try? f’me?”

you sniffled, sending him a pout that just made the smug look on his face stretch.

“want you to use me,” he rasped, eyes darting down to where his cock was nestled between the wet folds of your entrance—sopping with your orgasm and the pearly white liquid that rolled from the tip of his cock.

you whined, grinding down on him, feeling that needy thrum between your thighs again, and he hummed approvingly, guiding his cock back into the waiting clutch of your heat.

the position was unusual to you—so exposed in the cold air of the room, begetting you a whole new berth of control that you were unsure what to do with when you sunk down on him, watching his blonde lashes flutter as his eyelids drooped, sighing out a heavy breath.

once you were settled flush to his hips, you gasped, head tilted back and eyes wide at how deep the head of him nudged against that gummy crook of your inside that ached and keened for stimulation. 

“Simon,” you gasped, unsure what to do.

he placed two hands on your hips, dragging your hips up so just the tip of him was at your entrance, before spearing you back down.

you gasped when the head of his cock pressed right against that sweet spot again, and you clutching at his big hands on your hips, picking your hips up before dropping back down onto him, the new pleasure blooming through your body.

“tha’ it,” he grunted, lolling his head back into the pillows, watching your work his length with little breathy moans and gasps, “use this cock. s’all yours.”

you whined at that, whimpering a little, “mine” as you peered down at him through half-lidded eyes.

“mhmm,” he affirmed, using his thumb to play with your aching clit, “m’all yours, princess.”

a moan escaped your lips as you tipped your head back, riding him slow and sensual to your own pleasure, letting it overwhelm you with loud keens of pleasure, head spinning at the thick, pulsing cock between your legs.

all yours, your mind chanted, reaching up to pinch at your own sensitive nipples and whimpering at the sensation that mixed into all the others, watching Simon groan beneath you.

“such a dirty, corrupted little thing,” he grunted, thrusting up in time with your movements so he slammed a little deeper in you every time.

“gonna let me make you my pretty little wife, princess?” he asked, voice so soft as he cupped your cheek.

you nodded incessantly, babbling incoherent words and little pleas as you leaned forward on his chest, another orgasm rushing closer and closer to you.

“gonna come?”

you nodded again, pitched little whimpers the only sound you could push from your lips as he snapped his hips up, taking over the weak, shallow movement of your hips, thighs burning from the effort.

your whole body turned to jello, muscles going lax as you collapsed over him, core convulsing with sweet, delicious pulses that blissed you out, a roar of static in your ears as you screwed your eyes shut with a broken sob.

you hadn’t even realized your cheek was pressed to Simon’s chest till you were coming down from the intensity of it, mind still buzzing with overstimulation, as you just listened to his lulling breaths against your hair and the slow swells of his chest.

he brushed his fingers up your back. “alright, lovely?”

you nodded with a contented hum against his bare chest, tracing the mottled scars of his body softly.

you only noticed his throbbing, hard length still flush to that sweet spot in you when he bucked his hips up, and a surprised moan left your lips. 

“can i?” he asked, lifting your hips softly to slide his cock out the tight clutch of your cunt.

you weren’t sure of what he was asking for till he perched your leg up, wrapping a hand around himself and stroking, tip pressed right up against the rim of your entrance.

you moaned at the sight, craning your head back to look at the quick swipe of his hand twisting around his cock, hips bucking up in an irregular pattern that made you dizzy. 

he twitched beneath you every time slapped the head of his cock against your clit, making you mewl out with sensitivity, turning your head back to him, finding his dark, clouded eyes already on you.

he picked his head up in a silent offering that you took, kissing him with a delirious need, needing him to do something, needed him to come.

“need it,” you whimpered, grinding your hips down against the head of his cock, and his hips bucked with a low groan against your tongue.

“fuck,” he grunted, forehead pressed to yours, “you don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

that only left you confused, brow furrowed as you traced your fingers over his neck and collarbones, scratching lightly over the skin just to hear his breath go shallow.

“need you to come in me,” you begged, whining at the very thought of his hot, milky spend spilling into your cunt, not knowing why you needed it, just that you did.

he groaned loud, hips bucking up into his hands a few more times till he held the head of his cock right against your entrance and came all over your pussy lips, splashing them with a hot, goopy liquid as you whimpered, grinding down on the feeling.

you were half tempted to sheath himself back into your cunt, but his fingers already beat you to it, slithering down your stomach to curl up into your entrance. you gasped as he pushed the spend in you, hot and slimy and just as you had imagined as you ground down on his fingertips.

“this what you needed?” he asked, voice hazy and distant. you blinked up at him, his head lolled against the pillows with a lazy smirk.

shifting up you pecked his lips, humming as he fucked his fingers into you, spreading his spend within you. he pecked your nose in return.

“good.”

then, his fingers were sliding out your cunt, leaving you empty and cold after the accumulated sweat on your body had dried. but his arms were warm as he wrapped you in his embrace, turning you over to crush you beneath him again, just where you belonged.

stretching out beneath him, you winced at the sting between your thighs.

“sore?” he asked, reaching down to cup your cunt, and you swatted at his hand with a flush.

“s’your fault,” you said with a pout.

he just thumbed at your lower lip that jutted out, and you playfully bit down on it, satisfied when you saw a little smile on his lips.

“i promise i’ll stretch you nice and good beforehand next time. with a couple orgasms too,” he purred in your ear, and you only flushed deeper, hiding it under an indignant nod and a little hmph.

“but that won’t be happenin' for a while, pretty,” he said, rolling off you to sit at the edge of the bed.

when you sent him a quizzical look, beseeching him to come back and keep you warm, he just shook his head.

“s’improper while courting.”

you stiffened against the sheets, dropping your hand back down to your side. then, your eyes narrowed. “since when do you care about that kind of bullshit?”

he just bellowed a laugh, standing, tall and broad and stretching his compressed muscles in the open air. your eyes dropped beneath his hips, taking in the hair along his naval and his softening cock with a greediness.

tipping your knees open suggestively, you bared your intimates to him, and his eyes honed in on the messy mix of wetness caking your lower body.

“don’t do that,” he said, low and threatening as his eyes darted back up to your own, tongue sliding along his lower lip.

you couldn’t help but swallow at the sight of him, splaying yourself suggestively over the bed to entice him back. he just turned on his heel with a scoff, muttering something like insatiable beneath his breath before he walked off somewhere into the spacious room.

with the whiz of a match, you saw a space on the opposite of the bedroom bloom with light as he lit candles inside the bathroom.

in the meantime, you burrowed beneath the blankets and soft furs, humming with content at the warmth, brow furrowing when you felt them being pulled off your. with closed eyes, you felt Simon lift your leg, gently wiping your thighs and the sensitive place between them with a warm cloth, making you jolt at the sensation. 

he pressed an apologetic kiss to your shoulder before the blankets were on you again and there was the sound of rustling, footsteps in the distance, the rush of water, footsteps nearing you, and more rustles when Simon slid into the bed behind you.

you turned onto your back to blink your eyes lazily at him, seeing him propped up on his side against the pillows and looking down at you. you smiled, tracing along his jaw and the silvery scar on his upper lip before he stooped down to kiss you with an intensity, tongue softly brushing against yours, before he pulled away again.

“do that again,” you commanded and with a huff he complied, kissing you so hard it made you dizzy.

“better?” he asked with a relaxed look on his face, reaching around you to play with your necklace.

“mhmm.”

you clutched at his wrist. “this my first courting gift?”

he let it drop against your skin, snaking two arms around you to pull you flush to his chest. it was warm and inviting. exactly where you belonged. exactly where Simon belonged.

“naturally.”

you smothered a smile, slithering your hand over his bound around your waist, intertwining your fingers together. he nuzzled against you with a hum, yawning right by your ear like a big cat. 

“it was my last effort at failing to court you for months,” he admitted softly, breathing in the scent of your hair and skin shamelessly. you swatted at him, giggling at his ticklish breaths on your skin.

“leaving things around my apartment was courting?” you asked with a snort, and he grunted against your neck.

“i don’t know how it works,” he grumbled, and you drew lazy patterns across the veins of his muscled forearm.

“i could’ve taught you,” you sighed, remembering how your mama had described your daddy’s courting process.

Simon’s prolonged silence goaded you, and you began, “supposed to have a chaperone. first, you talk to her parents, gain their approval to pursue her, then—”

“i know all that,” he interjected, sounding sheepish. it was the first time you heard him so flustered, but you decided not to push him when you could feel him frown against your hair.

squirming around in his arms, he loosened his hold enough so that you could turn, taking in the strained look on his face. you pecked the corners of his scowl, willing it away, but it didn’t relent.

“then,” you said, brushing his brow with your fingers, “you fix a date to court her in front of her family.”

his scowl just deepened and you huffed a laugh.

“court me in front of Yue-Yi,” you offered, letting your head sink into the pillows, a droop pulling on your eyelids.

“i don’t want to,” he countered and you rolled your eyes.

“she’s the only family i’ve got besides one-four-one,” you said, stifling a yawn, “unless you wanna court me in front of John.”

he nodded slowly, like he was being thoughtful. “that could work.”

you scoffed, letting your eyes slide shut. “unbelievable.”

his fingers traced along your bare spine. “i’ve gotta tell you somethin’, lovely.”

“hm?” you prompted, tilting your head into the pillow like you were listening.

“i did ask your parents for permission.”

you stilled in his arms, breaths growing shallow, waiting for him to explain. when he didn’t, you pressed him.

“and?”

when his silence was only prolonged, you blinked your eyes open, lazily looking up at the serious look pinching his face.

“your mother was shot by one of Turner’s men in the street. it was a mess. don’t know how she got there, or where your father was. just hauled her down an alley and tried to save her.”

your heart swelled so big that it cinched your esophagus, and you found it hard to breathe around the beating appendage in your throat. 

“in her dyin’ moments, she asked me if i had done somethin’ to you.” he screwed his eyes shut, a pained look crossing his face.

“i told her that i had, but that i cared about you more than anythin’. i promised i’d marry you and be a good, faithful husband.”

gripping his jaw lightly, you shimmied up in his arms to press a kiss to his lips that he didn’t return, dark eyes flitting over your face.

“i think she wanted to kill me,” he admitted softly, and you just gave him a wry smile.

“sounds like my mama,” you said, trying to ease the pained look on his face, heart sinking when his scowl only strengthened.

“i tried to save her,” he said, voice gruff and brows pinched together, “i promise.”

you nodded, brushing your hands over his face, willing all of his pain away. “i believe you.”

he closed his eyes with a frustrated huff. “m’terrible at courting.”

you would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the dark roil of deep disapproval coming off him in waves.

“we didn’t exactly have a practical start,” you reminded him, thinking back to months ago. when it was the heat of a dusty summer and he was waltzed into your daddy’s saloon like he owned it, snatching your heart just at the first sight of his brown eyes behind the bloody layer of his glittering mask.

you could barely remember how it looked after it so long. you took in the handsome planes of his face just to remind yourself that you could.

“you deserve more,” he grumbled, still not looking at you. instead, you kissed his eyelids softly.

“stop it,” you chided, patting his cheek hard enough to make his eyes snap open.

“i only want you,” you said, enjoying the way his expression went sweet and gooey at your words, a sleepy smile on his lips, “there is no more or less.”

“this is it,” he said, voice soft as he pressed your foreheads together.

“this is it,” you sighed, curling your arms around his neck, letting your eyes close once more.

goosebumps rose where his fingers danced across your skin, picking up the ends of your hair against your collarbone and playing with it gently.

“marry me,” he offered, hooking a finger beneath the silver chain of your new necklace, rattling when he tugged on it.

“i do,” you sighed, letting him kiss you softly before his warm touch was pulling you down into a heavy slumber.

translations: — te ves tan bonita esta noche, Angel = you look so pretty tonight, angel — escuche que eres la chica de Ghost. pero ya no lo parece = i heard you're Ghost's girl. but it doesn't seem that way anymore —¿todavia parece que no es mia cabron? = does she still look like she’s not mine, bastard?

anyway! next up.... wedding scene 🌚 unless.... jkjk unless............. 👁️👁️ jk (unless...)

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @tomiesdiet @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @mr-sol @warenai @saturnknows @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @havoc973 @mentallynot-here @aqua7ofana @ccerviee @haleidontknow @imjusttheretofightforlove @moonstonedeluluera @tieflingteatime @syddieuh @savakewl @shinebright2000 @bakugo-apologist98 @queenie-b- @whenyoushipuponastar

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

[macfrog]

rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

main masterlist

When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

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#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

[rhoorl]

Delta Landscaping | Chapter 2

The Neighborhood Watch Begins

Series Summary: In this AU, the boys of Delta Force start a new business post-Colombia. 

Series Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+) - not right away, but putting this here as a blanket rating 

Word Count: 3.7k

Chapter Warnings: Two of the characters we meet in this chapter are widows, and there is a brief mention of how both of their husbands passed. 

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and amazing feedback on Chapter 1! It seriously tickles me that there are others who find this universe as hilarious and fun as I do. 

Although the Triple Frontier boys are the stars of the show, I wanted to explore some of their neighbors’ stories as well. Who knows, maybe some of these characters may play a larger role down the line. One of the neighbors we meet in this chapter, Lucille, is particularly dear to me because she is loosely based on my late abuela. 

Finally, one last thing before this chapter – we go slightly back in time from where we ended Chapter 1. This chapter starts a few weeks after Will and Benny move in. Ok, I’m done rambling now … back to Torrey Hills and the shenanigans of Mulefall Court. *cue the Real Housewives music bump*

“¡Mierda! I have more cilantro than I know what to do with,” Lucille says to herself as she grabs some cilantro from her herb garden. “Ay, Julio, I think I’m going to make the boys some food today. Sweet Francisco liked the frijoles I brought over last week and if I have time, I can make some empanadas. Benny practically inhaled them the last time I took them over,” Lucille chuckles to herself. 

She had gotten better about not talking to Julio, it had been a year and a half since he passed, but every once in a while she would still talk to him like he was right there next to her.

Lucille and Julio Alvarez were one of the first residents to move to Torrey Hills back in the 90s. The pair saw every neighbor come and go from the block. Julio was the unofficial mayor of Mulefall Court, always inviting neighbors over to his house for get-togethers. And Lucille was the perfect hostess – the life of the party, who could carry a conversation with anyone with anyone, dance, and still manage to find enough time to put together a spread worthy of a Food Network cooking show.

Although they never had children of their own, the couple loved kids and quickly became pseudo-grandparents to the children on the block, including Megan’s son Connor. 

Megan and her late husband Jacob moved to Torrey Hills when Connor was four. From the outside, they seemed like a perfect family – young, successful, good-looking, and happy. 

Then, Megan’s life was drastically turned upside down one Saturday in January. Jacob went cycling early in the morning, a light mist resting above the ground. It was a weekend routine of his, to go for an early ride before he and Megan would take Connor somewhere fun like the zoo or aquarium.

Unfortunately, he did not make it home that morning. A distracted driver collided with him and he was pronounced dead at the scene. Suddenly, Megan found herself thrust into life as a single mother, trying to piece her life together while continuing to raise her son.

Lucille and Julio helped however they could – babysitting Connor when Megan had to unexpectedly work late or finding an excuse to take him on an adventure to the park or ice cream shop, any way to get him out of the house so Megan had some time to herself. 

As Connor grew up, Lucille and Julio were right there. Julio, a former professional baseball player, was the one who taught Connor how to throw a baseball. He tried to influence the boy’s athletic endeavors and supported him in whatever he wanted to do, even though it did break his heart a little when Connor developed an obsession with basketball.

They celebrated birthdays, took day trips to Disney World, and Lucille and Julio were there the day Megan surprised Connor with the dog he had always dreamed of, a corgi he named Bucky after his favorite Marvel character.

The kindness, care, and compassion Lucille extended to Megan was reciprocated nearly a decade to the day after Jacob's death. After a quiet battle with cancer, Julio passed away peacefully with Lucille at his side. It was the first time in 50 years that Lucille had been away from Julio for more than a couple of days. 

The couple grew up down the street from each other in Cuba, their families were longtime friends. They both immigrated around the same time, but lost contact. Julio came to the United States by himself ahead of his mother and spent a few years in Sacramento, while Lucille and her family went to Miami. After his mother finally came to the United States, Julio made the trip out to meet her in Miami. It didn’t take long for Julio and Lucille to find each other again and once Lucille turned 18, they decided to get married.

Megan and Connor stepped up for her while they were both mourning as well. They visited Lucille throughout the week, sometimes just to stop by to say hi, other times stopping by to cook a meal together, play board games, or watch the Game Show Network, Lucille always loved Family Feud. 

Connor placed a lot of pressure on himself to not only be the man of his own home, but Lucille’s as well. Over the years, Julio tried to teach Connor how to do minor home repairs, to varying degrees of success. Without Julio, Connor took to YouTube and TikTok to not only learn how to fix things but also come up with little fun projects he could do to bring a smile to Lucille’s face, or Lulu as he called her. He taught himself how to make a planter box for her herbs as a surprise and tried his hand at mending her fence following a tropical storm.

Lucille and Megan went through a lot over the past 12 years experiencing a range of emotions from heartbreak to pure happiness. Also, over that time, the duo became the defacto neighborhood welcoming committee. Although they weren’t super close with every single one of their neighbors, they tried to extend some semblance of hospitality to everyone who moved in – including to the two handsome men who moved directly next door to Lucille. 

Will and Benny were quick to befriend Lucille after she greeted them one day with a tray of lemonade and cookies as they were out working on their front lawn with their two equally handsome friends in tow. She found the boys were courteous neighbors, always asking if she needed help around the house. 

Although she didn’t want all of the fuss, she would humor them by having them fix small things for her like changing a lightbulb or fixing a leak in her bathroom. She was careful to not give them too many jobs, keeping small tasks aside for her favorite neighbor and frequent visitor, Connor.

But, she was in awe at the complete transformation of 319 Mulefall Court from its sad, dilapidated look to a pristine, beautiful home any HGTV show would love to feature. And as much as she loved Connor, the boy oftentimes caused more problems than he fixed. So, when she was sitting on her front porch reading a book, she stopped Benny on his way home after a jog. 

“Hola Ms. Lucille,” Benny waved to his neighbor. He had taken his shirt off during his run, tucking it into the waistband of his athletic shorts, so he quickly slipped it back on as he made his way up her driveway.

“I speak English, Benjamin,” Lucille snorted. She liked to tease him about speaking Spanish, but she was actually quite impressed with how much Spanish Benny actually understood. When she would kid with Francisco and Santiago, she found Benny laughing along with them, following the conversation. He definitely knew more than he let on, but was always a bit apprehensive about trying to speak, especially around his friends.

“Sorry, I have to practice when I can. I just … I feel like I’ve learned more living next to you these last few weeks than all the years I’ve known Fish and Pope,” he laughed nervously as he took off his hat and ruffled his hair.

“I’m just playing with you, mi cielo. Besides, those two probably just taught you all of the bad words,” she winked.

“You’re not wrong there,” he smiled. “Hey, when I was in the back yesterday I noticed another part of your fence that looks like it may need some mending. Want me to come over sometime this week?”

“Oh you don’t have to bother with all of that, it’s fine,” she waved him off. 

“C’mon, I can’t just sit there and let you have a hole in your fence. Just, let me fix it.” He leaned against the railing on her porch.

She couldn’t resist the puppy dog eyes he was giving her. She had to give it to him, he was a charmer.

“Ok, but on one condition,” she raised her eyebrow as he nodded. “You have to have Connor help you. The boy could stand to have some nice young men to look up to and learn a thing or two from.”

Benny blushed. He didn’t feel like he was a person anyone should ever look up to, not with his past and the things he had done and seen. He didn’t quite know how to respond to Lucille.

She sensed a darkness flicker over the man in front of her. Although she had only known Benny for a couple of weeks, she always saw him as a happy-go-lucky, energetic, yet sweet and considerate man. But seeing how he reacted to her comment, she knew there was something that troubled him.

“Besides,” she decided to cut the awkward silence. “He spends too much time with me, and as hip as I am, I can’t quite relate to him all of the time anymore. It was easier when he was younger.”

“I gotcha, Ms. Lucille. I’ll talk to Megan about getting Connor over here with us and we’ll all fix the fence as…um…un equipo,” he smiled. 

_______________________

The next morning on her walk with Bucky, Megan spotted Benny in the garage cleaning the lawn mower. 

"Careful or we may all end up hiring you to do our lawns too!" She called over to him with a wink.

He was crouched down facing away from her, a wet patch forming on the small of his back from the sweat. He stopped what he was doing and turned around to see who was talking. Seeing it was Megan (and Bucky), he quickly got up, wiped his hands on a towel, and walked to the front of the driveway.

"Oh hey Mrs. Me- I mean, hey Megan! Ha, I figure you all already have people to do that."

“By people, you mean a 16-year-old who I pay in pizza rolls and video games,” she laughed. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I like what you've done with the place, the flowers are really pretty."

Benny was proud of the work he and the boys had done, so any excuse to hear compliments made him grin from ear to ear.

"Thanks, it's been a fun…distraction. I like having projects, I’m actually going to help Ms. Lucille this week and fix her fence with the boys. Do you think that’s something Connor may want to help with? I heard he’s kinda handy. I don’t want to creep in on his territory…”

"Uh oh, are you going to make me the one to tell him there is some hot new competition on the block doing home repairs!"

Benny blushed and took his hat off briefly to comb through his hair before putting it back on.

“I think it’s nice that you want to help Lucille. God love him, but Connor tries to help but he isn’t as … skilled as you guys. He’s had to learn everything by himself.”

“I’m happy to teach him – I’m not a professional by any means, I leave that to my cousins,” Benny cracked a smile. “But I know my way around some tools, enough to be handy.”

“Yea, I think he’d like that. Since Julio passed, Connor doesn’t really have too many men to talk to besides his coach. I think he’d like to … I don’t know, talk with you guys? No pressure or anything, I’m not looking to impose.”

Benny smiled, knowing there was a lot left unsaid. He hadn’t asked too much about either Megan or Ms. Lucille’s past, he just knew both women were widows. But he knew even less about Connor. From what he had seen, he seemed like a good kid, he clearly was if Megan raised him.

“Cool, well maybe between him and the guys and me we can get it done faster so he can go back to playing video games or whatever the hell else kids do these days,” he chuckled. “I’ll text you when we figure out which day we’re going to do it, we’ll probably need to make a Home Depot run or something so maybe he can come with us for that too?”

"Awesome, hey thanks. I think he’ll find it fun," she smiled back at him and turned to continue her walk.

"Wait!" He called, wanting to catch her before she walked away.

"I have something for Bucky, hold up."

He jogged back to the opened garage to a container marked "treats" and pulled out a Milkbone bar.

"This ok to give him?" He showed Megan the treat as Bucky perked up, his little legs going tippy tap on the pavement.

"Oh shit, now he's going to make a beeline here every walk," she sighed.

___________________________

Later that day, Megan and Connor came over to visit Lucille after she called saying she had some leftover empanadas, one of Connor’s weaknesses. As the duo walked towards Lucille’s, Megan took stock of the cars parked in the 319 Mulefall Court driveway, thanks in part to Connor who helped her identify the makes and models: a red Jeep Wrangler, a black TransAm, a green Colorado truck, and a white Volvo C70 convertible.

“Looks like it’s a full house over there, wonder if they’re having a party,” Megan nodded toward the driveway. “Speaking of, I was talking to Benny, he asked if maybe you wanted to go over and help the guys with a project at Lulu’s this week.”

“What project? She hasn’t told me anything needed to be fixed,” Connor looked confused.

“Oh, he mentioned it was something about her fence – I guess he can see it from his backyard. Could be fun for you to have some help? Could learn something…” 

Megan hadn’t had a chance to broach the subject with her son and she was a little unsure how he would react.

Connor took a second before responding. “Y-yea, I mean. If they don’t mind.”

“Oh no, it was Benny’s idea!”

“Uh, ok. Yea, that’s cool.”

Megan smiled to herself, seeing her son walk with a little more pep in his step at the idea that the four older guys wanted to maybe spend time with him.

As they walked into Lucille’s house, they smelled more than just leftover empanadas. Megan rolled her eyes. She should have known better. Rather than just “a few of leftover empanadas” Lucille had made a whole spread.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here, Lulu!”

Lucille came from around the corner, wiping her hands on her apron with a big grin on her face. 

“I just whipped up a few things, it’s simmering, and should be done soon. Ven mijito,” she motioned to Connor to sit down as she grabbed a plate. “I made empanadas de picadillo, you’re favorite.”

“Yes!” Connor eagerly sat at the table, as Lucille put the plate in front of him. 

“Megan dear, would you mind coming upstairs with me? I’m sorting through some old jewelry and I was wondering if you wanted anything.” 

“Uh, sure...” she knew Lucille was up to something because Megan hardly wore jewelry.

The two ladies made their way up the stairs and into Lucille’s bedroom, straight towards the two large windows that formed the corner of her room.

“Do you keep your jewelry in the window frames?” Megan snorted. She really had no idea what Lucille was up to.

“No tonta, something better is over here,” she motioned out of the window.

Walking over to the windows, Megan saw a perfectly unobstructed view into the next-door neighbor’s backyard where four men were relaxing and enjoying a chill pool day. She quickly scanned to see what they all were up to.

Frankie was by the grill, beer in hand. He opened the grill to flip some of the burgers and skewers, taking his signature hat off to wipe the sweat from his forehead. It didn’t look like he had gotten in the pool yet. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt with blue and green striped swim trunks and some flip flops. He was bobbing his head to the music playing from the bluetooth speakers perched on the porch.

Santiago was laying on a pool float in black swim trunks, a little shorter in length than Frankie’s. He had his sunglasses on so it was hard to tell if he was taking a nap or not, but he had one arm folded behind his head and the other one resting on his stomach.

The Miller brothers were throwing a football around in the yard. Will, dressed in just red swim trunks, stayed by the back porch near Frankie as his brother, donned in hot pink swim trunks and a black backward baseball cap, ran different routes across the backyard. After urging his brother to throw a harder pass, Benny bobbled it, resulting in the ball landing in the pool, splashing Santiago – who clearly had been taking a nap.

Lucille’s windows were closed, so they couldn’t hear what the boys were saying but it was clearly some good-natured ribbing. Santiago swam to the edge of the pool, pulling himself out of the water and then promptly chasing after Benny, tackling him in the lawn as they laughed. Eventually the two got up and headed back toward the porch, but as they passed the pool Santiago pushed Benny in – his final revenge for having his nap interrupted.

“How long have you been holding out on me Lulu?” Megan smirked, knocking her shoulder into the older woman.

“It’s a pretty nice show isn’t it.” she giggled. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Taking a picture for Katie. I think she may have a crush on Will and what kind of friend would I be if I didn't report a discovery like this?" Megan smirked.

Katie was the newest member of the neighborhood until the Millers moved in. After her divorce, she packed her life up and decided to move to Florida on her own. She wanted to escape the cold and, more importantly, anything that would remind her of her ex. Since she worked from home, it seemed like an easy decision. 

She originally had her sights set on 319 Mulefall Court and its expensive backyard. She didn't mind projects, but that house was a little too far gone for her so she decided on the other fixer-upper on the block, 323 Mulefall Court.

Megan liked Katie and quickly brought her into the fold, including the coveted neighborhood group chat. Though Megan didn’t date too often, she found herself going out occassionally with Katie, acting as her wingwoman. Megan also tried setting Katie up with her coworkers and friends of friends, but nobody ever seemed to catch Katie’s eye.

But, when Megan met Will she just knew she had to introduce him to Katie. They were both good looking, so she had no doubts there would be a physical attraction. For the little she knew of Will, he seemed to be considerate and respectful and although he was more reserved than his boisterous little brother, he had a quirky, dry sense of humor. Katie was also a bit on the quiet side, but she was a lot of fun once she felt comfortable.

Megan: *sends photo*

"This is going to be good … let's see what they say," she smirked, showing Lucille her phone.

"Ay díos mio. You all are too much!"

"I see David typing, I knew he would be the first one!"

David: Where are you, why didn’t you invite me,  and can I come?

Tyson: 👀 ok, but seriously….

Olivia: Megan!! A warning next time, holy shit the kids had my phone! 

Melissa: oh my…

Megan: 🤭 I just had to. This is Lucille's view.

Tyson: Damn, Ms. Lucille! I see you with a front row to the eye candy! 👏🏼

David: Is it just him out there or are the others there too? I'm trying to see the one that always wears the hat off. 🥵

Melissa: Which one, D? There are two who always have hats on. 

David: The one with the dark hair.

Tyson: Jesus Christ, David. How many times do I have to tell you his name is Frankie?!

David: Yessssss 😍

Megan: *sends photo* 

Megan: Just for you D! 😘

David: PAPI!! 😍 

David: You're a real one Megan!

Megan: Katie?! Are you there? You've been quiet …

Katie: I don't even know what to say … 😂

Melissa: Oooo Katie, do you think Will is hot?!

Olivia: Oh, Katie! Please say yes. If I wasn't married I'd climb that man like a tree!

Katie: You guys!! Ms. Lucille is on this group chat!

Lucille: Mi amor, I have eyes.

David: Hell yes you do queen!!

David: So when can we come over?!

Katie: We shouldn't spy on them…c'mon…

David: Boooo

Megan: Well, I have thoughts. They’re coming over to fix Lucille’s fence this week. It wouldn’t be spying if we are already over here for a…happy hour? Also thinking we invite them to a pool party of our own. 😉

Melissa: I love that idea!! We are happy to host the party, we just finished the pool this week!

Olivia: Oh that would be awesome, anything to tire out the kids so they actually sleep.

Tyson: Yess! What a great way to get to know our neighbors … right? I mean, we want to make sure they feel verrry welcome here. 😜

Megan: It’s a plan!

Megan: *changes the name of the group chat to “Neighborhood Watch”

David: LOL! Wtf is Neighborhood Watch?

Megan: It’s for Olivia - that way when she sees this chat she knows there may be something not kid friendly on it lol

Olivia: 🤦🏾‍♀️ You all are too damn much!!

Megan: Ok, it’s settled. I’ll let you know when the guys are going to come over to fix the fence. When you're all here we can plan the party. Now, got to go! Lucille and I are going to get back to our view!

David: Ughhh of all days for us to go to the beach. Thanks a lot Ty!

Tyson: Love you too babe!

“This is going to be fun,” Megan said triumphantly over to Lucille who was just shaking her head as she was reading through the texts. 

Next Chapter

A/N: We’ll learn more about the other members of the group chat throughout the next couple of chapters. 

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list moving forward!! Apologies if I accidentally left you off. I added everyone below manually and may have missed someone … just let me know!

@goodwithcheese / @gemmahale / @trulybetty / @patti7dc / @periodtsparadox / @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin / @maggiemayhemnj / @mysterious-moonstruck-musings / @avastrasposts / @meveispunk / @chaoticfestninja / @beholdbebravethings / @casa-boiardi / @katw474 / @linzels-blog / @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain / @primosworld / @lynnchun / @anoverwhelmingdin /@lilmizmoz / @pedrit0-pascalit0 / @titlee78 / @noisynightmarepoetry / @legendary-pink-dot

#delta landscaping #the neighborhood watch #triple frontier au #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic

[edutainer2022]

In commemoration of that time, recently, when I delivered a conference keynote in a ridiculous o'clock timezone, after having been up and neck deep in other energy draining university commitments for three days straight on four hours of sleep at best, here's a little thing. I couldn't remember what I was talking about the minute the presentation ended. Scott Tracy is a public speaker extraordinaire on bingo sleep and adrenaline overdose. His brothers are worried and have to think on their feet. Special thanks to @astranite for nudging my muse in this direction.

AUTOPILOT

The trick was to get him off the stage. Scott Tracy, the Tracy Industries CEO, giving an opening keynote at the New Frontiers Expo had been scheduled a year in advance (involving the program committee begging on hands and knees for a year prior, Scott's annual commitments shuffling, some major security concessions, up to and including Kayo's team practically taking over the venue security altogether, as well as meeting a hard line of excluding any tech associated with Langstrom Fischler from the exhibits or conference talks).

Nobody could predict a mine collapse and Scott Tracy, the Commander of IR and Thunderbird One, being involved on site for the past thirty six hours (a good portion of that time spent underground without sleep).

The family medics' quorum, in full agreement with the family extended quorum, voted for canceling his public appearance and putting him on mandated rest. For a week. But Scott Tracy gave his word. So Scott Tracy gave his talk.

As keynotes go it was a huge success. Scott was passionate, funny and inspired, engaging the audience with dimples, moving personal touches and heartfelt convictions. The listeners were just about ready to "boldly go" wherever Scott would lead the way to a better, technologically enhanced and kinder tomorrow.

They divided forces in case the predictable worse actually came to pass. Virgil was behind the podium with a med kit and med scanner at hand. Gordon unironically got a tranq gun, which earned him a side-eye, but knowing Scott it might as well come handy.

John was in the audience, vigilant and listening to the keynote (and rather enjoying biggest brother public speaking prowess - seriously, how did Scott do it, half-dead on his feet?), ready to step up and take over if need be. That wouldn't be what the hundreds of Expo attendees payed and donated to R&D funds for, but they'd be getting A Dr. Tracy, at least, if The Mr. Tracy collapsed mid-sentence.

That was just the problem at the moment. Scott didn't. He concluded the speech, got a standing ovation, and was now just sort of hanging out on stage, swaying slightly. It was obvious he was running on dregs of fumes of an adrenaline high, refusing to crash on sheer willpower. It was also obvious Scott was completely unfocused and unaware where he was and what he'd been doing the minutes prior. The brilliant blue eyes were getting telltale glassy.

John had a FRANTIC Virgil booming in his earpiece. The public spotlight made the logistics of what needed to happen next tricky: they couldn't just drag him off the podium in a firefighter hold or tranq him - and spoil the profound impression of the speech; they also couldn't wait much longer till Scott fainted in front of everyone (and possibly injured himself by the fall). John was half on his way up to try and steer Scott bodily off the stage. Gordon would have been a better man for the job - dressing the thing up with a quip and some theatrics, but the Fish was still in uniform. IR on site, crashing the keynote, might have set off unwelcome panic, dangerous in a crowded space.

In the end, it was still Gordon's out-of-the-box thinking that saved the situation. They could all hear a boy's voice through their earpieces - Alan went for the highest littlest-brother-in-distress pitch he could master:

"Scotty, could you come here? I'm right behind you! Scotty, please!"

Scott could hear it too. A less exhausted brain would have remembered Allie was on the island still. They agreed Scott would take him the next day on a tour around the Expo and to several talks the kid wanted to attend.

But Scott's bandwidth capacity at the moment was reduced to the most rudimentary parent-brain instincts. So he started slightly, turned on his heel and marched backstage. It took a bit of flailing to placate a wild-eyed Scott that a) Allie wasn't in danger; b) Allie wasn't there immediately available for inspection and protecting from danger.

It came as close as Gordon clicking the safety off the tranq gun. But finally, the blue eyes stopped searching the perimeter behind Virgil's shoulder and rolled back. Scott slumped as a ragdoll in Virgil's hold.

John rushed to join the brothers the moment he heard Alan on comms. In between the three of them they settled the Commander on a hoverstrecher. Virgil insisted on a quick scan on the spot. Nothing more serious beyond bruises, exhaustion, stress and dehydration. Small mercies. Every single one of them had a private itemized inventory of possible injuries Scott might have "forgotten" to mention in order to be cleared for the keynote commitment.

Kayo's security team were clearing the path for them, off the Expo busy routes, to leave for Thunderbird Two discretely.

John lingered to brush the fringe off Scott's now noticeably pale forehead. His original intent was to go straight back to orbit after the biggest brother was sorted out. But now, there was no way Grandma or Virgil would let Scott out of the infirmary for the next forty eight hours at least. Nor would Virgil let biggest brother out of his sight for at least twice as long after. So it would fall to John to take Alan to the Expo and show the boy around.

John didn't favor crowded bustling places on a good day, but it was crucial not to disappoint or worry the kid. Scotty unconscious, sedated and grounded would have him anxious enough. It was also a great bonding opportunity with the baby-brother and a way to lift a bit of weight off Scott's shoulders. John knew biggest brother enough to foresee he'd beat himself up for succumbing to weakness and letting Alan down. John couldn't have that. So he landed a hand for support on Gordon's shoulder and all together they started the way home.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a break #john tracy #john tracy didn't sign up for this #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #and thinks fast #alan tracy #features briefly #john tracy is a good brother #methinks i have astronomy #my fic #thunderbirds 2015 #tracy brotherdom of love

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Cosmic Frontier: Space Wolves Vs. Earth Ponies

Fanfic for Camila Mama Week 2024 (@camilamamaweek).

Day 6: Cosmic Frontier/Wolves

To commemorate this wonderful week, I opted to write short stories that feature Camila and her second daughter, Alma, who is one of my OCs.

This is part 2 of "Shopping For Snacks".

Summary: The family arrives at the theater together, but they encounter an irritating ticket taker.

Enjoy!

("Build-A-Bud" is a parody of "Build-A-Bear").

"Come on, come on, Mom and Alma," Luz whispered worriedly, gazing at the time on her purple Azura themed wristwatch while standing near the movie theater entrance with her stepfather.

"Please hurry." She didn't want the four of them to miss a single second of the movie.

Luz began to tap her foot, her nerves at an all-time high.

Beardo Philip brought a comforting hand on Luz's shoulder, gently patting it.

"They'll be here," he reassured, looking down at her, which made Luz take a deep breath and sigh, nodding her head.

After bringing his gaze back up, Philip's smile got brighter, his blue eyes lighting up.

"And here they come now."

Hearing this, Luz looks up to see her mother and sister hurriedly rushing over to her and Philip, with Alma waving happily at her sister, who giggled and waved back.

"Sorry we're late," Camila apologized with a sigh, adjusting her purse.

"We brought snacks!" Alma beamed, pulling out a candy bar from her skirt pocket to show it before placing it back.

"Honestly," Philip began, viewing the time on Luz's watch. "I think you arrived right on time, calabaza."

He smiled at Camila.

Camila let out a fond giggle at his adorable pet name.

She simply loved it when he called her that.

Camila then goes over to Philip and places a sweet smooch on his left cheek. "Gracias, mi amor."

...

Upon entering the cinema lobby together, the family walks to the ticket taking podium on the right side of the theater.

Luz, recognizing who their ticket taker is, cringes.

'Ugh, not him,' she groaned in her mind.

He was known to be the most annoying person in town.

Luz was curious as to how he ended up landing a job at the movies, but she doubts he'll have it for long.

He's bound to mess it up and get fired, somehow.

Jacob caught sight of the candy bar sticking out of Alma's pocket as the family arrived at the podium.

The theater didn't sell that brand.

He frowned at this and pointed an accusatory finger at the small girl.

Philip already didn't like this man.

"You!" Jacob cried. "No outside food or drink allowed in the thea--"

Before Philip could maul this ill-mannered man with his bare hands, Camila was first to make a move, narrowing her eyes at Jacob.

"Is there going to be a problem here...,"

Camila spoke in a low, threatening voice as she reached into her purse and pulled out her chancla slightly, enough for Jacob to see it and gulp.

"Mister?"

Flashbacks of the past begin to play in his mind as Jacob feels an unexpected sting on his right cheek, holding it.

The strike of her slipper was still present in that place.

He shutters.

"N-Not at all, ma'am," he answered with a frightened stammer.

"Good," said Camila, dropping her chancla in her purse and pulling out the tickets to hand to Jacob, who politely took and ripped them.

He handed her a ticket stub.

"Your theater number is 5. It's located in the center of the hall on the left side," he said before showing Camila a nervous smile. "Enjoy the show!"

"Yay!" Alma cheered as she and her family walked down the hall.

A sigh of relief escaped Jacob as he wiped his brow.

However, he felt a pair of eyes on him and turned around to see Camila squinting at him.

The mother's expression indicated that she had her eyes on him as she turned back around.

...

"Uh...," a man holding a ticket said as he approached the ticket taker podium and saw the male ticket taker silently weeping to himself while rocking back and forth in the fetal position.

...

"Wow, that movie was great!" An astonished Luz exclaimed as she and her family exited the movie auditorium and entered the hallway with the other movie goers.

"Yeah!" Alma agreed with her sister, smiling brightly. "My favorite part was when the wolves became friends with the ponies."

She turned to look at her mother, who was holding her hand.

"Mamá, can we go to the Build-A-Bud Workshop at the mall tomorrow and build a space wolf friend and an Earth pony friend?" she asked.

She remembers a commercial about it playing before the movie started.

Camila gives her daughter a smile and nods. "Of course, mija."

...

As the family walked down the theater lobby, Alma spotted the ticket taker who had pointed at her at the podium.

He was sitting on a stool at the bar by himself.

She proceeds to point at him. "Mamá, look! It's that man!"

Camila turns her attention to the bar, where she witnessed Jacob filling his shot glass with butter from a popcorn butter bottle that he had and taking a shot of it.

The bartender, who was wiping a shot glass, seemed quite disturbed by his peculiar coping mechanism.

Camila, repulsed by the sight, slowly looks back at Alma with a genuine smile. "Pay him no mind, baby. He's just a strange man."

"Oh!" Alma smiled back at her mother. "Yes, Mamá."

#camilamamaweek #camilamamaweek2024 #the owl house #owl house #toh #luz noceda #luz #toh luz #luz toh #emperor belos #belos #philip wittebane #beardo philip #toh belos #belos toh #toh philip #philip toh #camila noceda #toh camila #camila toh #alma noceda #alma #camilip #camila x philip #philip x camila #fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #writing #my writing

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 5/21/2024

get a load of this cat

listening

one of my favorite bands, Joywave, dropped a new album last week! it is not my favorite album of theirs but so it goes. perhaps it needs more time to grow on me. Sleepytime Fantasy kicks off my favorite section of the album. video game enchanted ice cave dream sequence music.

i must stay true to my own rules for this series (not a rec series, genuinely what i've been into the most this week) and the song that's been on loop all week is a genshin impact character's theme music (punchy wolf-coded ice cop who is the duke of the prison he. runs? administers? don't worry about it). unfortunately a bop. the character music lately has been a lot more modern and experimental than i expected? this one has a police siren drop

-

reading

thank you mackintosh.

i really, really enjoyed Trouble And Her Friends by Melissa Scott (LAMBDA award winner 1995)! @delta-orionis and i frequently ask ourselves "what if neuromancer was good?" and this scratches that itch for me. it is often difficult for me to take neuromancer's protagonist henry seriously, but this book features a pair of extremely practical dykes. it opens on the passing of a new american law criminalizing big swathes of online activity, passed despite a presidential veto. description from amazon

Less than a hundred years from now, the forces of law and order crack down on the world of the computer nets. The hip, noir adventurers who get by on wit, bravado, and drugs, and haunt the virtual worlds of the Shadows of cyberspace, are up against the encroachments of civilization. It's time to adapt or die. India Carless, alias Trouble, got out ahead of the feds and settled down to run a small network for an artist's co-op. Now someone has taken her name and begun to use it for criminal hacking. So Trouble returns. Once the fastest gun on the electronic frontier, she had tried to retire-but has been called out for one last fight. And it's a killer.

this startled me by how fun and competent it is! i tried reading one of the author's books last year (Dreamships) and had a miserable time with the pacing and flow of information. there are echoes of the pacing issues i had with the last book-- this is a nearly four hundred page hardcover, we have a lot of Next Locations to go to, and we are going to take our fucking time getting there. a road trip book, rather than a destination book. Scott has gotten way way better at fleshing out those locations— an artists' co-op has their skylights set to amber to hide the wear and tear on everything in their central hangout space when the feds show up. i also connected with the inciting incident way more-- someone stealing a female hacker’s name and style is instantly relatable. i am riding shotgun with Trouble. i am ready to throw down with her.

it's a very physical book in many ways, bc it has three brief sex scenes, is very concerned with sensuality in both senses of the word, and overall it's like the background in an anime that’s full of dials and buttons and little blinky lights. written in 1994, fascjnating how much concepts of VR and sensory inputs have not changed, but everyone still has the equivalent of an enormous old school desktop and giant CRT monitors set up. everyone is constantly lugging around so much physical tech. the stuff that makes you better at hacking in the net is quick reactions to VR sensations, the only way to get that cutting edge sensation is to get a physical chip or “worm” in your head, and the only people who do that are the core outcasts and freaks of the internet (the gays, the women, the people of color, the all three, presumably the furries as well). from that day to this…

there's an interesting contrast between Trouble and her old partner Cerise stalking the virtual reality bazaars/being queens of the BBS undergrounds, and the danger they feel and face when moving about in the real world. some reviewers are very cranky about how negotiations on and offline feel the same but i did not feel this particular quibble. communication is communication. it is known both on and offline that they're 1) women and 2) lesbians. they're in less physical danger online but slurs can still happen no matter where they are. also, i am well used to the necessity of having to posture and peacock and be kind of a bitch to establish myself in order to get anything done in coding/hardware scenes, which is something i don't think any of the male reviewers of the day ever had to think about.

some cowboy shit goes down at the end that had me hooting and hollering, and Scott handled the hacking scenes in an interesting way-- a sort of abstracted duel? terrific "fight" scenes. very interesting at how she will move things around in order to treat scenes in ways she's good at-- like establishing very grounded locations that feel real, physical sensations, and fight scenes-- instead of just kind of slogging through a very surface level high-overview travelogue like in her last book. ive been stuck on a fic chapter for like four years and this is making me think about doing it the fun way instead of the way i thought it should be done. this may be obvious but i am an amateur and more importantly an idiot.

this was a $6/1 book special last year at one of my favorite thrift stores, a religious shop with the absolute worst vibes in the greater houston area but some of the best stuff

-

watching

Five Dolls For An August Moon (1970, dir. Brava). sometimes you see a cool title on kanopy and you don't have a better way to kill an hour and a half. plus it had some guys i know from cowboys. tw for a suicide's body in the first fucking ten seconds of the trailer, which is a weird trailer choice bc u don't actually see most of the murders in the movie.

ive watched a fuck of a lot of spaghetti westerns so i feel i am somewhat qualified to tell you this is one of the worst dubs ive ever seen. the lines actors are quarter-heartedly delivering do not always make a lot of sense and only occasionally match the subtitles. i am assuming this is the original dub, bc kino lorber generally does a pretty okay job restoring things?

this is not a good movie (extremely troubled production, director swap three days before filming, made on a shoestring budget, the actors mostly wore their own clothes, etc). it is not very good at maintaining tension, because it is a film that first and foremost Looks. beautiful fucking sets, beautifully decorated. the exterior is a matte painting, a sort of frothy dream-bubble of sixties architecture. most of the interiors are apparently a real house. incredible experimental burbling soundtrack full of Weird Sounds.

sorry about the tubi interface and our old friend the activate windows logo.

there are so many fun directorial flourishes and staging, but it does get a little wrapped up in itself. this made me think of The Secret of NIMH, a beautifully animated talking-animal film that gave me nightmares as a child, where the animation tricks and sparkles and moving parts sort of all get in each other's way to produce something less than the sum of its parts. this sort of happens here. i'm going to yoink this from a review:

Bava’s eye for exquisite compositions is equally evident. One scene in particular stands out in this regard: The filmmaker shoots an otherwise humdrum fistfight through wooden latticework that breaks the action up into an abstracted mosaic effect. The fight culminates with a table being upended, which in turn unleashes a myriad crystal spheres. The camera follows along as the spheres tumble and cascade down a spiral staircase and roll across a tiled floor before plopping like so many bath bubbles into a tub. The scene concludes with the revelation of a recently deceased character caught in what you’d have to call a tableau morte. It’s a dazzlingly orchestrated sequence, easily on par with more famous Bava set pieces.

it's gorgeous! there's also So Much going on. another lovely bit of business: as each person dies they get wrapped in plastic sheeting and put in the walkin freezer. next to slabs of beef. not a subtle film, and i don't mean it as a diss, bc where's the fuckin fun in that?

-

playing

i have not been doing much of anything here except listen to podcasts and work toward the two-thousand-fish-caught achievement in genshin. impatiently waiting for Clorinde to be released in several weeks. that one button needs a raise. it is So funny to see genshin characters with fucking guns. very sword and pike based societies so far

-

making

every time i have tried to make one of these samplers for Me it's gone horribly wrong or been somehow destroyed so i'm making this one for my brother's upcoming birthday, bc he will have off-campus housing next academic year, in an attempt to peacefully do some fucking cross stitch and get something out at the end of it. pattern here on etsy

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #Youtube

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Twenty Seven

( Triple Frontier Boys x F!Reader )

WAX PLAY / GLORY HOLE / GROUP SEX

Summary: On your ‘week off’, you decide to invite the boys over because you can’t go a week without them.

Day Twenty Seven of @absurdthirst's Kinktober

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol/drinking, group sex, kissing, hair pulling, oral - female receiving, hand job, oral - male receiving, P in V, unprotected sex, spit roasting, cuckolding, deep throating, anal, double penetration, biting, marking, cream pie, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 5.5k

Author's Notes: I was away at the start of the week and was genuinely starting to panic about getting this fic done because this was the big one - we made it!

Whenever there was an additional week in the month, you were, as Santiago put it, allowed time off.

The problem with time off from them, they were dull.

You thought it was just a poor excuse to make sure you didn’t get bored of the boys but you questioned how you ever would. Normally, you’d still meet up with them, grabbing a coffee with Will, lunch with Santiago the next day. An immediate regretful gym session with Benny before finishing with a catch up with Frankie but sex was off the cards.

Until tonight.

You wondered whether to message them individually, make it interesting, yet it was just easier to send a message on the group chat. All of them simply responded by giving the message a thumbs up reaction, nothing more… which was just fucking weird.

The other chat, just between the boys was blowing up.

Frankie: ‘This is it, she’s fed up of us already.’

Santiago: ‘That isn’t what this is.’

Will: ‘Don’t think about this negatively, Fish. It’s her week off, she probably doesn’t want to be alone.’

Benny: ‘I know what this is…’

Santiago: ‘It’s not that either.’

Frankie: ‘@Benny What?’

Santiago: ‘Don’t say it.’

Benny: ‘-peach emoji- -phone emoji-‘

Will: ‘Ok, I’ll see you guys later.’

Frankie: ‘Christ, I dunno why I asked.’

Santiago: ‘@Benny Don’t make me remove you from the group.’

Without a worded response, you continued to worry the rest of the day. You never said in the arrangement that this was off the cards and they never said anything either, maybe they just wanted you individually. Could this be the biggest mistake you’ve made?

The four of them arrived around the same time.

“Still not sure about this, Fish?”

Will walked alongside Frankie, who’s expression was sober.

“Pope gave me a pep talk,” he shrugged.

Benny clapped Frankie’s back, “Come on, Fish, it’s gonna be the best night of your life.”

“Keep dreaming, Benny.”

Will rolled his eyes at his brother. Benny looked behind at Santiago, their leader was quiet yet content and Benny jutted his chin at him, Santiago smiled back. He would be happy if either of the Millers speculations came true but there was something deep where he knew what you wanted. It wasn’t going to a booty call, this was going to be more in every sense, he knew it was on the cards from the very beginning.

“Knock the door been as you’re so excited.”

Benny giddily headed to your door and knocked rhythmically, the four of them manage to congregate around the opening before you answer. You’re met with a variety of faces but the juxtaposition of Frankie and Benny had you concerned.

“What’s up with these two?”

“One can only see the bad,” Will says, “and one can only see the good.”

“Uh-huh, and why’s that?”

“Nothing.”

The pair say in unison though their tones are complete polar opposites.

“Honey, put poor Francisco out of his misery, why have you invited us over tonight?”

You lean on the door frame, fleetingly glancing at all of them.

“Because I want all of you.”

A weight lifted from Frankie’s shoulders and his eyebrows raised to wide eyes. Will and Santiago shared a look, it turns out Benny was right and he was fucking ecstatic. His smile goes wide like a Cheshire cat’s and he surges to you, scooping you effortlessly from the floor.

You scream, smacking his back, “Benny, what is wrong with you?”

All five of you spend the evening as normal. Take out was ordered, drinks were poured, games were played and conversations were had. The anticipation got to you a little, you drank a touch more than you usually do but you were in no way inebriated. Will had clocked what was going on early, when he offered to make you a drink, he ensured it was single measure.

You were giggly, happy, relaxed.

With all of you crammed into the living room of your apartment, you already felt the temperature rising and pulled off your hoodie. You insisted on tidying up, picking up the discarded plates and cutlery, you said you’d be back for the rest. Benny was the first one to offer to help you but you could see the glint in his eyes, he had another idea.

You place everything in the sink, that’s also filled with plastic containers and when he comes in, you ask him to place the glasses on the side. He does as he’s told but then you feel him hovering as you run the tap to discard the evidence of your meals.

“What are doing, Benny?”

“Nothing.”

He was practically breathing down your neck.

Switching off the water, you wipe your hands on a tea towel before you started to twisted on your heels. You had barely turned around and he threw himself on you, the force of his body and kiss knocking you back. The glassware collided with each other as you grabbed onto the counter top to save yourself falling.

The ruckus was heard in the living room.

One of Benny’s arms were wrapped round your waist, the other bent as his hand clung onto the back of your head to hold you steady. His kiss was sloppy, he stole the air from your lungs as his tongue slid easily through your open mouth. Once your thoughts had gathered, your free hand ran up from his lower back.

“Don’t mind me.”

Santiago is at the door, cradling his beer.

You break away from Benny, lips plump as they begin to swell, the heat rising in your cheeks. He slowly unwinds himself from you, leaning back against the countertop, tongue flicking over his lips.

“He started it,” you say timidly.

“Of course, he did.”

Santiago passes the threshold. His eyes roam the pair of you, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as the shiver travelled down your spine. Benny was unfazed, folding his arms to his chest, head facing Santiago.

“He usually does.”

When he reaches your toes, Santiago stares at you, the corner of his lips quirk. His eyes were darkening like they always do when the sexual tension is rising and you straighten your back to try and gain the upper hand. You don’t, you never do, breaking eye contact to stop your heartbeat from quickening.

Then you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

Santiago ran a hand through Benny’s hair before his fingers entwined in his dirty blonde locks and he forced his head down. Benny complied, opening his mouth when their lips met, allowing Santiago to slip his tongue in. You can’t stop watching as Benny deepened the kiss, the two of them fighting for dominance.

You blink, jaw dropping as they finally separate. They look at you like it was nothing, that this was an everyday occurrence.

“You two?” All you can do is point.

Benny smiles, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Bunny.”

You’re lost for words, mouth salivating at the thought of the pair of them together.

“Promise you won’t tell.”

You nod at Benny, glimpsing to Santiago in the same motion.

“Good girl,” Santiago winks.

You pierce your lips, waiting for him to kiss you too but his lips curl into a smirk and he leans on the counter next to Benny. You see it best to make your escape because that look can only mean one thing, he was going to drop a bombshell.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Benny. You can take her up the ass whenever you’re ready.”

There it was.

Looking over your shoulder, you see Benny’s smile grow.

“Come ‘ere,” he tries to beckon you back.

You squeal before running, Benny chasing after you, however you don’t get far until you bump into one of the others.

In the flurry of getting out of Benny’s way, you went directly into Frankie who was wondering what the fuck was going on. Instinctively, his arm locked around your waist to stop you from hitting the floor.

“What is go—“

“Frankie, my hero.”

He sees Benny skid from the kitchen, eyes narrowing when he sees his wet lips and mussed hair, now Frankie needed a piece of you.

“I wouldn’t say that, querida.”

He doesn’t let you say another word. His arm tightens and he crashes squarely into your lips, chasing you as you try to lean back. His tongue pushes into your mouth and twists with yours before he pulls away, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. Straightening you both up, you shake Frankie off and run to Will.

You slip onto his lap and he drapes an arm over you.

“Save me, Will,” you pout.

“Sweetheart,” he tuts, “you know I can’t do that.”

“Not you too?”

He nods, smiling dimples into his cheeks as his other arm folds around your neck. He brings you close, delivering a soft kiss to your lips before bringing another. He’s measured in comparison to the other two, you close your eyes as he kisses you gently, his tongue teasing before you let him in. Your tongues dance together as he loosens his muscles, releasing your mouth and moving away.

Your eyes flutter open and you see Santiago’s hand in front of you.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says calmly.

Your eye flit to his, a softness under the seriousness of his straight lip. This was the moment where everything would change, the butterflies flapped uncontrollably in your stomach, only settling when you felt Will’s whiskers tickled your shoulder. He pressed his lips to your exposed skin.

You took Santiago’s hand.

Once you’ve risen off Will, you walk behind Santiago, bringing your body near and he rearranges his hand to hold yours stronger. He didn’t want you running away, the pulse on your wrist throbbing hard and fast.

“I thought you were already gonna be stripped,” Will quipped his brother.

“Hey, I have some respect.”

They laugh amongst each other whilst Santiago pushed the door. It didn’t fully close, a chance for you to make a break for it if you changed your mind, you weren’t going to. He returned to you, pressing both palms to your cheeks so you stare directly into his brown eyes. His thumbs rub against your warm face and you swallow.

“You didn’t think this through did you?”

Of course you didn’t, asking them was the biggest part for you.

You shake your head.

He smiles, “Want me to take over?”

If he didn’t, it was going to be all over the place, four guys horny and vying for the same girl. Sometimes that was good, the primal urge to fuck taking over, he’s done it but for you, it wouldn’t be the fantasy he’s guessing you had imagined.

You nod.

“Yeah?”

You let out a shaky breath, “Yeah.”

Santiago tips his head to the side, lips slotting perfectly over yours. His tongue runs along your lips before you let him in. Your tongues melt together, the taste of his beer soaking into your tastebuds. His palms fall from your cheeks and down your neck, your chest, his thumbs nudging your nipples through your top.

You feel his lips curl, he knew you weren’t wearing a bra.

His hands continue to travel downward, fingertips teasing at your hemline before he stops kissing you. He grabs your top before peeling it slowly from your body and you raise your arms to get it off in one smooth motion. He kisses you again quickly, aware that there were three sets of eyes drilling into the back of his skull.

“I think Will wants a turn,” he whispered into your ear.

Will is perched at the end of the bed and Santiago steps aside so you can walk the few steps over to him, hips swaying. Will widens his legs, hands coiling round your waist as you cup his jaw to tilt his head up. You nudge the tip of your nose to his before kissing him heavily on the lips, eyes closing as he breaths you in.

He removes his lips and plants a kiss under your jawline, following the line of your neck and décolletage. His whiskers scratch the valley between your breast before he draws his attention to your hardening nipples. He flattens his tongue against one before engulfing it with his warm mouth and sucking gently.

Your breath hitches as your fingers entangle in his hair.

Moving onto the other, Will slips from the bed to his knees, releasing you from his mouth with a pop. He returns to kissing your skin, over the curve of your breast and along your ribcage, down over your stomach to the top of your pants. Your eyes flutter open and immediately fall on Frankie, who watches on hungrily.

Neither of you exchanged words but he knew.

He climbed onto the bed and crashed his lips into yours, catching your moan. Your fingers loosened from Will’s hair as you held yourself steady against the force of Frankie.

Will began to tug at your pants, following the form of your body with his lips. Underneath your wore a lush pair of knickers, he should compliment them but he’s too far gone, kissing the inside of your thighs. He pulls your legs free gently, fingertips skimming back up as he palms your ass and brings your hidden mound to his mouth.

You gasp as he sinks his teeth into the mesh fabric. You shiver, the moisture dampening your knickers, pussy clenching.

Frankie grabs at your flesh, pinching your nipples so you keen to his touch, head falling back so he could attack your extended neck. His patchy whiskers are rubbing your skin raw, the heat of two bodies clinging to yours making you sweat. His second language mumblings are intoxicating, his hot breath scorching where it fell.

Will yanked your knickers down before he took your clit in your mouth, the tip of his tongue grazing the bundle of nerves.

Your hand snapped to Frankie’s crotch, nails burying into the denim where his bulge strained against his jeans. He growls into your ear, fingers grabbing the back of your head and pulling gently so your scalp tingled.

“You want that, querida?” His voice is low, husky.

You hum, biting into your bottom lip.

He unbuckles his belt, hurriedly undoing the rest before pulling his jeans and underwear at the same time. His hardened cock swings free and lands heavy in your hand. Moving your hand up, you massage your palm on his radiating tip, spreading the precum around to the sound of his groan. Resting his head on your shoulder, his fingers relax and he settles his broad hand on your upper back.

Will carries on working you, his tongue lapping up the arousal already spread over your folds.

“This better be worth the wait.”

Benny was itching to get in there, his dick already straining against his sweatpants. Santiago glanced down and saw the other man’s length tenting the fabric, he was always impressed. He folded his arms.

“It will be.”

They eagerly watched on as Will came up for air, your juices glistening on his whiskers and lips, smiling. He rests on the back of his heels, looking at Frankie who was already gone, moaning, his lips parted as you pumped and twisted your hand on his length.

Will taps your thigh, “Sit on the edge of the mattress, Bunny.”

Frankie lifts his head up drunkenly, feeling you move still holding onto his cock firmly. He shuffles as you place your ass on the bed and lean back, propping yourself up on your elbows as you start to pump again.

Standing up, Will takes off his clothes, hands coming to your ankles as he gets you into the position he wants. He rotates your hips, hooking one leg round his waist, the other falling between his own. You look up at him with wide eyes as he lines himself up and looks back, expression calm as he stroked your ass cheek. Pushing through your folds, his tip breaches your opening and your fist tightens around Frankie.

You tilt your head to one side to check on him. His brows are knotted, eyes dark, glaring at you and you know what he wants. Licking your lips, you let go of his cock and run your palm over his soft stomach. You open your mouth, sticking out your tongue and he guides himself in, the saltiness of his precum fresh on your tastebuds.

Closing your lips, you swish your tongue around the ridge and he sighs, thumb brushing the hair from your faces.

Will lets you work Frankie’s tip before his urge becomes too much. He continues to push his cock into you but you move with him, swallowing Frankie’s length to his movements. As he fills you, you reach the base of the other man’s cock, his pubic hair tickles your nostrils. You hold yourself there until Will pulls out.

You follow Will’s rhythm as he gently rocks his hips into you. The noises of the three of you fill the room, your sweet grunt harmonious against the boys deep tones.

“You’re taking us so well, sweetheart, mind if I pick up the pace?”

The moan in your response vibrated Frankie’s cock, set the shocks to his lower back and his hips twitched. You don’t choke, don’t even gag just feel his tip slip down your throat seamlessly and carry on.

Frankie could have cum there and then.

Will’s hips quicken and your whole body jolts as they slam against yours. Frankie holds onto your head with both hands to hold you steady on his length, your eyes falling shut as you try to keep up with Will. Your one hand snakes up to Frankie’s balls and begins to knead them and you feel the muscles in his ass constrict.

He could spout profanities in your direction but he couldn’t even think of the words. All he could think about was your lips, your tongue, the sloppiness of your blow job as the saliva spilled from your mouth.

Time seemed to pass without hurry.

Frankie’s cock jerked in your throat and you groaned, his hiss joining the tightening grip on your hair. Your inner walls clenched around Will’s length and he grunted, hips stuttering with the sensation.

He chuckled, “Fuck, I’m not going to last much longer.”

“Me neither,” Frankie shook his head, smiling embarrassingly to Will.

You look up at Frankie with doe eyes like you know what you’re doing to him but how can you, you’re completely innocent in all this. When you pull back, lips still firmly around his tip, he fucks into your mouth. Your gag reflex kicks in a little, your hand falling to the covers and gripping on for dear life.

Will thrusts ferociously into you, pooling more desire between your folds as the fire burns low in your belly, the prickling starting at the bottom of your spine.

Frankie drags you up and down his cock, pulling your hair until all you’re doing is keeping your jaw relaxed. On his next stroke, he forces your face further into his belly before rocking his hips to nudge deeper into your throat. You choke and the reaction travels to your weeping cunt, clinging to Will’s cock.

He beckons for Frankie to do it again.

When he does, your body grows taut, toes curling and fingernails clawing at the covers. You cry around Frankie’s length until he pulls you back to catch your breath.

Neither lasted passed four more strokes.

Will fills you to the hilt before a ragged groan escapes him, his thick cum coating your pulsating walls as he drops his hands either side of you. Frankie pushes himself as far down your throat as possible, his seed hot as it spurts. He frees a hand and wraps it round your neck, rubbing to ensure you swallow every drop.

Once you’ve milked them both dry, they pull out and you flop onto the mattress, eyes closed and chest heaving as you catch your breath. The bed shifts under you as Frankie climbs off however you are not given a moment’s peace.

Hands tuck underneath your armpits and haul you up the bed.

You yelp before giggling, opening your eyes to be met with Benny, smiling wide, his green eyes shiny in the light of the bedroom.

“Someone’s enthusiastic.”

He hums, catching the tiny bottle you assume Santiago throws to him.

“I’ve been waiting far too long for this.”

You curl your legs under your bum and lift yourself up onto your knees. Benny slaps one cheek and you flinch, pouting over your shoulder.

“Ass up.”

You fold forward, shoulders hitting the soft surface of the bed and scooted back, accepting your fate. His hands separate your ass cheeks and he moans at your messy folds, your puckered asshole twitching above. He spanks your ass a couple of times before the chill hits your skin and Benny spreads the lube over your hole, pushing in finger in.

Santiago joins you on the bed.

“And what about you?” You squint as Benny rotates the single digit up your ass. “You want to fuck my pretty little throat too?”

He shakes his head slowly, “You know what I want.”

“Oooh,” you said it in a nervous tone.

You could hear the bottle squirt behind you and the squelch as Benny coated his hardened cock with lube.

“I’m going to let Benny get comfortable and then I’m going to shove my dick in that already spent pussy of yours.”

You blink at his words, stunned because this was going to be a first in so many ways you’re losing count. One of Benny’s hands returns to your ass and spreads you apart, the other set around his cock and you feel his tip at your puckered hole.

“Now, relax.”

Closing your eyes, you take a couple of deep breaths from your stomach to calm your heightened senses.

Benny waits patiently, watching as your pussy pushes out his brother’s cum and your other hole slackens slightly. He strokes your skin before notching the tip of his cock in, the tension snapping back as he fits you snuggly.

He bends down, kissing your lower back, straightening back up to look at Santiago.

“It’s so fucking tight,” he says in a sigh.

He doesn’t rush, pushing inch by inch unhurriedly. When you whine and press your forehead to the mattress, he stops to rub your back before continuing, filling you until you reach his base. His eyes flick to Santiago.

Santiago brushes his hand through your hair, coiling it underneath your chin as he lifts your head up. His eyes inspect your features, the scrunched expression soon being replaced with a coy smile and sultry eyes.

“Feel good, honey?”

“So good,” the words fall breathlessly from your lips.

He nods at Benny, who’s hands follows the outline of your upper body, reaching for your shoulders. He picks you up until your back is flush against his chest and you moan at the new angle. Santiago has only taken you doggy style when taking you up the ass, this felt more intimate.

Benny turned your head to face him and kissed your lips, they were tentative at first before growing heavy. One hand moves to your stomach to keep you there whilst the other roams, fingertips sinking into your meat. He knocks your legs further apart, displaying your cunt for Santiago to see.

He shuffles closer, slipping into the gap between your legs, pumping his cock. His fingers tease at your legs and he skims to your weak spot, hearing you moan into Benny’s mouth, your juices dripping.

Benny sinks his teeth into your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Santiago took his finger and thumb on your chin and turned you to face him. He focused on you with heavy lids, dragging the tip of his cock over your folds. Your breath catches and your whole body shivers, Benny biting the inside of his lip as your asshole flexes.

You bring your left hand to Benny’s side, your right to Santiago as you brace yourself for him to enter. He rocks on his feet, repositioning himself to line up with you before he pushes his tip into your opening. You hold onto your breath, eyes screwing shut as your body tenses, a huff of discomfort coming from Benny.

Santiago caresses your side.

“Honey, look at me…”

He brings you back with his softly spoken words, muscles loosening as his nose touches yours. Opening your eyes, he’s already searching for yours.

“Relax,” he takes a breath with you. “Relax.”

After you take a few more breaths, he gradually pushes the rest of his length into you. He keeps rubbing your side as his girth presses up against your back wall, Benny’s cock pulsing at the friction.

“How’s it feeling?”

Benny’s query comes from behind you as you become accustom to the sensation of two cocks inside you at once. You wriggle your hips to get a little more comfortable and they both moan. You pierce your lips together, trying not to giggle at their reactions.

“A bit… full.”

You felt Benny’s laugh trickle down your neck.

“Well, being stuffed with two cocks will do that to you.”

Even Santiago breaks, his forehead grazing your chin as it dropped, chest shaking as he laughed.

Benny takes the opportunity to move while you’re distracted, he pulls his hips back and the drag was much stronger than it’s been before. You gasp, fingernails digging semi circles into their skin as Santiago places a hand at the back of your neck and kisses you squarely. He catches your moan as Benny pushes himself in again and he draws out.

Your heart skipped a beat, your belly beginning to burn.

On their next strokes, you free yourself from Santiago’s kiss, your head falling back onto Benny’s shoulder.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry.

Benny shushes you, “You’re doing amazing, Bunny.”

Your chest was flushed and open and Santiago couldn’t resist. Licking his lips, he kisses along the main vein on your neck to your décolletage, the taste of your sweat on his tongue. His lips press along the curve of your breast before taking your puffy nipple between his teeth.

You choke, your inner walls clenching round the pair of them.

Santiago looks up and meets Benny, who lures him to do it again. Relaxing his jaw, Santiago bites the other nipple and your body visibly shivers.

“Do you want us to go harder?”

You whimper, every part of you was already on fire, your fingers and toes tingling. He leans, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear.

“Use your words,” he whispers.

Benny’s eyes flit from your face to Santiago’s, his eyebrows furrowed. You were reaching that point where you couldn’t get your words out, your head was beginning to turn to mush with how much pleasure was rolling through.

“Yes,” you find the strength to speak, “please.”

A smile grew on Benny’s face and he focused on Santiago, “Hard and fast?”

Santiago’s eyes are blown and he doesn’t say anything as he snaps his hips roughly, picking up the pace alongside the other man.

You scream as they both continuously meet in the middle and the spark shoots up your spine, your legs vibrating. Your inner walls clamp around them and they groan, almost in unison, as your arms lock. You pant, attempting to get air in your lungs as your chest and cheeks burn, their touch scorching.

“Such a good girl for us,” Santiago sang his praises and only fanned the flames.

“I’m gonna cum.”

“No,” he holds your head up, staring intently. “Not yet, honey, hold on.”

You whine, doing as you’re told yet you can’t stop the overwhelming feeling that danced across your skin.

Benny was quiet, infatuated with how well you were taking the two of them, how well you were taking his length up your ass. He’d had this fantasy since he met you, it wasn’t quite playing out as he’d planned but maybe this was better than he could have ever imagined. He was having to concentrate on not blowing his load.

“You ok, Ben?”

He looked at Santiago, “More than ok, man.”

Santiago was surprised by how this was going too. He’d always wanted to have group sex like this, everyone knew each other, was comfortable and was willing to wait, to watch. Your nerves had disappeared quickly and you were dutiful and passionate and a very giving lover, the fact that you were willingly edging showed him you were.

You began to writhe and protest, you were that fucking close, you were about to explode.

Benny was also chasing his release, your asshole gradually constricting his cock, holding it snuggly as he thrusted in and out. He needed you to come and if it meant helping you tip over the edge, he’d do it. His hand slipped between yours and Santiago’s body, smoothing over your stomach before he brought two fingertips to your sensitive clit. He pressed gently and your hand swiped from his hip.

“No, no, no, Benny, stop,” you cried.

And if Benny could play dirty, so could Santiago.

He licked up from your shoulder to the crook of your neck. He planted a kiss before rolling his tongue over the area again then he bared his teeth. As he bit into the muscle, each of your limbs went stiff and the scream you released become strangled as your head dropped back, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your orgasm washed over you.

Benny came next, the strength of your constricting asshole forcing him to release. He groaned from deep within his throat, his creamy cum filling you before spirting from the sides. Hugging you close, he kissed your forehead and held you as the aftershocks travelled up your spine over and over.

With your walls fluttering, Santiago thrusted three more times before he clenched his butt muscles and filled you to the hilt. His cock jerked as his balls tightened and his seed decorated your spent cunt.

The three of you basked in each other’s high, Benny picking up your head as you slump, cradling it to his chest. It felt like you were under water, the light was fractured yet bright and as the boys spoke, they were muffled and barely comprehensible. The most you could pick up was Benny’s slowing heart beat.

“Is she gonna be alright?” Benny glanced at Santiago.

“She’ll be fine,” Santiago rubbed your side. “Just give her chance to recover.”

The pair of them pull out, their cum dribbling from both of your holes. Benny carefully spread you out on the bed, brushing the hair from your face as you tried to open your eyes. Even in this cock drunk state, they all thought you looked stunning.

You blink strongly, your vision focusing on the four figures around you. Benny came into view first, then Santiago and finally Frankie and Will who stood concerned at the end of the bed. Your head lulls as you prop yourself up.

“Is this what you wanted when you said you wanted all of us?”

“Yeah but,” you look at Benny, “Frankie hasn’t fucked me yet.”

Benny burst into laughter followed by Will, you weren’t lying when you said you wanted all of them. Santiago smiled, climbing off the bed and walking over to Frankie. He smacks him on the back and speaks to him in their second language.

“Looks like you’re up next, I’m getting a water.”

“Bring a fucking bottle, we’re here for the night.”

Frankie looked at you, “Alright, querida, turn over.”

You do as you’re told as Benny moves out of the way.

The night carried on much like that, each one taking their turn, wringing you of multiple orgasms until they ran dry. It ended in all five of you, bodies entwined on the bed as you breathed deeply, sweat clinging to the skin.

“Now we’re done,” Santiago said, “I’m heading to the couch.”

It would throw his back out but he didn’t mind.

“No, stay here,” you moan.

“Honey, your bed is too small for all of us.”

“But I want you all here… with me.”

“Come on, Pope, we’ll top and tail like old times,” Will smiles as he speaks.

He sighs, “Fine.”

You settle in the middle whilst the guys figure out their positioning, the bed rocking back and forth as they try to get comfortable.

“Is this good for you, sweetheart?”

You don’t respond.

“She’s already asleep,” Frankie glanced to see your face.

In the dark, your chest rises and falls softly, your head slumped against the pillows facing him. For the evening you just had, you looked incredibly peaceful. He stretches out a hand and rubs his knuckles on your cheek.

“I think we should do this more often,” Benny piped up, also bringing his attention to you, eye flitting to Frankie.

“Not if she wants us to sleep like this every time,” Santiago grumbled, shutting his eyes.

“She needs a new bed,” Will said.

“She needs a new flat.”

Now that was something they could all agree on.

#kinktober 2023 #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #santiago garcia #frankie catfish morales #will ironhead miller #benny miller #kinktober

[pedrostylez]

How The Crow Flies - pt. 7

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 3.8k

Chapter Summary: You stay an extra day in the jungle because your feelings about Frankie are too confusing, Javi is concerned and calls you a lot

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. DUBCON mentions and references, SMUT!!!! p in v sex (not wrapped up, but obvs be safe irl), some violence and threatening with knives but maybe it's hot, BLOOD OKAY NOT A LOT AND ONLY A LITTLE FREAKY ABOUT IT, SUE ME. dirty talk, anxiety, feelings that are confusing and not expressed well (reader compartmentalizes she must be a Capricorn)

A/N: Hey ya'll! I don't know NOTHING about Miami; never been, and I don't plan on going, so don't judge me for how I scrolled in reallllllll close on google maps, okay? I did an edit in my document, but within tumblr I didn't so if you see mistakes no you don't. In all seriousness, if I have missed any tags for trigger warnings, please let me know and I will fix it. Thank you for reading!!!

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @paleidiot @darkheartgatita @missladym1981

The trilling ring pierces his ears, irritation growing with each passing second. The click of your voicemail, followed by silence as Javier hopes and waits that you’ve picked up. Javier growls into the speaker when it’s clear that you haven’t, anger clear on his face. “Fucking call me back, or at least answer your damn phone.” He slams his receiver down, sighing heavily. 

You hadn’t called him back or picked up the phone in over a week. He knew it was his fault; how he treated you, how he wouldn’t listen to you. How he was unable to tell you exactly what he was wanting and feeling made him angry all over again. 

And to top it off, Jason was up his ass. “Hey, boss.” Jason called, too cheery to be in his office. “Any word from the jungle?”

“No.” Javier grunted, leaning back in his chair. He had given up on trying to keep what you were doing under wraps from Jason and David. “But she’ll be back tomorrow.”

Jason sits hesitantly in the chair across from him, sliding him a coffee cup. “Based on her most recent information, I think we have enough to go in there.” He says, taking a sip from his own mug. “She’s confirmed there’s drugs out there, and that there is money in and out. We don’t have to know where the money is to–”

“Let’s see what she comes back with this time.” Peña says, popping the top of the disposable coffee cup off to let it cool down. “It’ll be soon though, I don’t want…I don’t want this leaving the four of us.”

“I know.” Jason sighs, looking behind him. Bill Stechner walks by, just as Jason looks back to Peña with raised eyebrows. “I assume because we don’t want him to know?”

Peña rolls his eyes, shooing Jason away. Jason of course was correct, Stechner was in fact the reason you were secretly in the jungle and not surveying the Cali Cartel. But Javier wanted to stand by his promise to keep you safe, and so he would. 

Your cellphone beeps on the table, Peña’s name scrolling across the screen and flashing for what feels like the millionth time. You roll your eyes, legs shaking under the kitchen table of Yovanna’s crash house.

It’s your last night in this place, and while you won’t miss it, it makes you sad to see all of your stuff fit into one bag. You know you’ll have to do the same to the apartment that Peña had set up for you, but the jungle feels like a completely different world from what you go back to every other weekend. 

You feel a pang in your chest at the thought that Frankie may not show up, and that you’ve wasted your time just to spend one more night with him. Peña will be more furious than he already is and you’ve risked blowing your cover.

It’s easy to convince yourself that you are stringing Frankie along to gather more information’ it’s the easiest excuse for when Peña ultimately berates you. Something in the back of your mind nags you that it isn’t just for more information; that you are having feelings. 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when your phone begins beeping again and a knock comes to the door. You shoot up out of your seat, silencing your phone and sliding it into your pocket before taking a deep breath and waiting. 

A knock comes again, and you race to the door, opening it to find Frankie leaning against the porch post opposite the door. He smirks, looking down at your body and back up again. “Changed your mind?” He drawls, arms crossed over his chest.

You shrug, turning to let him through the door. “Figured another day wouldn’t hurt.” He chuckles, boots heavy as he steps forward. 

When Frankie steps past, you smell something different–the cigarettes, the jungle seem to be no longer lingering on his skin. The smell of musk fills your senses, and your insides melt at the thought that he put on cologne for you. 

Frankie eyes your packed bags, looking back at you with his ears red. “Ready to bail though, I see.”

You nod, giving a half smile. “Yovanna said that the lease is up and that she’s not renewing so…sort of my last night close to the jungle.”

Frankie hums, looking around briefly before turning back to you. “You want to make it count?”

You can’t help the smile that creeps up your face, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it. “What did you have in mind?”

The look on Frankie’s face changes, determined as he steps toward you. His hands rest on your hips, gently pulling you away from the door and into his body. He’s warm, heat radiating from his skin and through his clothes to you. 

You sigh, hands naturally traveling up to his shoulders to support yourself. Their taunt, pulled tight in his shirt and you think that maybe he’s…nervous. 

Frankie turns with you in his arms, smirking when you gasp in surprise. “Thought I might bend you over the couch. Maybe…eat you out on the counter for breakfast.” His voice is low and trying to be intimidating, but you swear you hear it wobble with unease. 

“You want me all to yourself all night long, huh? What if I had other customers?” You tease, pushing him away enough to reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. 

His eyes widen, pupils blown and mouth agape. “No need to lie; you’re not a whore.”

“Who says?” You question, reaching behind you to undo the clasp of your bra. He steps forward, stopping you in your tracks and runs his fingers up your spine. His fingers tangle with yours, popping the clasp open. 

“Me.” He sighs, letting the bra fall to the floor between you. He ghosts his hands to your front, pinching gently and watching you. “Tell me.”

“I’m not a whore.” Falls out of your mouth, unable to stop yourself from admitting the truth. His fingers glide down your abdomen, slowly undoing the button of your pants. 

He chuckles, shaking his head and smiling at you. Frankie’s eyes bore into you, keeping you frozen as his hand covers the front of your panties. He groans when the heat radiates from you to his palm, his fingers twitching. “No, but you’re my whore, aren’t you?”

You find yourself nodding, mouth open to breath deeper. “Yeah.”

“Say it.” He bites out, holding you secure and still in his grasp. 

Before you can speak he has you turning around, pushing you against the closest wall and grinding his center against yours. Still buttoned up pants restrain him, his cock hard and pushing against the fabric. 

It’s embarrassing, the way your underwear sticks uncomfortably to your center as he grinds. He’s quick as he pushes down his pants enough to let himself spring free, grasping himself to stroke just a couple times before leaning forward to let his mouth wander. 

Down your spine Frankie trails wet lips, hot air puffing out onto your raised skin. He’s quick as he strips your underwear from you, biting briefly into the meat of your ass to hear you gasp before sinking himself into you. You close your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins at the feeling of him fully seated inside you. It’s a whisper, barely audible as you say. “I’m your whore.”

Frankie doesn’t stop, thrusting harder and laughing. His hand planted on your hip comes up to your face, gently pushing it away from your cheek to get a better look at you. “That’s right baby. My whore.”

Agent Peña calling

The flash on the tiny screen of your cell phone is bright in the dark room that Frankie lays in, waking him enough to glance over to your spot in the bed to see you’re not there. 

Agent  Peña calling

This time he picks up the vibrating device, furrowing his brow at the name and racking his brain to see if Santiago had said it before. He does not know this man, but you do. 

Agent Peña calling

The shower is running, and Frankie doesn’t know what time it is but he’s itching to pick up the damn phone. Why would an agent be calling you? How many clients–

Frankie’s blood runs hot as the phone finally stops and he’s able to open it up into the most recent calls.

Agent Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

Agent  Peña outgoing

Agent  Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

The one outgoing call from just a couple weeks ago stands out to him. The date makes him think of when he brought you to the motel for the first time. Frankie reads it once, twice, three times before he sets the phone back down in the same position he found it in, sitting up to reach for his jeans on the ground. 

He shakes as he pulls his switchblade out; cold in his hand, the click of the blade flipping out and stepping out of your bed. He moves silently into the dark corner behind the bathroom door, adrenaline pumping through him. The shower shuts off, your soft hum as you move around the bathroom filters through the door before it opens, you tiptoeing your way out; you probably think he is asleep. 

Frankie thinks that maybe this is a mistake, but his gut is telling him otherwise. Either he scares you and never sees you again, or he finds out the truth; right now. 

When you step out fully he surprises you, circling one arm around your middle and the other holding the knife to your neck. He hears your inhale, feels you stiffen in his grasp, but you don’t scream. 

“What the fuck do you do for a job?” He growls in your ear, pulling you tight to him to prove that you can’t escape. You won’t. 

“I fuck men for a living, Frankie. You know that.” You’re too calm, too monotone for his liking. 

“Fuck that.” He spits, spinning you around and bringing the knife into your vision. “We both know that you’re not a whore, and I’ve let you play your little games to get my dick sucked. So tell me, who is Agent Peña?”

He watches your eyes jump back and forth from his knife to his face, trying to remain neutral but looking for options; you’re too calm. 

“Tell me right now, or I’ll let you bleed out and have him find you here.” Frankie says darkly, pressing the blade into your naked collarbone. You wince, a drop of blood dripping down. 

“He doesn’t know where here is.” You’re caving, towel loose under your arms and ready to fall. Frankie watches you reach up to hold it secure, your fingers nervously adjusting. “I’m DEA.” You whisper, swallowing as the blood drips down your chest, between your breasts and into the towel. Frankie watches it drip, slow and methodical but you don’t seem to notice. 

Frankie waits, but when you don’t come forward with more information, he prompts you. “Who’s Agent Peña?”

“My boss.” He presses the knife further into your skin, stepping toward the bed so you are forced to sit in front of him. Perched on the bed, clutching the towel to your front, looking up at him defiantly with blood smeared on your chest. You wince at the bite of the blade, sighing heavily. “Fuck–we’re after Lorea, okay?”

“Prove to me that you’re telling me the truth.” He pushes, moving the knife lower. You glance down to where the tip of the blade rests just below your collarbone, swallowing roughly. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath into what he assumes is calming yourself. 

He can’t help but feel angry. Frankie rages inside at himself for not knowing better, not connecting the dots. Not telling Santiago so he could look into you further than what Yovanna had convinced him of. 

In a way he feels played, that itch to have you growing inside of him into one of disgust. Frankie knows that this can’t last now; it was different if you were doing a job and got caught up in his circle, but to focus your attention on what he wanted? To go after what he was after too? He lied to you too, but your lie feels more and more like a betrayal. 

“I don’t have my badge here.” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, looking down to see that he’s drawn more blood, prompting your response. He pulls away slightly, looking up to your face. You tell him your name, voice shaking and he realizes, terrified. “I worked in Miami for a few years, b-before I was reassigned to Colombia. I s-stopped most of the boats coming into the harbor.”

Frankie mulls over the information, brushing the knife away from your collarbone and down your arm. A chill runs over you, obvious to him in the dark. “Where did you live, in Miami?”

“Little Havana.” You gasp, looking up at him and trying to harden your features. Your hand tightens around the edge of the towel again, but Frankie doesn’t want that. 

He leans forward, tisking at you and pulling your hand away. The towel follows, leaving you bare in front of him. He can’t help the groan that bubbles out of his throat. “That’s far away from the DEA office in Weston.”

You lean your hands back, letting yourself be exposed to him and staring him down. “Closer to the docks to stop the boats. I didn’t mind the drive.”

He stops his movements, keeping his pocket knife out but looking back up to your eyes. Will’s voice rings in his ears from years ago, a discussion about a DEA agent that patrolled the docks. 

“This girl came down from up north, stopping those dogs in their tracks. They are maybe a few feet away from making their deliveries, I’m telling you!” Beer flows over the side of his cup at Will’s excitement, tapping Frankie on the shoulder. “She calls to them like a fucking siren, that’s what they’re calling her, gets them to admit who they are in 10 minutes flat, and then fucking arrests them. On the spot.”

“That’s badass.” Benny widens his eyes, looking to Frankie to see if he agrees. 

Frankie sips on his drink, shaking his head. “Long trips overseas with just your buddies would have me caving to a pretty girl too.”

“You’re the Siren, aren’t you?” He questions, tilting his head to watch your reaction. The widening of your eyes, the shuttered sigh as you nod, has his heart soften. He flips the knife back into its holster, holding it in his closed fist. “I live in Westwood Lakes.” When you don’t respond, just staring at him and waiting, he pulls away. He hears your sigh, shaking his head. “You could have said–”

“No, I couldn’t have.” You say quietly, blinking roughly as if holding back tears before moving from the bed. When you stand, pushing past him and towel forgotten, you shakily walk over to your disheveled bag in the corner. He waits, knife still in his hand and watching. “You’re fucking ex-military, you know I couldn’t have blown my cover like that.” 

The bite in your tone is new to Frankie, his frown appearing suddenly as he whips his head over to look at you. You’re bent over, ass on display to him and he can’t help how his cock stirs at the sight. “You could have said what you were so we could have helped each other out.” He sighs, tossing the knife on to the pile of his clothes. 

“We did help each other.” You scoff, shaking your head and angrily putting on your shirt. “And you got your dick sucked and I got the information I needed to go tell my boss. Win-win.”

He laughs, surprised by your dismissal. “Why are you angry?”

He can see your face harden and then collapse, tears overflowing and down your cheeks. He notices briefly how your shirt is staining with small amounts of blood. “Because you! You weren’t supposed to fucking know who I was! You went through my phone.”

He shrugs. “It was ringing.”

The initial anger he had felt had dissipated as soon as he learned who you were; it changed everything for him. But somehow, that anger transferred to you at the inability to keep everything under the radar. This see-saw effect between the two of you was addicting for Frankie; one losing control, one calm. Then switch, all within the same conversation. Frankie can’t help but think that this is exactly what you need, to let your anger out on someone, even if it's him.  

His thoughts are confirmed when you spit out, “So what? That fucker has been up my ass for week since I kicked him out–”

“You’re together?”

“No.” You’re firm, pulling pants up your legs and buttoning them more calmly. It’s like you caught yourself losing control. 

“He’s fucking you too?” He questions. Your calmness sets a fire under him, a small voice in the depths of his mind poking him to get angry again. Instead, he focuses on what he thinks is the right question. “Your boss is taking advantage of you?”

“No. I’m taking advantage of him.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest before wincing, looking down at the blood stains left from his knife.

Frankie shakes his head, standing up and approaching you. “No, he’s taking advantage of you.” 

You stare at him, dumbfounded and shaking your head. Frankie reaches for you–out of habit, and you bat his hand away before pointing at him accusatory. “What, like you aren’t? You’re a fucking hypocrite!”

He points right back at you, careful to not touch you but wanting to get his point across. “I told you exactly what I was doing. Has he?”

Quietly, you say, “He’s protecting me.” 

“How? By blowing up your phone so some guy can hold a knife to your neck?” Frankie feels disgusted, learning that Peña is your boss, and is putting you in harm's way. He should know better. “Did any of your bosses back in Miami do something like that before? Put you in a difficult position where you had to give up who you were, just to stay alive?”

You pause, steaming, head barely shaking back and forth as you stare at him. You crack your neck, closing your eyes for a few breaths before opening them for him to see tears streaming down your face again. His heart hurts at the sight. “You’re not…some guy.”

You’re leaning toward him, hand falling toward his chest and resting lightly on his bare skin. Frankie doesn’t know what to say, eyes searching your face for any type of answer. When he doesn’t find one, he shakes his head and covers your hand with his over his heart. “You’re…distracting for me. And you keep secrets.”

He lets his other hand come up to rest on your cheek. You lean in, and Frankie can’t help but let his heart crumble a little more.“I had to. I’m sorry if I ruined what you were trying to accomplish.” You whisper, trailing your hand down his chest, his hand following yours. 

“You didn’t ruin it.” He admits, moving his eyes to your wandering hand. He holds his breath, his cock twitching in his boxers and pressing against the fabric. You’re warm, stepping closer to him and snapping at the waistband of his underwear. Frankie briefly thinks about how this might look to Santiago and the rest of the guys if they find out that he’s been sleeping with you. He’ll be sent home instantly, even with the plan going through in just a day. “You can’t get in my way.”

“I won’t. We want different things.” You nod, letting your hand wrap around his now hardened member and give him a couple strokes. He closes his eyes trying to keep his breath steady. 

Frankie doesn’t know what this means, doesn’t know how to proceed beyond what he’s longing to do right now. He clasps his hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You look up to him, waiting to see if you can continue when he leans in and presses his lips to yours. 

He’s hesitant, waiting for you to tell him to stop. He pulls back, flicking his eyes between yours briefly before you surge forward, desperate to have your mouth back on his. 

Suddenly it’s frantic, his hands ripping at your clothes to take them back off, how you jump onto the bed and pull him to you by the back of his neck. He groans when you pull his hair, you sigh as he sinks into you again. 

The sound of his thighs hitting yours over and over again fills the room. You gasp as he trails his mouth down away from yours, sucking harshly into your neck before going further down. Frankie continues to thrust, his tongue sticking out and lapping at where his knife had cut you. 

“Fuck–Frankie–”

“I know baby. Just one more time for me, huh? I want to see you one more time.” He gasps, leaning back to watch you take him over and over again. 

Your walls tighten around him, nails digging into his arms as he pushes through. Your head thrown back, neck and new hickey exposed, skin shining in the light still coming from the bathroom. 

On the bedside table, your phone lights up again, vibrating loudly enough that both of your heads turn to watch it ring. Frankie pauses for only a moment, returning to thrusting and grabbing your face to turn back to him. “Mine. Do you get it? Mine.”

Your nod and the gasp of a “yes” is all Frankie needs to finish. 

Javier’s blood boils, dialing your number again from his Jeep. He's sitting outside the apartment he paid for, anger roiling through him without another care in the world. Where are you?

He gets out of the car, stepping up on to the stoop and pounding on the door to listen. Maybe you were avoiding him, leaving the lights off and pretending you weren’t there to scare him. He dials another time, the windows dark in front of him, listening for the ringing of your phone. When nothing can be heard, he swears. 

The beep of your voicemail dings in his ear, a sound he has gotten used to tonight. He sighs, looking around as if you might appear out of thin air. “Hermosa, please. Where are you?” He asks, shutting his phone and getting back into his driver’s seat. 

He sets his phone on the dash, tapping on the steering wheel anxiously. After thinking for only a moment, he reclines the seat back, planning to camp in front of your apartment until the morning.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fic #javier peña #javier pena narcos #tw: dubcon #tw blood

[etoilehistoire]

(A time-travel fic: we know Astarion was locked away for a year once as a punishment. We know no hero or god ever came for him. When something throws him back into the past, to relive his worst fears, will anyone come this time? Featuring my "Tav", a female human paladin named Xia.)

He’d fed. Supped at the neck of the pretty little paladin, endured her quiet comments (mocking, he suspects, but he can’t be sure and oh, how that rankles) and too-serious eyes. Returned to his own bedroll. Watched the night sky for a bit; let himself appreciate the stars with a sincerity he keeps carefully locked away, even from himself, most of the time. Closed his eyes, allowed himself to slip into a trance.

And now…

Now there are hands gripping him, strong and cruel, dragging him across a stone floor. A horribly familiar floor.

There are words, snarled and harsh, but he can barely make them out. Stolen (gifted) blood pounds in his ears, the fear making it nearly impossible to think. He can’t focus on the words because he knows that voice, he knows that voice.

Besides. He has a sinking certainty that he’s heard these words before. 

When he’s flung down into the too-small, too-tight darkness, when his feebly-struggling hands are slapped easily away, his panicked protests ignored, and the heavy stone slab seals him in, he knows.

He's back.

This is a dream. Oh, surely. Elves don’t dream, as a rule, unless they choose too, and he certainly can’t imagine choosing to. Still, trance is a time to access and revisit old memories, and when one has memories as… insistent… as Astarion's, sometimes they demand to be revisited whether one wills it or no. This wouldn’t be the first time, although never before had it felt quite so real. A side effect of human blood, perhaps.

His heart, even when awash in fresh blood, doesn’t beat, and yet he imagines he can feel it in his chest, a frightened, fluttery thing. He has no need to breathe, and yet his throat feels tight as he gasps at stale air and pushes uselessly against stone walls that crowd him from every side.

Calm. Calm. You are in control. It’s a dream. A dream, and you’ll just have to wait it out. Calmly. Otherwise you might do something like shout out in your trance and wake the others, and wouldn’t that just be excruciating?

He coaxes a grim smile out of himself with the last image, and feels himself relax. He’ll wait it out. Gods, he ought to be good at waiting by now, oughtn't he?

Fifteen minutes later, his right leg starts to fidget. No, he is not good at waiting.

An hour later, no matter how he tries to keep himself from doing so, he finds himself pushing again against the stone walls holding him in. Every time they fail to budge, he feels another twinge of panic.

Twenty-four hours later, the thought he has desperately been trying to avoid pushes its way forward: trance-memories don’t usually last this long. 

Twenty-four hours after that, and he is screaming, weeping, banging uselessly on the lid as if that would do anything, as his mind tries and fails and tries again to process the truth he can no longer avoid: this is real.

He's back.

On the third day he can feel the vitality the paladin's blood had given him beginning to fade. His frenzied attacks against the solid stone grow weaker – almost imperceptibly at first, but that will change.

One week in, he can feel the beginning pangs of hunger – pangs he knows, via agonizingly clear memory, will only grow.

Three weeks in, he distracts himself by indulging in increasingly-elaborate fantasies of being rescued. By the silly wizard, perhaps, or the oh-so-noble “Blade of Frontiers.” Or that little cleric girl, the one who always pretended to hate him. Or, hells, why not Xia herself, if he’s being ridiculous? He pictures it for a moment, the paladin swooping down on a gleaming white horse just to dig up a vampire spawn like him; the humor in that makes him smile, affords him a half-breath of relief. (Until he remembers that it’s hopeless, that they’re not even alive yet, that even if they were none of them would care enough to even look for him, let alone charge to his rescue. After that it’s harder to come up with fantasies.)

A month and a half in, he breaks the first of many nails completely off, scrabbling and thrashing against the lid. He knows he should stop. That it won’t do any good and he’ll just keep hurting himself. He begins scrabbling again, even though his raw finger screams with every scrape. (When his hands finally fall, exhausted, he remembers with grim anger that around this stage was when he began praying to the silent gods. He swears to himself, he won’t stoop so low this time.)

Three months in, he starts praying anyway.

Five months in, he stops.

At six months in, his muscles eating themselves, his throat a blaze of pain, the hallucinations start. Again and again, stone scrapes on stone, light shines down, and they’re there, come to rescue him. His party. His… well, friends is a strong word. His compatriots, perhaps. Gale. Karlach, the flames nearly blinding him. Wyll, with his gentle smile. Once it's a elven couple, a man and a woman, with faces he can almost recognize but not quite, and when they vanish he weeps dry tears for hours. More often than not it’s Xia, which would be funny if he were still capable – emotionally or physically – of laughing. The sharp, pretty paladin with her sharp, pretty sword might tolerate him for his usefulness, might feed him her blood out of pragmatism and a perverse sense of duty, but no more than that. Certainly he’d failed to charm or seduce her – he’d tried, gods knew, tried every trick in his repertoire to bind her to him, make her want to keep him safe, but when she simply fixed him with cool dark eyes that seemed to see right through his manipulation, he feared he’d simply made her despise him instead. So why would his mind show him her? Even if she were here, now, which she isn’t, she owes him nothing; even her oath to protect the innocent wouldn’t apply to an undead thing like him. She isn’t coming. (The worst part, though, are the nights when he hallucinates Cazador coming for him – the mocking laugh, the half-rotted rat he’s thrown. The way he drinks it anyway, gagging at the taste but unable to stop. The contempt in Cazador's eyes as he watches. Well. No. That isn’t true. The worst part is the gratitude he feels, every time.)

At seven months he begins to wonder if the people he remembers ever existed at all. Perhaps all those memories were simply a fever dream. Perhaps he has been here the whole time.

By nine months he knows, with whatever small scrap of consciousness is left to him capable of knowing anything, that it’s over. He’s broken. He knows, or had once known, that somewhere in the world there are blue skies and bright stars, the laughter of companions and the smell of cookfires, but he no longer believes in it. Everything is darkness and stale air and pain. His throat hurts, burns like fire in its dryness. His innards hurt, dessicated and twisting in on themselves. His limbs are atrophied, stick-thin and monstrous. His skin is dry and stretched taut over his bones. His hands are bloody lumps, fingers broken and scraped raw from useless attempts to escape. This is all there is, and all there will ever be, until Cazador decides to let him out. Until Cazador comes for him. And when he does, Astarion knows with a sickening sense of shame, he will be grateful. He will be relieved. He will be so, so desperate to never return here, so very willing to do whatever is necessary to stay in his master's good graces. He will be Cazador's creature once again, through and through, and this time he doesn’t know if he’ll ever again have the strength to leave.

And still, after that, time continues to pass.

Until stone scrapes against stone.

At first he thinks it’s another hallucination, except that it’s too loud, too bright. The scraping stone is shocking to his ears after hearing nothing but his own hoarse screams for so long; the light hurts, blinding him with his brightness. This is it, then: Cazador has come for him. Hope flares, wild and pathetic and clinging. 

A strong hand grips the front of his shirt and he is ungently lifted out of the stone tomb. Before his eyes can even adjust his face is being pressed against something soft and warm and smelling deliciously vital, and he lunges without thought, latching on with desperate, ferocious hunger. There’s a brief moment when it registers, dimly, that this is a much finer meal than the dead rat he was given last time, but then the blood hits his throat, strong and thick and life-giving, and all conscious thought washes away in the need to drink, drink, drink deeply.

When he comes back to himself some minutes later, the thirst inside him – not sated, never fully sated, but subsided to the level he’s used to – three realizations hit him in rapid order.

This blood is better – richer, stronger – than anything Cazador had ever given him. This is forbidden blood. Human blood.

Familiar human blood.

And he has drunk far too much of it.

He rocks, back, shocked, already bracing himself (with a surprisingly strong stab of regret) for the sight he fully expects – her body, falling lifeless and drained to the filthy floor.

But what he sees is Xia, yes, but fully alive and not – as he had assumed – being held by Cazador, a cruel trick to make him disobey the rules and murder his own friend all in one go. Instead she’s kneeling in front of him, hale and hearty and under her own power, watching him with solemn dark eyes.

“Whuh,” he says, intelligently. 

She nods, as if that meant anything. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Well, that explained exactly nothing. He clears his throat. “How is it that I didn’t kill you?” It’s not the most important question right now, not even in the top ten, and it’s probably not the most tactful way to phrase it, but of all the thoughts currently crowding his head it’s the one that makes it to his mouth first. 

A rare grin, bright and fleeting, lights up her scarred face, and for just a moment his “pretty paladin" is actually lovely. “Ring of Lesser Restoration,” she explains, holding up her hand to show it off – a flat band of silver, with a flake of some pale blue gem in the center. “I had a feeling you’d be hungry when I found you, and I didn’t want to have to cut you off.”

Oh. Of course. She bought a ring, for him. Because she knew he’d be this, she knew he’d be a mindless, feral monster who wouldn’t be able to stop himself from draining her dry, and rather than that being a reason to leave him to his fate, she just. Bought an expensive magic item. For him. So she wouldn’t have to make him stop. Of course. Entirely sensible. 

Eyes burning, he repeats her words. “When you… found me.”

She nods. “You weren’t the only one thrown back in time. When I realized what had happened, when I realized when I was, I knew you’d be here. With him. So I came.” She gives him a lopsided shrug. “But I told you I’m not from around here. I had to come from the other side of the world.”

He tries to rally himself. He should make a joke, something about how of course you traveled across the world for me, darling, have you seen these cheekbones? Or perhaps turn gratitude into flattery, fluttered eyelashes and pretty words and a promise to repay her kindness however she might like.

Instead what comes out, in a voice so pathetic and broken he wants to cringe away from it, is: “You came for me.”

Something softens in those fathomless dark eyes. A hand comes up, impossibly gentle, to touch his sunken cheek. “Yeah. I did.”

“You came for me.” He feels tears welling, blessed real tears made possible by her blood in his body, and the humiliation he feels at weeping in front of her is overshadowed by the stinging relief of finally being able to do so. “For me.”

He didn’t – he didn’t do anything for her. He never gave her anything. He’d utterly failed to secure her loyalty in any of the ways he knew how. He certainly can’t do anything for her now. There’s no reason she should be here, based on everything he’s ever known of people. It doesn’t make sense. 

Yet here she is.

When the tears start flowing freely she reaches out and pulls him into her, arms warm and reassuring around him – not trapping him but holding him, supporting him. He tucks his face into her shoulder and lets it all come pouring out, all the fear and rage and pain and despair of the past year, the loneliness and need. It isn’t elegant; it’s full of hiccupping and snotting and undignified sounds somewhere between a sob and a scream. She holds him through it, strong arms protective around him, soft hands stroking his hair. 

He clings to her even as the sobs subside, dimly aware that if she wanted to, she could own him in this moment as thoroughly as Cazador once did. She won’t. She wouldn’t even want to. Of this, he is certain. 

The thought does make him pause, though. He draws back (and oh gods, his face must be a fright, for once he’s grateful that he can’t see his own reflection) and meets her gaze with wide eyes. “Cazador.”

“Dead,” she replies bluntly. A small smile graces her lips, the one he always assumed was mocking but which he now suspects is affectionately teasing. “I know, I should have left some for you, but time was of the essence.”

If he weren’t already on his knees he would fall to them now. He feels like a puppet with his strings cut. “You faced him alone.”

“I faced him for you.” She studies him with those serious eyes, and he wonders why he ever thought her intense gaze was cold and judgmental. “You have always deserved better than what that man did to you.”

She says it so plainly, so flatly, as if it’s not a direct refutation of everything he’s secretly feared and believed for 200 years: that he had, somehow, deserved it. For being weak, for being flawed, for being… him.

He swallows. He doesn’t believe her words, not really, but… he never expected to hear them. 

It’s… nice.

She unfolds to her feet, extends a hand to raise him up. “So.” Her face has returned to its usual dispassionate expression, but her eyes dance.  “What say we loot the old bastard's house for everything we can carry, then find out if anyone else ended up back in the past?”

His heart leaps in a way he doesn’t care to examine just yet at the implication that she sought him out first, before any of the others. Linking her arm in hers, he finally manages to summon a ghost of his old smile. “Darling, that sounds positively delightful. Lead the way.”

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #asexual astarion #(not explicitly stated but he is) #angst #angst with a happy ending #etoilewrites

[neon-sunsets]

six-year-old wyll ravengard knows what a hero is, and he knows what a hero looks like.

heroes look like his father, fighting for their city, bravely commanding the flaming fist and navigating the courts. heroes look like balduran, his statues gleaming in the mid-morning light. the novels tell tales of scores of heroes, from all places and times.

once, when they’re out, someone calls duke ravengard a hero. wyll looks up at his father, asks if maybe one day he could be a hero too.

ulder looks at him, a strange expression clouding his brows. “i’m no hero,” he says.

wyll frowns. he still wants to be a hero.

seventeen-year-old wyll ravengard thought he knew what a hero was, what a hero looked like. but everything around him — the claws at his shoulders, the drying blood beneath his eye, the cold stare on his father’s face — is chipping at the lens of his naïveté.

mizora grins, fingers hovering over the new scars on wyll’s cheek. duke ravengard, with all the composure wyll has admired for so long, exiles his only son.

wyll passes a statue of balduran on his way out of the gate.

twenty-year-old wyll ravengard knows what a hero is. he plays one every day: the blade of frontiers is the hero. he’s not.

still, there is work to be done, monsters to slay. folk aren’t always grateful, but it doesn’t matter as long as they’re safe. wyll doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if he couldn’t help.

twenty-four-year-old wyll ravengard is surrounded by heroes. there’s karlach, whose righteous goodness overwhelms her foes. shadowheart and lae’zel, who turned on their gods; gale, who defied mystra’s commands. jaheira and minsc are straight out of the tales wyll read when he was a child. even astarion, who claims to hate heroics, seems less and less inclined to deny the good they’ve done.

what none of them know is that there’s a false hero in their midst. wyll clings to the blade of frontiers, pretends that they’re the same. but he’s not the blade. he’ll always be seventeen and bleeding from one eye, seventeen with only the devil for company.

twenty-five-year-old wyll ravengard returns from a year in the hells without a devil in tow, and he thinks he might finally know what a hero is.

they gather in baldur’s gate for a celebration. he and karlach have returned; lae’zel is coming home, victorious. there are many reasons to celebrate. (at first wyll isn’t sure he’s one of them. but he walks into the elfsong, and seven pairs of eyes light up.)

“you’re finally here,” says karlach. “what took you so long?”

he takes a seat.

“welcome home, hero,” says astarion. gale raises a glass.

“to the blade of avernus!”

“to wyll,” adds karlach.

and twenty-five-year-old wyll ravengard finally knows what a hero is.

(written for wyll week, day 3, prompt “hero!”)

#bg3 #bg3 meta #maybe? #wyll ravengard #wyll week #wyll week 2024

[ktwritesstuff]

Nothing Else Matters (a Triple Frontier shifters AU)

Title: Nothing Else Matters Fandom: Triple Frontier Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Reader x Triple Frontier Boys reverse harem style Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: Your faves are werewolves and you get to pork them. And you are also a werewolf. Yeah. That's pretty much it. Beta-read by the incomparable @bs-fangirl. Additional content notes below the cut.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Content Notes: No sexy times in this chapter, but issuing a content warning for some medical drama, my total lack of understanding of the Spanish language, and completely made up shifter nonsense.

Chapter One

Three weeks ago you were convinced Santiago was dead.  And now you were holed up in his safehouse in St. John while he led the rest of your pack on a suicide mission through the Columbian jungle.  You hadn’t been keen on being left alone with the baby in unfamiliar territory, but you didn’t dare complain.  You might have been able to convince Frankie to sit this one out–he had a good heart and he was fiercely protective of baby Luna–but you couldn’t ask that of him.  Not after landing the both of you in hot water for getting pregnant against your Alpha’s wishes.  

You tried not to wonder why the trip that was supposed to last 5 days had stretched out to two weeks, but it was hard not to imagine all the things that could have gone wrong.  Some nights you woke alone in a strange bed so frightened it was all you could do to wake Luna and encourage her to nurse until you could barely keep your eyes open.  

You were relieved when the boys’ boat finally pulled into the dock, until you saw the state that Will was in–bleeding from his stomach, barely able to stand on his own.

You searched their faces for clues to what had happened: Will pale and in pain, Benny agitated and fretting over his brother, Santiago was stern, nearly impossible to read, and Frankie just seemed sad.  You counted them again: four.

“Where’s Tom?”

Santiago pointed to a human-sized bundle of canvas tied with rope at the back of the boat.  A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over you as the realization set in.  You leaned on one of the dock’s pylons to support yourself.     

You felt your wolf, Ginger, raging inside you.  You took deep breaths to calm her, knowing that Ironhead was more than likely scratching at Will’s nervous system, eager to be free.  Seeing Ginger, smelling her, feeling her anguish would certainly push him over the edge.  But letting Ironhead out now would do more harm than good.

“Get him up to the house and get my kit,” you instructed.  Your anxiety dissipated as your whole world narrowed to a single purpose: taking care of your pack.

Benny set Will down on the chair in the main room and helped to remove his shirt.  You grimaced, peeling back the hemostatic dressing to find a bullet hole still seeping blood and pus.  You poured wound wash over the damaged skin and pressed fresh gauze against the wound.  Ironhead growled and snapped at you–fangs and claws bared–before Will could get him back under control.

“I know,” you said as calmly as you could manage.  “I know it hurts.  Stay with me.”  

In the tiny nursery–the outdated butler’s pantry, just big enough for a bassinet and your nursing chair–Luna woke and began to cry.  The sound made Will lurch with the effort of keeping Ironhead contained.

“Frankie,” you called.  “Get the baby.  Frankie, the baby!”

From across the room, Frankie stared at you blankly, still deep in shock.  You instructed Benny to keep the pressure on the wound and went to the nursery to fetch Luna.  Seeing you, she stopped crying in earnest, but still fussed for comfort and attention.  

“Francisco!” you snapped, carrying the baby out to her father.  “Escúchame!”

Frankie’s eyes finally focused on you as you handed Luna off to him.  He clutched her to his chest, cradling her head in his hand and breathing in the familiar smell of her–like fresh powder and breast milk.  His breathing and pulse began to slow.  Catfish grounded and soothed by being reunited with his beloved pup.  

“Take her,” you instructed.  “I need to stitch Will up and get him regulated.  If he shifts now, he will tear that wound wide open. You understand?”

“No,” Frankie protested, trying to hand her back to you.  “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” you said.  “You are her father.  I need you to do this.”

Frankie nodded, rallying himself to take Luna to the kitchen so you could stitch Will’s wound.  

Stomach wounds were so complex, without imaging or exploratory surgery it was impossible to know the full extent of the damage.  But the truth was, even with a shifter’s regenerative capabilities, if the kidneys or bladder were involved Will would be dead already. He was feverish, so you gave him an injection of acetaminophen to try to bring down his temperature and help with the pain.  An IV would be better, but you weren’t set up for that here.

“Can you swallow?” you asked, opening a bottle of antibiotics to show him the size of the pills.

“Don’t worry, man,” Benny said, trying to soothe himself with humor.  “If you can't, we'll give you the suppository.”

Will rolled his eyes, accepting the pills with a glass of water.  “I can swallow.”   

“Benny, can you get him out of these wet clothes and into bed?” you asked.  “I’ll be right in, I’m just going to put on a pot of tea.”

“You got it,” Benny agreed, snapping to attention, happy to be given a task.

As the youngest member of your pack–before Luna came along–he could be irresponsible, impulsive, and self-indulgent, but he always knew when to buckle down and get things done.   

“Come here,” you urged.  “Give me a kiss.  You’re doing a good job.  You’re a good brother.  I’m proud of you.”  

Benny stooped to place a kiss at the corner of your mouth and you helped him lift Will out of the chair.  As they hobbled to the bedroom you went to the kitchen to put on the kettle.

“How is he?” Frankie asked, bouncing Luna on his knee as she fussed and reached for you.  

A shifter’s wolf was a natural part of their sympathetic nervous system, but like an elevated heartbeat or increased blood pressure, it could also be maladaptive.  The change took years to master without losing yourself to the animal and even then required an incredible amount of energy, energy that Will needed to heal.   

“Bleeding’s stopped,” you explained.  “But he’s not out of the woods yet.  Fighting one hell of an infection.  May need stronger antibiotics than what I have to give him.  If it goes septic we’ll have a feverish, pissed off Ironhead on our hands.”

“Tell me what you need,” Santiago said–the first words he had spoken to you in over three years.  “I’ll get it.”  

You turned away from him, returning your attention to warming up a bottle for Luna as you waited for the kettle.  You would be the first to admit, you hadn’t gone out of your way to bridge the gap between you after he had essentially waltzed back into your lives with a hand grenade after years off the grid.  But if this was his feeble attempt at repairing what he had broken, he would have to do better than that.

“I’m going to stay with Will tonight,” you explained.  “I need you to look after Luna.”

“Can’t Benny watch him?” Frankie pleaded, rising from the table as he shushed Luna anxiously.  “She wants you.”

“Benny has never calmed anyone in his life,” you said.  “And we need Will calm, Frankie.  You will be fine.  She’s just hungry.  Give her a bottle and rock her, play with her for a bit and put her to bed.  There’s toys and clean nappies in the nursery.  It will be good for you both.” 

You went to Frankie, holding Luna between you, wondering what the hell had gone on out there that had him so on edge.

“I love you.  I trust you.”  You held Frankie’s scruffy, bearded face and kissed him.  His lips tasted like salt and copper pennies.

You poured the tea and checked the temperature of Luna’s bottle before handing it off to Frankie.  You went back to the bedroom, thankful you had missed the ordeal of getting Will undressed and settled into bed.

“Thank you, Benny,” you said.  “I can take over; you need your rest.”

“Are you sure?” Benny asked, adding soto voce, “He’s pretty agitated.”

“I can still hear you, Benny,” Will snapped.

“I can handle your brother,” you assured him, giving the taut muscle of his arm as squeeze with your free hand.  “Eat something, try to get some sleep.”

Will growled and shifted uncomfortably in bed as his brother left.

“Where’s Luna?”

“She’s with her father,” you said, taking a careful seat beside him on the bed, holding the back of your hand against his face.

“Frankie doesn’t know shit about taking care of a kid,” Will protested.

"He'll be fine,” you insisted, taking a cold compress from your bag and holding it to the pulse point on his throat.  “You're the one I'm worried about.  You want something else for the pain?" 

Will shook his head.  ""M fine."

You sighed in frustration at Will’s pigheadedness.  Toughing out the pain made Ironhead that much harder to soothe.  You undressed and slid under the covers beside him, pressing yourself against his side.  His bare skin was hot and clammy.

"How's that?"

"Better," he nodded, putting an arm around you.

"I should put you on NPO," you warned, handing him the cup of tea from the bedside table.  "But as it stands you need the fluids. You lost quite a bit of blood."

"I'll make more," Will said, sipping the bitter tea.

"At least you haven't lost your sense of humor,” you said.  “Tell me what happened.”

Will related the whole mess to you: how they all got greedy at the sight of all that money, but Redfly most of all.  That Frankie blamed himself for the helicopter crash, for the deaths of the cocaine farmers, for not putting his foot down when the load was too heavy for the chopper.  That the son of one of the murdered farmers had followed them to seek revenge against Tom.  That they had to cross the Andes on foot and fight their way through an army of child soldiers to get to their boat.  That at the time, being shot in the altercation with Lorea was the least of their worries. 

“Is that so,” you sighed.  Having gone through all that it was a wonder he hadn’t thrown a clot, or worse.  “Any other symptoms? Headache?  Chest Pain? Nausea?”

Will shook his head, taking another gulp of tea.

“Dare I ask when was the last time you took a shit?” 

Will chuckled, just a little.  "You don't want to know."

“You have to tell me if the pain gets worse,” you warned.  “You understand?”

The bullet had gone straight through him, so at least it wasn’t tearing him apart on the inside while they were traipsing through the Andes.  

“All those speeches you give to new recruits, do you ever tell them about this part?”

Of course everyone loved hearing the story about assaulting a man into pissing himself at the Piggly Wiggly.  It made them feel powerful, cool even, paradoxically in control.  They were far less interested in the very real possibility of watching their friends die.

“About beautiful women asking about their bowel movements?” Will scoffed.  “No.  Definitely not.”

“I thought the whole point was to keep it real,” you carefully leaned your head on his chest.  You could feel his heart pounding

“Nobody wants it kept that real.”  

"Here," you said, taking his hand and placing it on your chest so he could feel your heartbeat.  "Does that feel like the heartbeat of someone in danger?  We're safe now; you can rest.  You brought them home."

"Not all of them," Will said with a pained grimace.

"I know.  I could kill Santiago for putting you through that."  

"Go easy on him," Will pleaded.  "He's hard enough on himself for all of us."  

"Well it certainly doesn't show," you said.  "He's cold to me.  Won’t even look me in the eye."

"Don't take it personal.  It's just--"  Will’s eyes flitted away from you like he didn't want to say.

"Spit it out."

"There was a woman.  In Columbia--"

"He can fuck who he wants," you scoffed.  “You know I don’t care about that.”

"A human woman."

A growl formed deep in your chest, but you swallowed it down, mindful of controlling your temper, but you were sure the momentary lapse in judgment wasn’t lost on Will or Ironhead.  

"He said it was nothing,” Will said.  “But he cared for her.  He had to send her away to keep her safe."

“Then it doesn’t matter anyway,” you said in a careful, measured tone as you took the empty mug from Will’s hands.

You both knew that with Tom gone the pack was vulnerable.  You needed Santiago now, as much as you hated to admit it.  If his loyalties were divided it would be disastrous for all of you.

You laid your head on Will’s chest, carefully snaking your arms around him to soothe yourself with his solidness.    

“Close your eyes now,” you said.  “You need sleep.” 

#triple frontier fic #shifters au #reverse harem #reader x frankie 'catfish' morales #reader x santiago 'pope' garcia #reader x will 'ironhead' miller #reader x benny miller #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #charlie hunnam #garrett hedlund

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Week in Review (October 22-28, 2023)

Another Godzilla Day, another short from Kazuhiro Nakagawa to keep the series' tokusatsu roots alive. Fest Godzilla 4: Operation Jet Jaguar will see the grinning robot battle the King of the Monsters in live-action for the first time ever. I think that's why seeing the Final Wars Godzilla opposite a replica Jet Jaguar suit is even more surreal than his bout against the Showa Gigan last year. When the short drops on November 3, be sure to download it ASAP, because Toho doesn't like to keep them up for long.

I already posted about the unbelievable Movie Monster Series Bagan figure revealed last night, but it was accompanied by four more new figures: a glittery MinusGoji, an 8-inch black Kiryu, a quadrupedal Landing Stage Hedorah, and this year's fan poll winner, Flower Beast Form Biollante. The Kiryu is a homage to a theater-exclusive figure from Godzilla: Tokyo SOS, though it actually has more paint apps. They're all Godzilla Store exclusives.

TOHO Visual Entertainment has released Godzilla (1954) and Mothra vs. Godzilla (1964) on 4K, the first of a flurry of Godzilla titles debuting in 4K this year. (There's also a Blu-ray for each that uses the same 4K restoration.) The people I turn to for judgment on these things (@spacehunter-m, @tohocompanylimited-blog, and a few others) aren't thrilled, especially with Mothra vs. Godzilla, which compares unfavorably with the HD version of the shorter Toho Champion Festival cut. Both are improvements over what was previously available on home video, but that's not saying much.

Mothra vs. Godzilla unfortunately does not include the Frontier Missile scene as a bonus feature. (Don't know what all those nice-looking screenshots of it from the recent Mothra vs. Godzilla Completion book were about then.) It does offer eight-and-a-half minutes of unused effects footage, some of it making its home video debut, as well as four more minutes of set footage and a theater showing the film. Both films offer a ton of trailers, the most interesting of which is an export trailer for G54. Some of the ballyhoo ("incredible titan of terror!") would later be used for the U.S. release, and @biorante discovered that the subtitles are a near-exact match with the old BFI DVD. So it's possible to almost exactly recreate what the film would have looked like when it screened in, say, Honolulu in 1955.

This is strictly local news, but I know some of you are fellow upstate New Yorkers, so I'm throwing it in anyway. Rochester's Little Theatre will be showing Destroy All Monsters on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. This'll be the first Godzilla film I've seen there since Rialto distributed the original in 2004. The runtime and release date match the AIP version, so fingers crossed they landed the same 35mm print that screened at the Mahoning this summer.

Big week coming up, though even bigger if you live in Japan. For the Americans reading this, a reminder that Godzilla 2000 is in theaters the night of November 1.

#godzilla #kaiju week in review #bagan #godzilla 1954 #mothra vs. godzilla #destroy all monsters #kaiju #jet jaguar

[atwas-gaming]

Ok, I haven't played Superstars because I've been trying to get through Frontiers, on top of everything else I'm doing (Axiom Verge obsession and theorizing, streaming UTDR four nights a week, full-time day job, creative hobbies). But I've seen pics of Trip without her helmet, and...

This is supposed to take place before Adventure, right?

So, it's safe to say that Amy copied Trip's hairstyle, then?

#trip the sungazer #amy rose #sonic superstars #can i really call it a theory when i haven't even played the game yet? #not my picture

[leoluved]

“so if you don’t like them, then you won’t mind me asking them out then, right?” With Santi from Triple Frontier?

why would i? (s.g)

summary: you’re the youngest Miller, a baby girl. protected by your older brothers. your brothers’ lives finally intertwine with yours at your eldest brothers wedding when you meet their friends. warnings: timeline wise at the end its right before they leave, kind of slow burn, female reader, age gap (15 years), language, mentions of blood, violence, consumption of alcohol, some rando getting his shit rocked in word count: 4.6k

Ever since the moment you opened your little eyes. You were a princess, the baby, doted upon and spoiled endlessly. The Miller family weren’t expecting you. Especially not two teenage boys who had to fight the urge not to throw you like a football, most of the time. 

They were only fifteen and thirteen. The appeal of a baby sister was lost the second they saw pink confetti at the gender reveal party. Over time, and with your parents' persuasion, no doubt. They started to warm up to the idea of a baby sister, someone to look over.

It gave new meaning once they both got to hold you in their arms. To watch you struggle to open your eyes. You were so small, so fragile. They loved you from that day on. Whatever you said, went. You got everything you wanted, but you were taught to be grateful, caring. In the short time you had with them, your brothers would follow your every beck and call. You were barely a toddler by the time Will was finishing high school. But you were always in attendance at all of his games, matches, club and school events. You always did assist in helping bring girls’ attention to him. He looked like a total sweetheart with you around. 

Will was nineteen when he left. You only had four short years with your eldest brother before he shipped himself off to the military. Benny followed at nineteen too. You were six by then. You had grown closest to Benny. Even though you had always made sure Will never lacked your attention. You exchanged letters and drawings and packages. Your mother bought a camera to take pictures of you growing up for the two of them through your letters. Your sloppy penmanship would always put a smile on the brother’s faces. Will would tell you the lighthearted stories about his army buddies, jokes they told and funny stories about their time there. And as you got older Benny would allow you to hear more of the truthful stories. Stories where things went wrong, someone almost got hurt. How one of their fellow troops was killed. Things your mother would faint at the sound of. That made you wonder if your brothers were truly okay out there. It very rarely gave you enough comfort to sleep at night knowing they at least had each other and their friends.

For a couple years the letters had become sporadic. You would always wait for the mail to arrive and instantly run to the mailbox. Soon enough, weeks would come without any word from either of them. Benny would eventually send them on behalf of the both of them. They were shorter, mostly telling you that they were okay and they missed you. That they had gotten ‘promoted’ and they were important. They were just busy. And while you were sad. You knew it probably was true, they were busy. You would continue to send letters, though. Explaining things you felt were important to your life, hoping it would ease some of their anxieties. 

You were seventeen when they both briefly came back. Right as you were going to graduate high school. They claimed they came home because they could never miss a moment like that. But you aren’t sure how likely their stories are. They watched you throw your cap in the air, just like you had done many, many years prior. They both felt such a strong sense of pride, although both admitted to each other that the guilty feeling of missing most of your life was present, persistent. Will more than Benny. Benny tried to convince him you would never be upset at them. You could never be, they fought for you, in many ways. Truthfully, you were just happy they were home and safe. You cried when they left again, you were still just a kid. Refined, more poised than a four year old. But it still hurt them all the same, watching the tears that formed in your eyes. Trying to hold back your staggered breaths with a smile. A simple. “Don’t forget to write again. I love you guys.” Was the last they heard. 

Three years later your mother had begged the two boys to come back home and live as a family for a couple of years. ‘Just to get settled into life again.’ She would say. But you know it probably didn’t take much convincing for them to stay. It was exciting, after so many years of the hallways being quiet. There was finally a joyful noise that filled the house. Banter over dinner and rowdy movie nights. It wasn’t all perfect, of course. There were many nights that were just as loud in the worst kind of way. Fights and arguments. Your dad hated that Benny fought petty street fights for money. And Will had nightmares a lot, the kind that left him with his head in his hands at the kitchen island. You always seemed to wake in time to join him. Comfort him in the way he seemed to be so seamlessly able to soothe you as a child. Your hand on his back as a crutch. To say, “I’ve got you.”

It was two years before Will moved out. He had met a woman six months after his return. Fell head over heels. Your family adored her. She was kind, accepting, and comforting. Most importantly she was willing to be with your brother no matter what. It made you swoon. You were so happy for your brother to find that kind of support. Love. He deserved it. You couldn’t believe he was really all grown up. You were too, but it was different. You were the baby, you were always going to be. Will wasn't some ragged teenager anymore. Somehow you blinked and found yourself at his wedding. It was a lovely little reception, the venue was beautiful and it was a perfect summer day. You didn’t really date as of lately, you had gone on plenty of dates as a teen. But it was a little harder when you had two older brothers standing over you like two gargoyles. You had a short term boyfriend but it wasn’t more than a few dinner dates and maybe a couple kisses here and there. Not that your romantic life bothered you. You were young, twenty two was too young to stay in a long term romantic relationship. There were options, you just didn’t take them. You were content in your life. Or that’s what you kept telling yourself, noticing that you seemed to be the only one at the wedding who didn’t bring a date, or at least someone to stand next to. Jesus. You should’ve taken the chance to call your friend to be your plus one. You take a deep breath to avoid your mind falling into an even deeper hole, but the sound of Benny’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. 

“Yo, kiddo! We want you to meet some people.” 

You take his extended hand and follow him over to a table that seemed to have three other men, followed by two women who you presumed were their dates. You exchanged pleasantries. And came to learn of their names, Tom, Francisco and Santiago. Once you were introduced to their dates you noticed Santiago didn’t come with one. For some reason, it puts you at ease. Hoping to ignore the later questions of “Why didn’t you bring a date?” Benny brings you a chair to sit and you find yourself sitting right in between Santiago and Francisco. Although he prefers to be called ‘Frankie’, you’ve heard. The dinner goes smoothly, you finally get the speeches. One by one the friends take their turn speaking about Will. How headstrong he was, what a good friend he was. How happy he seemed now that he was married to the love of his life. How proud they all were of him. It gave you a sense of pride to be related to someone so selfless. The moment Santiago stood up your eyes immediately trailed his stature. The way the suit was fitted to him, and his cufflinks had a quick glimmer when light passed through. You quickly turn your gaze to Will, sending him a sweet smile. He nods in acknowledgment and turns his eyes back to Santiago. You follow suit, hoping no one noticed you staring and also hoping the quick detour would have your mind back on track. Although whatever track that is, you’re not completely sure. His speech is heartwarming, you can’t tell if he’s showing his charisma off or if he is really that charming. You watch the guys shake with a hearty laughter at one of their inside jokes being thrown in. 

After a while, the moment starts to die down. Couples are moving to the dance floor. You opt out of the dance for a glass or two of champagne that you so gracefully took from a walking server. Sitting in a chair on the sidelines you appreciate the atmosphere. The slow music, dull lights and overall happiness in the room. You feel bubbly by the time the next song plays. And through half lidded eyes you notice that someone took a seat next to you. “You good there, chiquita?” The voice calls out. You find yourself tensing up and turning to face him. “No, yeah, I’m fine.. Sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you..” You mumble out. There’s a stretched out silence before he speaks up again. “You wanna dance? You’ve been sitting here all night.” His question doesn’t sound like a question at all. He seemed certain you would say yes. You nodded at him, standing and walking out to the dance floor. He took your hand and placed it on his shoulder, while he planted his hands firmly on your waist. He set a distance between the two of you that made you want to laugh. Quite the gentleman, it seems. The two of you swayed kind of awkwardly for a bit until he suddenly seemed to give a little slack. The distance closed slightly. One continuous slow song after the other and you soon found yourself with no distance from Santiago. Your chests touching and his hands rubbing up and down your back. Your head tucked in the slot between his collarbone and shoulder. The smell of his cologne was all you could feel in the air surrounding. You swayed to the music, falling into a comfortable rhythm. The next song was fast paced, causing the two of you to pull away as if you got singed. Both of you frantically looked around, almost as if waiting for a punishment. Like dancing with someone at a wedding was wrong. It hadn’t felt wrong, you clear your throat and say your goodbyes. The rest of the party continued on as normal, no one seemingly noticing the two of you in such close proximity. You spent the rest of the time exchanging stolen glances at each other. 

You didn’t hear of him much after the wedding. Just little hints of his life from your brothers. You came to learn his nickname was ‘Pope’. Every time the name would pop up your attention was just suddenly on whoever was talking. After a month there was complete radio silence on anything Pope related. You were settling back into life and that little fantasy was just that. A small moment you could cherish once in a while. Until one night, you were sitting with Will and your sister in law at their house. Watching some random romcom that the two of you had picked out to force Will to watch. It was going pretty well, you had a bowl of popcorn in between your thighs as you sat legs crossed on the couch. Suddenly his phone rang. And you pouted as he paused the movie to answer it. “Hello?” Then silence, and more silence. Then— “Jesus, Pope.. Colombia? Are you sure? Alright. Only the best, my brother. Be safe.” The call had ended as abruptly as it started and Will was playing the movie without a second thought. He shuffled back into the couch and wrapped an arm around his wife. You couldn’t focus on the movie after that, and you hoped neither of the two could sense the same tension in the air you felt, but it’s likely they did. Life continued on after that, you managed to push every and all thought of Santiago to the back of your mind. It seemed to work, you got a job, started to go out more. Arranged things to move out, almost an hour away from home. Into the city in a small apartment. Your brothers were right there as you twisted the key into the lock for the first time. You slowly and surely started to root your life in your space. You saved up enough money for a cute little car. A black sedan. You were starting to mature, but it would’ve been nothing without the help of your family. It would be another three years before you saw his face again. 

The heat of summer was enough for you to contemplate jumping into the pool with your dress on. The barbecue was lively, there was Tom and his now ex-wife, Molly and their daughter, Tess. Frankie and his fiancée with their new baby. Your darling brothers fighting over who starts up the grill. Your excitement fell slightly at the thought of Santiago not being here. But from what you finally heard from the group, Santiago had been down in South America for the better part of the three years since Will’s wedding. You sigh and head for the table with all the drinks. The sound of cheers and laughs makes your eyes turn to the fence gate. Where Santiago now stands. Hugging all of his friends. You smile, getting ready to go up and greet him when you realize there’s a woman standing by his side. You halt in your tracks and settle for a slight wave and a quick ‘hello’. Your gaze lingers on the woman for a second too long before you turn your face to see Will finally starting up the grill. You sink your teeth slightly into your bottom lip and sit by the pool in a lounge chair. She was gorgeous, older than you, but not by more than five years. She seemed so refined, effortlessly beautiful even in the scorching heat of summer. The curls of her blonde hair bounce almost as to taunt you as she wraps her arm around his. You groan and let the back of your head hit the back of the chair. Your face was on fire. You felt childish, to have an on again off again crush on a man who clearly isn’t single and is the same age as your older brother. And not to mention they're best friends. You purposely want to ignore how you haven’t shared more than six words with the man. When you think it aloud in your head, you were crazy to believe there was anything there in the first place. Unless you misread the tension and he felt more like you were an annoying sidelines sister instead of a person. 

Around eight pm Will’s next door neighbors had stopped by to join. They were nice enough, two parents and a single son. No other children. You had spoken to their son once or twice before while you were visiting but didn’t think much of it. It was perfect timing for them to get in and eat. You kept your position by the pool, only moving to get drinks or change seats. You had your feet dipped in the water while you stared at the night sky. You were so engrossed in your own thoughts you didn’t hear the sound of the back door sliding open and closed. You didn’t pay much attention until the sounds of clothes shuffling and a soft grunt came from next to you. It was Santiago, with his pants rolled up his calf and his feet in the water with you. You beamed immediately, then deflated and avoided his gaze when you remembered who he came with. “How are you?” He broke the silence first. You took a second to think before answering his question with one of your own. “Don’t you think I should be asking that?” He chuckles at you before glancing at your reflection in the water. “Yeah that’s.. You’re right there, chiquita.” You smirked in triumph. The sound of the nickname rolling off his tongue made you instinctively press your thighs together. You watch his eyes flicker to your legs before back to your face. If he notices, he doesn't say anything. “I’m good. By the way..” You finally say. He hums in acknowledgment with a small smile on his face. “You look gorgeous, I like the dress.” His compliment cuts your breath short. Face going hot as you turn to look away from him. “Thanks, Santiag—“ “Santi. You can just call me Santi.” You smile. “Thanks, Santi.” This time it’s his turn to avoid your eyes and he clears his throat before getting up and out of the water. “I’ll uh, see you inside?” You shrug and lean back on the palms of your hands. He runs a hand down the lower part of his face and neck before turning on his heel and walking back towards the sliding door. 

Once the door is shut Santiago shakes his head and shoulders. Trying to ignore how beautiful you looked in your dress. Trying to forget the twitch of your thighs when he called you that. Did you like that? Did you find it creepy? Trying to focus back on being able to maneuver his way through endless conversation and questioning. Forcing himself to interact with a woman he really couldn’t care less for. Albeit he feels bad that he can’t care more for her, she was pretty nice. He grabs another beer and takes a seat on the couch once he’s dried his feet on a beach towel. His date takes a seat tucked underneath his arm and he goes to take a heavy swig. He looks down at her, her blue eyes staring right back into his brown ones. He forgot her name. She was meeting what he considered family and he couldn’t even remember her fucking name? Santiago needed to get his life on track. But after three years looking for that cockroach in South America all he wanted was to take a breather. At least before he went back to finish the job. That meant finding a new girl to be under him every other week. Santi had heard this record millions of times before, the same skip in the track. Where he can’t take the different woman to fill the void anymore. But he isn’t there yet, he tells himself. He’s at a nice summer barbecue, there isn’t anything or anyone that’s looking for him back in the states. There is no one with a gun to his head or far off with a scope that has him in clear sight. He can take a breath without having to worry if it’ll be too loud and alert an enemy. 

He’s so deep in thought he doesn’t even notice the kid shaking at his shoulder asking him to talk. Santiago grunts as the boy pulls him into a room deeper throughout the house. He recognizes him as the neighbor's kid but just barely. What was his name? “Uh.. Tony? Right?” Santiago asks him. “Yeah, Anthony but Tony works too.. Just wanted to ask..” He clears his throat and places his hands on his hips. Paces around. Santiago sucks air through his teeth. “Ask what, kid? Spit it out.” After hearing what the boy had to say he wishes he didn’t ask. “Are you and the youngest Miller like, fucking or something?” Santiago takes a step back in shock. “What? What the fuck, no?” Tony raises an eyebrow and sends a condescending smirk Santiago’s way. “Alright, so if you don’t like her.. Then you won’t mind me asking her out then, right?” Santiago scowls. “Why would I? Listen, man. That’s your fucking business. Not mine.” He lets out a deep breath, wishing he could walk away from this moment. This horribly awkward moment. Santiago wanted to sink into the floor. Had people thought they were? Together? The thought ran a shudder down Santiago’s spine. His jaw clenched before he heard the young man in front of him speak again. “Good. I was worried you were her fucking sugar daddy or somethin—” Santiago didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence before his fist collided with the boy's chin. It shoved Tony back a couple steps and sent him against a side table, shoving a vase to the floor which managed to catch the attention of Will. Santiago shook his hand before reeling back and throwing another punch. Sending Tony to the ground this time. Crouching down to the floor he whispers to Tony. “You can ask her whatever you want. But don't forget to have some fucking respect. ¿Entiendes?” Tony nodded his head furiously. Not soon enough was the door swinging open with Will pulling Santiago up from the ground and pushing him aside to lift up Tony. 

“What the fuck, Pope?”

Santiago just wiped his nose with his hand and walked away. As he walked towards the door of the room the stupid boy had brought them into, you rushed in. You overheard Will's voice and then the sudden questioning of Tony to ask if he was alright. The blood that dripped on the floor contradicted his next statement. “I’m fine. I guess I just struck a nerve.” Santiago’s jaw clenched before he turned on his heel and left. The girl he came with followed behind. Will sighed. Then got up and went to grab a first aid kit. You stared down at where Anthony was sitting. “What happened?” You asked. He smiled up at you. “Nothing, darling. I guess he just got defensive when I asked if you guys were a thing. That’s all.” You blinked at him. “A thing? W-We’ve spoken like four times in the past six years I don’t think that's considered a thing.. Plus he brought a woman.” There was a slight edge to your voice. You wouldn’t describe why this conversation had started to aggravate you so quickly. “Careful. You sound jealous.” Anthony sent a chuckle your way. And while it was supposed to feel like a warm joke you only felt the ice coating the words of his sentence. Jealous? You were jealous. You liked Santiago, you liked the idea of being a thing with him. You just know he wouldn’t feel the same. You gave him a dry chuckle. “Right. Feel better, Tony.” You sent him a cold glare before crossing your arms and walking out of the room. You walked out onto the porch where you saw Tom, Frankie and Santi standing around his jeep. At a closer inspection you noticed the woman he came with sitting in the passenger seat of the car. You made your way to them. They dropped silent when you approached, which you met with a scoff. “All quiet now? What was that about, Santi?” He sighs before turning his back to you and starts to walk to his car door. You scoffed again and rolled your eyes. Looking at Frankie while Santiago started his car and began to back out of the driveway. “Seriously, what the hell is his problem?” You ask the taller man, who only responds in a chuckle. “You make him nervous, that's all.” He brings his hand up to ruffle your hair before he and Tom both walk back into the house after Frankie drops that on you. 

Nervous? You made Santiago nervous? He made you nervous, he made your heart speed up and your breath catch in your throat. You tried so desperately to blame it on his lover boy persona but you knew you found him attractive for your own reasons. You sighed and sat on the porch steps. You just needed to be away from the party, You weren’t expecting him to roll back up. And clearly, he wasn’t expecting you to be sitting at the front entrance. “Were you waiting for me?” He asks hesitantly, you look up at him and smile slightly. “Not necessarily, but it’s a nice surprise that you came back.” You pat the space on the steps next to you. “I know what made you hit him. But how did he word it?” Your question makes Santiago uneasy, you probably thought he was a total creep. Strange for hitting a younger man who probably would capture your attention more than he would. “He asked if we were fucking. Then he said he thought I was your sugar daddy.” He spits out the sentence through gritted teeth and tense shoulders. He only relaxes the second he hears you cackle beside him. He looks over to you in surprise. “Oh god he’s so stupid. That’s hilarious. I appreciate you hitting him for me. Defending my honor and all that.” A heat bubbles in Santiago’s chest at the sound of your laugh. He wants to hear it again and again until you can’t laugh anymore. He chuckles and elbows your arm. “Come on, wouldn’t you wanna be with a fun guy like him?” You stop laughing and look into Santiago’s eyes. “No way, he isn’t my type at all.” Your sentence is more of a whisper. “What’s your type?” Santiago’s question goes unanswered,  instead turning your head to lean in. 

Santiago starts to lean in too, and for a second you wonder if you’re imagining it. Then, as if he regains some form of self restraint he pulls away from you before swallowing harshly. “Shit, I–We can’t.” You frown at him. “Why can't we?” Your kicked puppy expression has Santiago wishing he could kiss it off of you, give into you. Give you what you truly wanted. But he isn’t meant for that, the white picket fence and family with a dog. Three bedroom house with a backyard and a mortgage. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. He just didn’t think he could actually achieve it. “–You know why. I think I’d die a fatal death by Millers before my actual time. No way authorities would find my body, either..” He laughs dryly to himself. But you continue to stare at him with a stern expression. “I'm not a child, you know. I can make my own choices.” He sighs and places a hand on the side of your face. “I know, princesa. It’s just complicated.” You sigh and lean into his touch. “Tell me you don’t want me then.” “What?” His voice is a whisper as he gazes into your eyes. “Tell me.. You don’t want to be with me, try with me. And I’ll drop it.” You watch as his jaw clenches. The silence makes you wonder if that’s his answer to you. You go to wiggle out of his space before he pulls you towards him into a bruising kiss. You hum into his lips and wrap your arms around his neck. His hands move towards your hips, and with a soft grunt he’s lifting you up into his arms, carrying you and walking towards his jeep before setting you down in front of the passenger door. “You want this? Me? Won't be easy.” He chuckles once more, this time it’s genuine. You smile up at him, face flushed, with your pupils blown out and your lips plump from the earlier kiss. “Have for years, Santi. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

“I couldn’t ever make you wait, chiquita.”

#this is so sloppy but i needed to get this out #this is my audition for the oscar isaac fanclub tbh #santiago garcia x reader #santi garcia x reader #pope garcia x reader #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #oscar isaac imagine #˚ . ☆ ⋆。˚ — my writing.

[blazehedgehog]

ICYMI: My Sonic Frontiers Criticism/Essay Is Out Now

So here's the last four months of my life come to fruition: the longest piece of edited criticism I've ever put on my Youtube channel, clocking in at just over an hour. For those of you that may be new around here, I am pretty against making long videos. I don't know if I overthink things too much or what, but it's rare for me to have much tolerance for feature-length reviews of things. They can wear me out just watching them, and it definitely wears me out to make them.

But sometimes you just have a lot to say. And I didn't even necessarily say everything I could have said here; there were things I would have added if not for the looming deadline proposed by the video sponsor. That's not a complaint -- sometimes you need someone else to tell you "be done by this date or else." Limitations foster creativity and toiling away at perfection can sometimes be just as toxic as crunch.

What I was trying to say is it's a big video, and it was hard keeping everything straight in my head because there was so much. One of those times where I was glad how I planned things out in advance, because sometimes the thoughts you had four months ago are not the same thoughts you have today, and the thoughts from four months ago were better.

It's already proving to be a bit of a divisive video, given I am going against the grain here. But I'm a big boy. I've spent time on the front lines of these sorts of things before. I know how to handle myself. I mean, half the reason I started my tumblr back in the day was pointing out some of the truly deranged takes I'd get in the replies to my Sonic 06 video.

Though I do worry. I'm getting a lot of people who are... politely declining to tell me what they think. More than a few "I don't agree with you, but I'm glad you released this video" that then never elaborate further. And that makes me feel bad? But why? Do I want to argue with my friends? Not particularly.

But more to the point, are people afraid to argue with me? Do I get too aggressive? I've picked up on a vibe, not just from friends, where people seem to go out of their way to avoid arguments with and/or around me. I mean I literally just said I started my Tumblr blog as a "get a load of this guy in my comments" spotlight (which, for the record, I don't do anymore). I don't want to be scary. But is it scary, or is it a strength? Or am I just imagining the whole thing? History says it's probably that last one, but it doesn't stop me from wondering. It's a lot to chew on.

At the end of the day, I do think parts of this script could have been better. I do kind of get a little mean at a couple points in ways I could have written around. A lot of people are bristling at the opening spiel, where I get more than a little "you people" about the Game Awards voting situation. There's another part later in the video where I also feature actual comments from a previous video and as I was editing it together I thought, "this sounds mean." But given I was less than 24 hours away from that deadline, I just had to roll with it (so I at least blurred the names and cropped the avatars out).

I'll end this post by quoting what I wrote on Patreon day before yesterday for the early access version of this video:

What a march this has been. I've worked on some videos that felt like they took forever, but nothing like this. This felt like the project that would never end. Some of that's because, after pushing myself so hard on the Sonic Adventure 2 video, I tried to be a little more casual with this one. I think I started the script around the end of April, a couple weeks after finishing the game on-stream. The idea was to avoid burnout.  And then the script grew, and grew, and grew, to be the longest script I've ever written. After doing voice over, I had three hours of material I had to cut down. I captured more than 60 hours of gameplay from more than 50 games. Thank goodness I took the time to stop and "storyboard" out this review like I did with the SA2 video. It actually proved to be extremely valuable here -- with a video this long, that takes so long to put together, it's hard to keep all of your ideas hot and ready in your head. Often I'd fall back to the storyboard and realize I planned something months ago that was way better than what I was doing in the moment.  And then in July, a sponsor came calling again. Suddenly I had a real deadline. The last four weeks have been a race to move this mountain of material into something resembling the shape of a video. The last couple days in particular have felt something like a miracle. A work ethic I hadn't tapped into in years suddenly roared to life as I locked down 20+ minutes of video in a matter of hours. It may have involved several actual panic attacks and me running on about four hours of sleep, but here we are. I was revising the script all the way up until a week ago. In retrospect, the sponsor segment probably leans a little too much on SAGE content, but by the time I realized that the train was barreling down the tracks too fast to stop. Thoughts for next time, I guess.

Patrons get a PDF of the script I used, including an unfinished earlier draft I abandoned where I think I was actually even meaner about it, if you can believe it. They also get a PDF of what my "storyboarding" process looks like (which is all just text).

I'll probably toss up a post for all the art I made for this video, too.

#sonic the hedgehog #sega #sonic team #sonic frontiers #youtube #video #long #behind the scenes #Youtube