#what benny doesn’t know

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For One Night Only! | A What Benny Doesn't Know Story!!

Summary: It's Saturday night. The whole gang are out at a bar having a good time, but Magpie's only got one thing on her mind.... getting revenge on Santiago for what happened in Italy.

Word Count: 14.5K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Lot's of filthy adult fun! Threesome, Double Penetration, Squirting, Toys, Anal Play, Oral (F & M Receiving), Light Bondage, Dirty Talk. Santiago being put in his place.

A/N: Better late than never. I thought I was going to be able to have this finished by Friday but then it just kept getting away from me. Many late nights went into this so if there are still a couple mistakes after proof reading I apologise. This is the long awaited bonus chapter to What Benny Doesn't Know. Fucking enjoy.

What Benny Doesn't Know | Bonus Chapter

“So when are you gonna tell him?” Frankie calls up the stairs to you.

“I was thinking I'd drag it out as long as possible.” you call back as you finish hooking your heel into your shoe. You grab your earrings off the dresser, putting them in as you begin to make your way downstairs.

“So what do you think?” you ask.

Frankie stands at the bottom of the stairs with his mouth hanging open. “I think I'm starting to regret saying I was okay with this.” His arms folding across his chest defensively as he lets his body fall against the wall, his eyes still moving up and down, drinking you in. It was a simple look. A little black dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, the length just grazing your mid thigh. You had paired it with your favourite denim jacket, the sleeves rolled up to just below your elbows. Your hair had a messy loose wave to it, that added some body and texture. Your make up was extremely subtle, only adding to enhance your natural features, save for the bold red lip you had put on. Your skin was sun kissed and glowing from the summer sun. You knew you looked good.

“It's not too late to back out.” you say to him as you come to a stop on the bottom step. “We can just go out and enjoy the evening.”

“No, no.” he says, pushing himself off the wall, coming to stand in front of you. Being one step up makes you almost even in height and you comfortably wrap your arms around the back of his neck. Your fingers play with the longer tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck, just below the collar of his shirt. His hands find a home, resting on your hips as his eyes bore into you. It was a look that said 'I'm secure enough in our relationship to deal with this'.

He lets out a small scoff as his head dips, looking down at the step between you. “He's gonna kill me after this isn't he.” he jokes as his eyes move back up to yours.

“Come on, it's Santi.” you smile back. “He's gonna love it.” There's a small devilish glimmer of mischief Frankie sees in your eyes and it takes everything in his power not to get down on one knee in that second and ask you to marry him. You give him a quick peck on his lips, not wanting to transfer your lipstick onto him so early on in the night, before stepping off the final step and making your way towards the kitchen.

“What time did you tell the girls we were picking them up?” Frankie asks, as you pick up your phone to check your messages.

“I told Caitlin we'd pick them up about 7ish.” you reply, your eyes glued to the screen as you open a message from Will. It had an image attached of him in jeans and a white button up. He had rolled the sleeves up and left the top two buttons undone, to show off just enough of his own sun kissed skin. 'Is this okay?' the message underneath read.

'Yea it's perfect, what time are you two leaving?' you quickly shoot back, as Frankie continues to talk to you across the room.

“And they know we aren't taking them home, right?”

“Will knows he's taking them home.” you shoot back as your phone pings with Will's reply.

'Hopefully in the next 20 mins. Benny's only just getting in the shower now.'

'Okay see you soon.'

You look up from your phone to see Frankie leaning against the door frame silently watching you. “What?” you question as a bashful smile breaks across your face, a faint rosy glow painting your cheeks. He slowly pushes himself away from the doorway making his way over to you, his hands outstretched. He places them either side of your head, his fingers tangling messily into your hair. Your hands reached up to cover his. “What?” you half giggle again as he continues to stare at you silently.

“Nothing I just...” his voice cuts out as he struggles to find the words to say.

“Look I know you were the one who put this on the table in the first place but you can change your mind-” you begin to ramble, your mind jumping to conclusions.

“-No it's not that.” he quickly cuts you off. “Trust me I can't wait to see the look on his face when you put that pendejo in his place, god knows he needs it.”

“Then what is it?” you question, your thumbs rubbing soothingly on the back of his hands as you search his eyes for what he was struggling to say. He steps away from you scoffing, a hand coming up to rake through his hair as he shakes his head, his eyes looking to the ground.

“It's nothing, you just... You make me feel like the luckiest guy alive.”

You giggle bashfully before moving your hands down to his hips, your finger tips reaching to dig playfully at the bottom of his ribs tickling him. He jumps back at the sensation causing you to let out a small laugh. You watch as a small blush begins to spread faintly across his cheeks, embarrassed by how corny he was being.

“Alright Romeo.” you giggle, but your face falls as soon as you see the expression on his face change, a sudden devilish idea popping into his head. “No.” you say warily, as you begin to take steps backwards, his own fingers outstretched. “Frankie! NO! Frankie!” you squeal as he begins chasing you around the kitchen island, attempting to tickle you back in revenge.

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Benny and Lisa are off playing pool. Will and Caitlin are sat on the other side of the booth engrossed in their own conversation beside Santi, who is perched at the edge of the booth, feeling slightly uncomfortable surrounded by couples. Suddenly the music changes. “Oh my god I love this song!” Caitlin squeals. “Let's go dance.” she says bouncing up off her seat, her hand reaching to drag Will with her. Her eyes bore into yours, encouraging you to get up and drag Frankie with you too.

Santiago's eyes had been on you ever since you had walked in earlier on in the evening. His eyes couldn't help but run up and down the length of your legs, your little black dress not leaving much to the imagination as to what lay beneath, not that Santi had to use his imagination. As the four of you left him at the table, he couldn't help but let his eyes fall to your figure yet again. You'd taken your jacket off now, showing off the top of the dress better. The straps ran down into a v shape in the front and in the back, showing off just the right amount of skin. Santi sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, his head quickly looking back down to the table as he slightly shakes it, berating himself.

'Shit, how has she got even hotter since Italy. SHIT! I shouldn't even think about her like that anymore, she's Frankie's girl now, but-' his thoughts pause as he finds his eyes wandering back over to you again. He watches as you turned your back to Frankie, pushing yourself against him. Frankie's hands grabbing at the fabric of your skirt as you sway and grind against one another.

“He's watching.” Frankie coos into the crook of your neck and you let out a small giggle before shooting a look over to where Santi was still sat. You couldn't help but laugh louder in satisfaction as his eyes quickly dart away.

The music changes, a jazzy salsa number coming on and you turn in towards Frankie. “Want to give him a show?” you ask, looking up at him seductively through your eyelashes. Salsa was one of Frankie's hidden talents. You loved dancing and when Frankie had suggested you go out on a date night to a local salsa club you couldn't resist. Turns out with his lead, you were quite the couple. He glances over the top of your head to his best friend, to make sure you both have his attention again before looking down at you, giving you a cheeky smile and nod before he quickly turns you. Your body flicks out with the momentum, your arms stretching out, encouraging people to make space around you, before he pulls you back into him again. As the music begins to swell around you, everything else falls away as Frankie dips and spins you around, both of you stepping and swaying your hips with the music. Every now and again he'd pull you close to him and you would twist and grind against each other for a moment before he snapped you into another quick turn. Your limbs stretching out taking up the space around you and your hair flipping and fanning out around you.

Santiago watched from his seat at the table mesmerised. He was broken from his fixation by a sudden slap on his shoulder. He turns his head to find Will and Caitlin had made their way back to the table to join him. At seeing their own eyes locked onto yours' and Frankie's moving forms, twirling around the dancefloor, he felt slightly less creepy knowing he wasn't the only one staring. “They're amazing.” Caitlin marvelled, the words seeming to just slip from between her lips.

“Did you know he could dance like that?” Will asks Santiago, but Santiago's eyes are firmly back on yours, completely transfixed. You turn before bending over, flicking your hair back as you stand upright again and Santi swears you just looked at him and winked.

Santiago's pants were suddenly starting to feel really tight. “I'm gonna go get another drink.” he shouts over the music at Will as he stands. He attempts to discreetly adjust his jeans, as he makes his way towards the bar, taking in a deep breaths as he approaches the bar tender.

“What can I get for you?” the bar tender asks as the music begins to change again.

“Can I just get another beer?” he asks.

“Make that two.” comes an out of breath voice beside him. He knows it's you before he even turns to look. You have one hand on your hip, the other hand shaking out your hair as you pant furiously, trying to get your breath back. Santiago can't help but be transfixed by a single bead of sweat, watching it closely, as it runs down the side of your neck.

“That was quite the show.” he says to you as the bartender hands over the two bottles of beer. You immediately take the one closest to you, taking a quick, sip before placing the cool bottle against your forehead in an attempt to cool you down.

“Uh huh.” you agree nodding.

“I didn't know you could dance like that.”

“Uh huh.” you say again smiling between heavy breathes, your head turning, eyes locking with his. You remove the cold glass from against your head and take another sip from the bottle, your breathing finally becoming more controlled. “There's a lot you don't know about me Santi.” you tease.

You both turn, your backs leaning against the bar as you both look back over to the booth and your friends. Benny and Lisa have finished their game of pool and are now sat back in the booth together. You watch as Benny makes some comment and they all burst out in laughter. “So how come they get to be set up with your pretty friends and I don't.” Santi asks. He tries to say it with a playful lilt to his question, but you know underneath he's feeling jealous and left out.

“Because Santi,” you pause for a moment for dramatic effect, taking another swig of beer, leaving just enough time to know you have his attention and get him on the hook, “I have other plans for you tonight.” you tease shooting him a wink and a cheeky smile before walking away, heading back for the table.

You can feel the way Santiago's face drops without even looking. The sound of him half choking on the sip of beer he had had in his mouth, half spraying it on the people around him. You hear faint sounds of a girl near Santi groan in disgust as the spray catches the back of her arm. It almost makes you want to giggle as you lock eyes with Frankie as you approach the table, but his face tells a different story. You are half way to working the expression out when you feel fingers grip like a vice around your wrist.

You stop and turn your head to see Santiago staring at you with that dark look that never fails to make you feel like your legs will collapse under the weight of it. “Fine.” He says taking the bottle out of your other hand and placing it on the table in front of Frankie, “the two of you want to play games? I'll play.” he says to both of you, causing the rest of your party to go silent with intrigue.

He pulls you back towards the dancefloor as you stare helplessly at Frankie, who's suddenly feeling sheepish, his arms folding over his chest. The palm of his hand moving to cover his mouth in an attempt to keep some composure. Frankie's eyes never leave your body though providing you at least some comfort in this unpredictable moment.

All of a sudden your vision blurs as you are being twirled to face Santiago. Your hands slam against his chest, his t-shirt spread tight against his muscles. You slowly lift your eyes from his chest, to his neck, to his chin, then lips, until your eyes meet his. He leans his head down to your ear. “I'm intrigued to see which one of you breaks first.” he threatens lowly, his fingertips reaching for your hips. His touch burns through the fabric of your dress as he begins to roll your hips in time with the music, his own hips following suit. You take a shaky breathe in, as you take in the scent of his skin, a mix of sweat and cologne. His scent is suddenly ripped away from you again though, as he takes a sharp step back from you, his hand reaching for yours. He twirls you, wanting to keep you on your toes, before pulling you back closely into his chest.

“See here's the thing Magpie,” he says again into your ear as you both step in time with the music. Your hips feel like they are glued to one another, his hands rest lazily at your waist. Your own arms draping loosely over the tops of his shoulders as he continues to speak, “I don't think you've thought this little plan of yours out very well.” his fingers tickle up your sides as he brings them up, gently gliding along your arms sending goosebumps to shiver through them, until he can grab your hands to turn you again. This time he pulls your back into his chest, your ass grinding into his crotch as he makes you both face Frankie. You continue to stare at Frankie as Pope grazes your ear with his lips. “You see, you sell yourself short querida. I don't think you realise how much of an effect seeing you dance like this has, or how long it will take Frankie to break. To get possessive and claim you back all for himself.”

Your eyes lock onto Frankie's and a small smirk graces the corner of your lips, a silent communication to him 'Pope is firmly on the hook'. He's playing right into your hands. He thinks this is all leading to a threesome between the three of you at the end of the night. No. What Santiago Garcia doesn't know, that Frankie does, is this is first and foremost a revenge mission.

You turn yourself back round and Santiago dips you with one arm around your back, the other lifts your leg up to rest against his thigh. Your hands reach to tangle into the back of his hair as he flips you back up again, his fingertips ghosting along the bare flesh of your thigh as he still holds you close to him. You hold your face close to his as you speak into his lips, “I promise you the only one of us who's gonna break tonight Garcia, is going to be you.”

You let your eyes move temptingly between his eyes and lips. You feel his energy change as he tries to process what you mean. His fingertips slacken on your thigh and you slowly slide it back down his leg. You feel him shudder slightly as you place your foot firmly back on the floor. You subtly bite your lip as you begin to step backwards away from him teasingly. “Sure you still want to play Santi?”

The question is left open, as you leave him, making your way back to the booth. “What did you say to him?” Frankie asks you as he stands, allowing you to slide onto the seat next to Lisa and Benny. Frankie's eyes watch Santiago concerned as he moves over towards the bar instead of following you back to the table.

“Nothing. He's just thinking through his next move.” you shrug nonchalantly.

“You think he's gonna back out?” Will chimes in from across the table.

“Hardly.” Benny scoffs. “Pope loves two things a challenge and good pussy.”

“Benny!” Lisa says as she gives him a slap to his arm in an attempt to hold him accountable for his words.

“Ahh what!” he retorts, not thinking he's stepped over any line. He looks between your own face and Frankie's before it hits him. “Oh sorry man.” he offers his feeble apology towards Frankie. It makes you chuckle. Benny never changes.

“You can sweet talk my pussy all you want Ben, you're still not gonna get a look in.” you throw back at him. He clutches at his chest in response, pretending he just got hit. You all laugh at the younger Miller's crassness.

“I'm gonna go check in on Pope.” Frankie leans down to say into your ear as he dismisses himself from the laughing group. You give a quick glance over at Santiago's back as he leans on the bar before giving Frankie a small nod.

“You okay man?” Frankie asks, slapping a hand on his best friends shoulder. Frankie glances down at the bar to see one empty shot glass of tequila already on the top. A second sits between Santiago's fingers, ready to be drunk.

Frankie watches his friend closely as he knocks back the drink, slamming the glass back down on the bar top, before he responds. “You gonna tell me what I've walked into tonight or what man?” Frankie can't help but let out a chuckle. He's never seen Santiago so rattled before. “Seriously hermano, tell me. Am I in trouble here?”

“Look man, you got the opportunity to fuck her again. You telling me you're gonna turn that down?”

It's the first time the words have officially been said out loud and it makes Santiago regret that last shot as the weight of the situation fully hits his stomach. “Shit.” He groans his left hand hitting the bar top. His right hand reaches to run through his tight curls, pulling on them slightly. “You guys actually serious about this?” he questions, turning to Frankie.

“I mean if you don't want to-”

Before he has a chance to finish his sentence Santiago is finding his voice again. “Who's car we taking?” Frankie takes one glance down at the bar top and the empty shot glasses. Santiago follows his eyes. “Yeah you're probably right.” Santiago says shakily, his palms beginning to sweat with the realisation that this was actually happening.

Frankie sneaks you a quick glance, nodding his head towards the door, as he reaches into his pocket for his keys. “Well it looks like it's go time.” you jest to the rest of the table as you gather your bag and jacket.

“Hey Mags,” Benny hollers at you as you get up, “don't torture him too much.”

“Oh I'm sure she will.” Will chimes in with a big grin.

“Just make sure you get these two home safe, okay?” you say across the table to them as Frankie and Santi reach you. Frankie's arm reaches out to to rest at your back, encouraging you along with them.

“See you guys later.” Frankie says. Santiago gives everyone at the table a small nod in acknowledgement before his eyes become fixated on the door.

“I'm assuming they were in on this little plan of yours the whole time hermosa?” Santi throws out to your little trio, as you squeeze between people to get to the exit.

“Yup.” you beam as you pop the p, shooting him a mischievous look from the corner of your eye. Santiago's eyes involuntarily roll, as Frankie slaps a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

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The drive home was tense with anticipation, the only sound permeating the silence was the soft rock playing on the radio. You had forced Santiago to ride in the back with you in an attempt to build up as much tension between the two of you as possible. It was taking Frankie all of his effort to keep his eyes on the road, despite the sickening feeling of anxiety that was beginning to take root in the pit of his stomach. With Pope now in the back of the car with you, things were starting to get real.

He tries to keep his breathing steady as he recounts your plan in his head over and over again, his knuckles repeatedly curling around the steering wheel. He attempts to focus on the music coming from the radio to distract him, but his eyes can't help but begin to wander to the rear view mirror to keep tabs on you. He watches as you slip your shoes off, your leg slowly reaching out to brush along Santiago's calf. He can't see Santiago's face from this angle but he observes intensely how his knee shifts, his thigh tensing as your foot climbs higher and higher up his leg. He see's how you shift in your seat towards Santi. It takes all of his effort to pull his gaze away and back to the road in front of him, a small grunt getting trapped in his throat, as a surge of arousal shoots straight to his crotch at the thought of being a voyeur.

In the backseat, Santiago is beginning to experience a similar feeling. His eyes dart between your own and the back of Frankie's head in the drivers seat, his pants feeling like he's being strangled by a boa constrictor, as your foot rubs agonisingly slowly across his covered cock. Although Frankie can't see Santiago, Santiago has a perfect angle from which to watch Frankie's wandering eyes. The thought of Frankie watching as his, girlfriend tease him, his best friend, in the backseat of his own car is almost too much of a thought for his brain to take. He watches as Frankie's eyes linger just that little bit too long on the backseat, “Keep your eyes on the road hermano.” he chastises. His eyes chase the way Frankie's eyes snap forward in submission and the teasing upturn of the corner of your luscious red lips. Lord how he couldn't wait to ruin that lipstick, see it smeared bright red on the skin of all three of you.

You had been so transfixed on watching Santiago keep as composed a face as possible as he slowly grew harder and harder against your foot, that you had completely forgotten about what Frankie was doing in the front seat, until Santiago's commanding voice rang out through the car. You wanted to feel guilty but then you took a closer look at the determined look on Frankie's face. How he shuffled in his seat, the vein in his neck tensing as the blood flew around his body. You remember how he actively turned you down when you had asked him if he wanted to be actively involved in your antics tonight. Seeing his reaction now, you knew his answer was currently changing.

With your brain momentarily distracted, your foot presses harder against Santi's cock. He grunts, quickly shifting in his seat in reaction, drawing your attention back to him again. It wasn't a sound of pain though, it was one of pleasure. You feel Santiago's hand reach to soothe across the top of your foot before he begins to push it down harder, grinding himself up more intensely against you. You watch as his is eyes close, his head falling back into the headrest. It sends a flood of arousal straight to your core, a tiny betraying whimper escaping your lips. Your hips shift in your seat.

You hoped the sound was quiet enough to go unnoticed, but the way Santiago's head turns, eyelids fluttering open to stare at you, the tip of his tongue reaching out to graze his bottom lip before he pulls it between his teeth, lets you know he definitely heard it. Your eyes lock hungrily onto one another as his hand slowly begins to snake up your leg, his fingertips burning a trail all the way to the hem of your dress. You almost let his hand move further up towards your pussy. Your clit was practically throbbing in desperation, aching to be touched, but you quickly berate yourself. Your foot kicks up to thud commandingly against his chest. “Keep your hands to yourself Garcia.” You feel the air in the car change, both men silently reacting to the dominating statement.

The three of you freeze for a moment. It feels conflicting on your skin, a chill running up your arms from the look in Santiago's eyes, whilst your lungs burn, like they're trying to breathe in the humidity of a day in mid August, in Florida. There's a beat before Santiago quietly responds with a “Yes Ma'am.” his hands slowly raising in surrender.

At his submission you slowly began to trail your foot down his chest and back down towards his ever rock hard cock, still painfully confined within his pants. He waits a moment before his hands begin to reach towards the button on his trousers, his eyes never leaving yours. He raises his eyebrows slightly, waiting to see if you'll challenge the action. You don't say anything, just raising your own eyebrows curiously in response, encouraging him to try his luck.

His fingers move to pop the button and he lets out a sigh in relief at the small feeling of freedom, his eyes quickly fluttering closed again in satisfaction. But before he has too much time to revel in it, your foot is moving again, toes edging down his zipper and tucking themselves inside the fabric. “Fuck.” you hear him quietly groan, his hand reaching to grip the grooves of the door beside him, before his eyes are snapping open and in your direction again.

You had become so focussed on the intense look in Santiago's eyes, now long locked onto yours in an almost deadly staring contest as he continues to grind against your foot, that you had barely noticed Frankie turning onto your street, let along swinging into the driveway. You slowly pull your foot away from Santiago, regaining some composure as you shift slightly, sitting yourself properly in your seat once more. You're so tense that the sound of Frankie slamming the driver's side door shut is almost enough to make you jump, as you reach down into the footwell to grab your shoes. It takes all your effort to keep your eyes fixed on Santiago's, to keep him feeling like a fish on a hook, right up until the moment Frankie opens the door beside you. You watch Santiago a moment longer as his gaze flicks back to where Frankie is stood holding the door open for you. You give Santiago one last look up and down behind heavy sultry lashes, grabbing his attention again, before you finally climb out of the car.

You lock eyes with Frankie, giving him a conspiratorial smile. You notice he seems distracted though. You raise an eyebrow to him, a silent question of 'are you okay?' You watch his pupils closely, a square of white from the driveway light reflected in them. They suddenly flicker, as his sight becomes more focused on you and less on the thoughts in his head. It takes him a moment for his brain to put your subtle cues together, but he quickly gives you a small smile and nod. “Come on Garcia.” he almost barks out territorially, just to cement his answer to you. You're still unconvinced though as you take a step back, allowing him space to close the car door.

You go to walk in the direction of the front door, when you feel Frankie's fingers wrap around your wrist. He pulls you sharply back to him, your back pressing into the door of the car as he crowds you against it, forcing you to stare up into his eyes. “Put on that black 3 piece set you bought for my birthday.” he says to you hushed, so Santiago won't hear.

“What?” you question confused and you watch as his eyes move down to your chest and back up again. “I thought you hated that set?”

“No, I hate trying to get you out of it when all I want to do after seeing you in it, is stick my fucking cock in you.”

It makes you want to laugh at the suddenness statement, but you can't help but subtly rub your thighs together as his words, paired with the current look in his eyes, sends a rush of arousal straight to your core. In a normal scenario, if you were on the wrong side of him when Frankie snapped it could be intimidating, but when he did it in the bedroom it was nothing short of one of the hottest things you had ever seen. He takes one look over your head, across the top of the car to where Santiago is getting out on the other side. He unhooks the keys from where they've been curled tightly under his fingers, holding them up by the key ring to you.

You take the keys from him as his arm moves to wrap around the back of your head, wresting across the tops of your shoulders as he tips your head to him. He gives you a tender kiss to your forehead. “You got this baby.” his voice comes in encouragement, your arms reaching to wrap around his middle. You flash him a smile in agreement and you almost melt at the twinkle of pride in his eye, before your wriggling out of his embrace.

You feel a small tap to your ass as you go to move around the car to Santi. You flash your man another quick smile over your shoulder. “Come on Garcia.” you encourage him as you get round to his side of the car, before continuing quickly across the concrete towards the front door.

Santiago follows quickly at your heels. You can practically feel his warm, heavy breaths ghosting over your shoulder as your fingers fiddle with the lock. His looming presence unnerves you slightly, turning your stomach, making you question whether you really have the bottle for this. Santiago's wrath when riled up could be almost as intense and explosive as Frankie's, but with the sound of Frankie's footsteps moving ever closer, reminding you of his own presence in this scenario and the look of pride and encouragement in his eyes just moments ago, you allow yourself to relax. The feeling and sound of the latch moving beneath your fingertips, acting as an opening of it's own to something within you.

Your hand reaches behind you for Santiago's, as you step over the threshold, pulling him in behind you. You begin to march him through the house, throwing reassuring looks his way over your shoulder every now and again. Your free hand drops the keys on the kitchen island as you pass it, the sound of Frankie closing the front door echoing out throughout the house in quick succession.

You drop Santiago's hand as your foot reaches the bottom step. You feel him hesitate a moment behind you as he pauses. His eyes moving to follow Frankie who's taking his time, making himself at home, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge; seeming to ignore his girlfriend dragging his best friend to their bedroom, instead of following closely behind. “Hey Garcia.” your voice says, commanding his attention, “Eye's on me.”

He looks from Frankie to you then back to Frankie again. “I'd listen to her if I were you Pope.” Frankie says as he leans casually back against the kitchen counter.

It's all the encouragement Santiago needs to continue following you up the stairs, still checking over his shoulder every couple of steps to see when Frankie would follow them. It slows him down though. You have already thrown open the bedroom door and perched yourself on the edge of the bed, waiting for him, when he finally gets up to the landing.

Your hands stretch out, reaching for him. Beckoning him to you. When he's close enough to you, you pull him down onto the bed next to you, your eyes staring up into his intensely. Your hand reaching for his knee, your fingers glide slowly up his thigh. “Do you still want me Santi?” you ask innocently.

Your voice, paired with the sensation of your hands on him, sends blood rushing straight to his cock. He stutters slightly, his voice strained as he lets out a small 'yes' in admission. You pause a moment, your lips dangerously close to his. Your gaze flicks between his lips and his eyes, waiting to see how long it will take him to cave. To break the tension and close the gap between you. You slowly run the tip of your tongue against the opening of your lips and watch as his eyes follow closely.

It acts as the final straw for Santiago, his lips moving to crash into yours. His hands reach up to close around either side of your face, his palms hot against your cheeks, his fingertips tangling into your hair. It almost feels like that first breathe of air after being underwater for too long. Your lips mould to his perfectly, muscle memory taking over, as he pulls you further into him. You find yourself coming to a stand, his legs parting, providing the perfect place for you to rest as his hands move down to wrap around your waist.

Your hands reach around his neck feeling the short hair's at the base of his neck, fingers soothing the soft skin around his hairline. He moans against your lips, your won lips parting wider to swallow the sound. You take the opportunity to lick into his mouth. His fingertips moving to the flesh of your ass in response, grabbing large bruising handfuls as he tries to pull you even closer to him. The movement encourages you to climb up onto the bed, his hips shuffling back slightly so you could place your knees solidly either side of his thighs, hovering just above his lap.

You break your lips away from him, both of you breathing heavily as your fingers reach for the bottom of his t-shirt to lift it up and over his head. He grunts slightly with the effort of untangling his arms from the sleeves. You lock your lips back onto his, as his fingers fumble with the fabric, before throwing it across the room to land at Frankie's feet in the doorway. It takes a moment for you to realise he's there, but you'd recognise Frankie's energy in a room even if you were blind at this point.

Santiago feels the corners of your mouth begin to turn upwards against his lips and he suddenly becomes aware of his friend staring in the doorway. He shoots him a small glance and you take the opportunity to start working your lips down Santiago's neck. He moans again at the sensation that triggers another similar sensation lower down his body.

“Why don't you tell her how often you think of her Pope?” Frankie goads confidently from his position leaning against the doorway. You grind yourself up against Santiago before breaking away, sitting up to look him in the eyes, waiting for his answer. “Go on Santi, tell her how often you fantasise about fucking her.”

You watch Santiago's face closely as he stares at Frankie dumbstruck. You place a hand to his cheek, turning his face towards you. “Tell me Santi.” you coo.

“Everyday.” The word just falls from his lips. Even Frankie is stunned by the confession. He had expected it to be a lot, but he wasn't expecting that much. “Everyday.” Santiago says again to you more confidently. “Every time I go to touch myself. Every time I'm fucking someone else...” his voice trails off as you stare down at him.

You take a moment. The silent tension between the three of you that had sat heavily in the car, now returning. You slowly climb off of Santiago and he begins to berate himself for potentially overstepping as you turn away from him, walking towards Frankie.

You come to a stop in front of Frankie, looking up at him with big doe eyes, silently waiting for permission that he was still okay with all this after Santi's confession. You watch him as his eyes move over your head to his best friend and back again. He gives you a small raise to his eyebrow and a nod. You flash him a tight lipped smile before slipping out of the room.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Santiago berates himself heavily as he watches you scamper out of the room and down the hall leaving him all alone with Frankie. His best friend's face is devoid of all emotion as he looks at him and Santiago can't blame him one bit. Santiago shifts uncomfortably, his gaze falling to a patch of carpet between his feet. He's wondering if he should just leave when Frankie finally speaks.

“Ground rules.” Frankie says seriously. “Don't get emotionally attached to her. I know you care for her. I know you love her. Just don't love her like that, trust me it'll just ruin you.” Santiago looks to his friend slightly perplexed. Frankie's face is still devoid of emotion towards him.

“Rule two. Don't hurt her. Ever you understand or I will revoke any and all privileges you have in this house.”

“Frankie man,” Santiago starts as he shift slightly on the bed towards him, a hand resting against his thigh, “what-” Santi isn't sure what he's trying to say or ask, his eyebrows just furrow as he looks between Frankie and the floor, trying to make sense of what his friend was trying to say.

“As long as she wants to, you can fuck her Pope.”

“Wait,” Santiago says sitting up straighter, a look of comprehension finally falling over his face. “Are you saying I can come and fuck her whenever I want?”

“I trust you man, almost as much as I trust her. Don't make me regret that.”

“I won't.” Santiago is quick to reply earnestly. “I promise man.”

“Good.” Frankie says as he turns to walk back down the hall. “Oh.” he says turning back to Pope. “I'd take your pants off and get comfortable if I were you.”

Frankie pushes the door open to the guest bedroom you are now stood in, fixing the final buckles and clips of the garter belt to the rest of the underwear set. You flash him a quick glance and smile before securing the last clip to the stockings. You can feel Frankie's eyes fixated on you.

You stand yourself upright, turning to observe yourself in the full length mirror. Even you would fuck yourself in this get up, you thought to yourself as you turned from side to side checking the look over. Frankie watches as your confidence grows the more you look at yourself and it makes him smile.

You lean forward, giving the skin around your lips a quick tidy up with your finger where your lipstick had been smudged kissing Santiago. You turn confidently towards your man, a sultry smile on your lips as you strut across the room towards him. Your fingers reach for his hips, fluttering them down his sides, before hooking them into his belt loops, pulling his body tightly to you. You slowly edge your face closer and closer to him, pulling him into you teasingly.

The tension is broken by the sound of metal clinking against itself, a sudden feeling of looseness around Frankie's hips as your fingers dexterously undo his belt. He scoffs, realising what you're doing as you slide the leather from the loops, a devious grin on your face.

“Give him hell baby.” Frankie says. You lean up to give him a quick kiss. It's soft, yet urgent and passionate, Frankie's own self restraint fighting against his natural urges around you.

“I'll see you soon.”

Santiago had stripped down and was waiting patiently for your imminent return. He was sat between the pillows at the head of the bed, twiddling his thumbs and running his sweaty palms over his thighs, thinking over what Frankie had said to him, when a flash of movement in the doorway caught his eye. “Oh fuck.” the words were out of his mouth before he could contain them.

Santiago's eyes burned into your flesh as you leaned casually against the doorframe. It almost wanted to make you laugh, the way the guy's reactions to you almost always took you off guard. It had taken you many years to come to terms with your body and love it, however they always seemed to just worship it without a second thought.

“Well now I feel under dressed.” Santiago says, attempting to crack a joke as he looks down to his naked form, then back up to you.

“Tell me Santi,” you say, as you begin to swagger confidently into the room, making sure you kept the hand with Frankie's belt curled tightly between your fingers behind you, “how many times have you thought back to that night in Italy?”

“Hey now, I thought you said we were even about that one.” he slightly stutters out, suddenly apprehensive, moving into the defensive at his current lack of power.

“I said we were even about shooting each others hit,” you say as you reach the end of the bed, “I didn't say we were even for what happened after that.”

You place both hands on the end of the bed, moving the belt into plain sight on top of the quilt. You watch as Santiago's eyes dart back and forth, unsure of where to look. At the belt and intention you just revealed, or your breasts, that are being shown off perfectly to him in this position. “Fuck querida, you're gonna kill me.” he finally says, breaking the tension.

You pull your knees up onto the bed as you begin to crawl up it towards him, like a cat stalking it's pray. You still hold the belt curled tightly in your fist as you begin to climb over his body, very similar to the way he had that night so long ago now. You sit yourself over his thighs and you can see his hands are fighting to not touch you. His eyes raking over you like hot coals, following the lines and contours of the black lingerie set. It was becoming increasingly harder and harder to keep his hands to himself. His resolve was beginning to wane at the same speed it took for his blood to begin flooding his cock, which was currently halfway to being fully erect.

“You want to touch me Santi?” you tease, wanting to push him as much as you could, but there was always one thing you could count on when it came to Santiago Garcia, he was almost the same amount of stubborn as you were.

“You gonna smack my hands away if I do querida.” he sasses.

“Why don't you try it and find out?”

“I'd rather not take those chances.” he replies, eyes narrowing at you. Instead he holds out his wrists to you in surrender.

You sit yourself upright, unravelling the belt before you begin to wrap the leather around his wrists, just as methodically as he had to you that night. Not tight enough to leave a mark, but not so loose that he could easily get his hands out. You lift his hands up over his head to secure the belt to the bedframe.

Your breasts fall temptingly in his face as you reach over him and Santiago is quick to pull one into his mouth, faintly biting over the top of the lace bra. Caught off guard, you quickly pull away from him, but when you look at his face he has the biggest shit eating grin plastered across it. “You said to keep my hands to my self, you didn't say anything about keep my mouth-”.

You climb off of him and get off the bed, before he even has a chance to finish his sentence. You're quiet, calculating even, as you walk around the side of the bed towards the end of it. His eyes follow you like a hawk, as you go and take a seat in the small arm chair in the corner of the room. You stare at his helpless form, tied naked to your bed. You give him the silent treatment, waiting for his next quippy remark to try and regain control of this situation.

“Come on cariño, you serious right now?” he exclaims as you carefully cross one leg over the other. “Querida, can you blame me-” he cuts himself off when he realises he isn't gonna be able to talk himself out of this one.

You silently stare at him for another moment, waiting to see if he would start again. When he doesn't you finally speak. “Who's in charge right now Santiago?”

It takes him a moment before he can get the words, “You are.” out submissively.

“If you're good for me Santiago. I'll be good to you. But what you just did, wasn't very good behaviour.” you pause, waiting to see if he'll make another quip but he doesn't, he just lies there submissively. “Pick a number between 1 and 10.”

“7.” he says quickly.

You pause again, dragging out the tension before you say, “That's how many minutes you are going to watch me sit here and play with myself while you have a time out.” You watch as his face falls. “And you will do it in silence, no comments, no noises. No shifting or squirming. If there is even a peep out of you I will go downstairs, get Frankie and you can watch him make me cum 7 times instead.” His adams apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Think that's a suitable enough punishment?” He nods his head slowly.

You begin a mental timer in your head as you begin to slowly uncross your legs, spreading your thighs wide so he could get a good look at you. Your arms, which had been resting comfortably on the armrests of the chair, begin to brush up and down across the velvet. You watch Santiago's eyes closely as they follow your every move.

You remove your hands from the arms of the chair, instead gliding them up the tops of your thighs, drawing attention to the straps that attached your stockings to the garter belt around your waist. You allow one of your hands to rise higher than the other, rubbing it across your clothed sex as you arch your back into the chair, pushing your chest out. You rub a couple of lazy circles over your clothed clit with a small hum, before your other hand begins to climb up your torso and take hold of one of your breasts.

Santiago is tight lipped as he watches your other hand reach up to join the other, taking hold of the other boob. You notice how his stomach muscles clench tightly, his cock now sat fully erect, resting on top of them. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, biting down slightly at the sight, another small moan gracing your lips as you continue to massage your own breasts.

You can feel the heat, slowly start to prickle up the back of your neck and you reach one hand up to flick back your hair, exposing the skin there to him, while the other hand moves back down towards your clothed cunt. You allow your other arm to relax against the arm rest as you begin to once again rub circles over your covered clit. Your fingers then begin to run down the length of your covered sex. You can already feel your slick dampening the fabric of the underwear and the feeling only adds more, to your own arousal.

You allow your eyelids to close, your head relaxing back against the back of the chair, exposing your chest and neck to Santiago as a tingling wave of heat begins to flow throughout your body. You let out a small whimper, before refocusing your gaze on Santiago, so you can closely watch his reaction as you move your hand again. This time slipping it down below the waist band of your underwear.

Watching him be so tense whilst you were so warm, relaxed and wet, created an interesting sensation to flow through you. It only added to flood your senses even more and another wave of arousal to leak temptingly from between your legs. You slip a finger into your pussy, watching how he stares intensely between your legs, keeping an eye on the exact movements of your fingers. You let out a small gasp as your finger lazily strokes against your inside wall, a sensitivity sending a tiny shiver throughout your body. You remove the finger, instead rubbing a couple more wet circles over your sensitive clit, while your other hand goes back to playing with your breasts.

Santiago's body was so tense, you could tell it was taking all his effort not to break. You decide to give him a small moment of reprieve as you reluctantly remove your hand from your underwear, but not before you bring your index and middle fingers up to your mouth. You quickly lick them into your mouth tasting yourself; and you can swear you almost hear him grunt in frustration, as you raise an eyebrow to him.

You stand then, turning your self around on the chair, a knee lifting onto the seat. You arch your back slightly as you look over your shoulder at him, playing with your hair, exposing the fullness of your ass to him. You run a hand teasingly over your figure, letting your fingers brush over your sides, then around your bum and then down the raised leg, leaning on the chair. You lean back slightly and give him a good show, as you cup your breasts with both your hands again; before lowering your leg, coming to a full stand with your back to him.

You let your hands trail down your body to subtly and tastefully disconnect the straps holding up the tops of your stockings. Your hands then run back up over your body, as you take another look back over your shoulder to where Santiago still lays on the bed helpless. He watches your fingers as they dance down your form until they reach your hips. You turn your body towards him slightly as you begin to run your fingers along the elastic of the underwear.

Santiago watches closely as you hook your thumbs underneath the fabric and begin slowly working them off your hips, gliding them slowly over the globes of your ass, holding the elastic taught when it reaches the crease just underneath your ass and using it to jiggle slightly. You lean your body forward to bend over. From this angle he can just about make out the base of your glistening folds peaking out of the fabric, before you're pulling them back up over your ass and standing upright again.

He watches you closely as you step across the room to a chest of draws, bending down to the very bottom one to open it. Your fingers secretly close around something inside, tucking it into the palm of your hand, before you're closing the draw back up again and walking back across the room to the chair.

His gaze almost burns into you as he watches you take a seat again, your legs parting, placing you on full display for him once more. However he still has his eyes focussed on the your hand, waiting for you to reveal the mystery object you had taken from the draw. The sound of a faint buzzing noise tells him what the object is before he sees it. You hear his breathes grow shallower and more rapid, the more he's beginning to lose his composure. He watches you place the small vibrator over your clothed clit and you moan in delight at the sensation.

You hold it there for a few moments, your other hand beginning to wander back up to your chest, to pinch at your covered nipples, your head rolling back in ecstasy. “mmm fuck.” you moan quietly to your self, slowly circling the device over the sensitive nub. You lean further back into the chair, raising up your legs, your heels resting against the seat. As you shift you can feel the slick escaping from your folds, begin to slide down between your ass cheeks.

You remove the vibrator, your other hand reaching down to your now sodden underwear. Your fingers hook into the leg whole, pulling the fabric aside to expose your glistening cunt to Santiago. When you meet his eyes, you swear the look on his face would kill you if it could. The time is almost up and if you do this just right, you could time the release of his punishment, with just the right moment of your climax. You flash him a butter wouldn't melt smile, before you lower the vibrator back down onto your exposed clit.

The longer you hold the vibrator there, the quicker your climax begins to build. Santiago watches desperately as you begin to grind your sex against the toy the closer and closer you got. Your muscles begin to pull tighter as the sensitivity between your legs grows greater; and you can't help yourself when you close your eyes and relax back further into the chair. Your own breathing is shallow now, your lips pull tight as you feel your pleasure begin to reach it's apex. You muster up the strength needed to lift your head and look over to Santiago. He has a look of satisfaction on his face. He's been keeping count in his head and knows the time is up, he's just waiting for your cue.

“7.” you pant out the number to him as all the muscles in your body begin to constrict, releasing a wave of pleasure over you.

“Come on baby.” Santiago encourages as your mouth falls open in a silent oh. Your voice quickly catches up with you though when you hear Santi's voice calling from across the room, “Look at me baby. Come on let me hear you.”

You quickly remove the vibrator from your clit, the sensation growing too sensitive to take with a small grunt, your thumb quickly pressing the button to switch it off as you pant. With the stimulation now gone, your come down starts to set in as you breathe heavily, trying to get your composure back. “You know your so fucking beautiful when you do that cariño, please come back over here and let me touch you.” Santiago flatters, his wrists pulling against the belt, tying them to the bed. When they don't release Santiago lets out a large huff, his body finally relaxing back into the bed in defeat. It makes you giggle a wave of satisfaction rippling through your body.

You sit there a moment relaxed in the chair as you watch him stare at you indignantly, like a child who can't get his way. Suddenly his head turns and looks away from you to the doorway. You follow his gaze to see Frankie stood there enjoying an ice lolly. You smile up at him as his eyes go from you, over to Santiago and back again, before he asks, “How's it going?”

“Your girlfriend is cruel man.” Santiago whines.

“You don't know cruel Garcia.” you taunt back, giving him a quick glance before your eyes trail back to Frankie, who's full stepped into the room to stand beside you now. You watch him as he quickly sucks up some of the melted juice that clings to the bottom of the ice lolly, threatening to drip onto his hand below; and you suddenly get a wicked idea.

You stand up from the arm chair, the vibrator still clutched in your fingers falling onto the seat, as you instead reach to take the ice lolly from your boyfriend. You place the end of it into your mouth, sucking on the tip seductively as you look up at him. You take it back out again, turning and flashing a mischievous look in Santiago's direction, that he definitely didn't like the look of.

You turn back to Frankie, reaching out your free hand to him and guiding him to sit on the floor in front of the chair you had just vacated. You sit yourself back down in the chair again. Both men watch you closely as you place the lolly back into your mouth, holding it between your lips. You use your newly free hands to reach down to the band of your underwear, hooking your fingers underneath the elastic, you lift up your pelvis and wiggle out of your now ruined panties.

“Frankie baby, would you mind cleaning me up a little.” you coo, wrapping the tip of your tongue around the ice lolly again. Frankie beams at you from his position between your legs and it makes your heart swell.

“Oh come on.” comes an indignant cry from across the room. “That's just unfair.”

“I think that's totally fair.” Frankie rebuttals as he takes in your dripping cunt before him. You allow yourself a moment to just sit there, smirking and enjoying your ice lolly as they bicker with each other.

“Come on man. She's just spent 7 minutes teasing herself and getting herself off while I'm just stuck here naked, tied to the fucking bed. And now you're gonna force me to sit here and just watch you eat her out.”

“Yeah.” Frankie says matter of factly, his head turning in Santiago's direction. A grin across his lips, just to rub it in even more.

Santiago lets out a grumble as Frankie turns his head back towards you. You look down at him through sultry lashes as your tongue runs along the length of the fruity ice pop. Frankie bites his lip, a hand shifting to adjust the crotch of his jeans. His hands come up to cradle your thighs and pull you closer to his face so he can begin to nuzzle at your sex. His tongue reaches out, running through your folds collecting as much of your slick as possible. His lips hum against your clit as he moans in satisfaction.

Your eyes are locked on his as he explores you with his tongue. You smile, proud. Watching Frankie go down on you was always like watching a show. It was like seeing him worship at an altar, the way he dedicated himself to your pleasure like it was a religion. He knew just the right spots to run his tongue over at the right moments. When to make his tongue more soft and when to apply the right amount of pressure. He made eating your pussy an art.

You let out a small moan as your arousal began to build again within you, your head falling back, the ice lolly going forgotten. You feel as he slips one finger between your folds, then another, his fingers curling up inside you, stretching you out, warming you up. “Tell me how it feels baby.” Frankie says to you softly.

“Oh my god, Frankie it feels so good-” your voice hitches as he adjusts his fingers slightly inside you, rubbing on just the right spot. You barely feel the drop of juice that falls off the ice lolly onto your heaving breast, before Frankie is leaning forward to lick it off of you.

“Fuck.” comes a strained voice from the bed. Frankie tilts his head away from you slightly to flash a shit eating grin Santiago's way. When you look over yourself, Santiago is squirming against his restraints, his cock rock hard against his stomach. You lock eyes with him, putting the ice lolly back into your mouth, sucking on it seductively. Frankie then moves his face back down between your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth. You moan again in satisfaction as his fingers begin to swipe faster now over that special spot inside of you.

Although it had been a good many months since that night in Italy, Santiago instantly recognised your sudden change in demeanour and the tell tale look on your face. “Don't you dare cabrón.” Santiago threatens Frankie's way.

Frankie takes his lips away from you as he reaches up to start rubbing quick circles over your clit with his thumb. He ignores Santiago and tries to block out the sounds of his legs thrashing against the bed, focusing only on you. “Give it to me baby.” he says before reaching up to wrap the ice lolly into his lips. He sits himself back more to the side of you, giving Santiago the perfect view. Your free hands grip the arm rests of the chair tightly as your muscles coil tight. You let out a garbled cry as your climax crashes into you, Frankie's fingers falling from your cunt as you squirt all over the seat of the chair. “Ahhh fuck.” you cry out.

Frankie quickly removes the ice lolly from his lips, reaching up to smash his mouth against yours, his other hand bracing around the back of your head. He separates his lips from yours to allow you space to breathe, your eyes clenching shut, chest heaving as he places a delicate kiss to your forehead.

It's like sitting in a sauna, your senses fogged. As you begin to calm down and your senses slowly return you one by one, quickly becoming hyper aware of the wet patch beneath you. “Shit, I fucked up the chair.” you say in hushed panic, your head tilting up to look at him.

“It's okay, I'll deal with it tomorrow.” he replies.

There's a sound of strained clapping and you both become aware again of the third party in the room. “Good show querida.” Santiago dead pans. “I mean, you've definitely made your point, so can you just-” he doesn't finish his sentence. Instead he tugs on the belt again, indicating his want to be released.

You still weren't ready to release him, but you were finally satisfied enough to let him in on some of the action. You slowly stand, your legs feeling like bambi, wobbling slightly. Frankie too gets up from the floor to stand beside you, eager to see what you were about to do. You take one look down to the ice lolly in his hands, the last remaining slithers of ice clinging to the stick.

You move your gaze towards Santiago as you wrap your fingers around the grip Frankie has on the stick. You put it in your mouth, sucking the final pieces of lolly into your mouth and licking the stick clean. You hold the pieces on your tongue, letting them melt as you make your way over to Santiago. He's watching you hungrily as you make your way onto the bed.

Your fingers grip his erection as you swallow the melted juice in your mouth, pumping his burning length in your hand a few times before you place it between your lips. Your icy tongue wraps around as much of him as you can. His hips jerk in reaction to the icy sensation before a moan escapes his lips. “Mmmm fuck baby.”

It takes him a moment to adjust to the temperature difference, the sensation sparking something deadly in him. He begins bucking his hips up, begging you to move. You slowly lift your lips up his length, your tongue swirling over the tip of his cock before you're taking your lips off of him with a pop that feels like it echoes around the room.

Your eyes stay locked on Santi's as you lick another cold stripe up his length before messily taking him back into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks, your tongue wrapping around him as you begin to bob up and down, your hand working the parts of his cock your mouth can't currently reach. You are only faintly aware of the sounds of Frankie stripping himself down before he's reaching down to whisper into your ear, a caring hand to your back.

You take your mouth off of Santiago for a second, your hand pumping his whole length as you listen to what Frankie has to say. Santiago watches Frankie's lips trying to work out what Frankie is saying to you but is struggling to focus on his whispering voice with your hand still wrapped around his cock, rubbing your spit along the length of the shaft. You pull yourself onto your knees, your ass wiggling in the air, as you flash Frankie a smile and give him a nod.

Frankie places a small kiss to your temple, then he's moving around the bed, heading towards the chest of draws from before. Santiago's curious gaze wants to follow him and work out what he's gonna pull out of the draw, but suddenly your sucking him back into your mouth and his focus becomes completely about you again. Your lips smack and pop over his length and Santiago moans. Your hand begins to play with his balls and his head tips back, eyes closing in ecstasy.

A shadow passes over his eyelids. There's the feeling of the belt pulling slightly against the skin on his wrists as it gets moved. Santiago's whips his eyes open. His vision locks onto Frankie at the same time as the leather becomes slack. Santiago looks from Frankie to you before he's quickly pulling his hands free, rushing to tangle them into your hair and guide you along his cock. “Fuck.” he grunts as he thrusts up into your mouth as you take him in further, the end of his cock hitting the back of your throat making you practically choke on it, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

You pull off of him quickly, taking in a deep breathe. Your eyes lock onto Frankie's and you see the sudden concern in his eyes. You dismiss the look though, swiftly taking Santiago's cock back into your mouth, relaxing your throat taking him all the way down to the base. Your throat constricts around Santi's length, spit pooling on his balls. It makes him grunt in satisfaction his eyes closing, head relaxing back into the pillows. His hand reaches around to cradle the back of your head caringly.

You feel the end of the bed shift behind you as Frankie takes a seat on it, his fingertips taking hold of your hips, guiding them in the direction he wants you. You pull off of Santiago's cock again, garbling on his length as you remove it from your throat. You swirl the tip of it with your tongue. You pump his length with one hand, while your other hand moves to steady yourself on his thigh.

There's the sound of a plastic cap opening and you brace yourself for the sudden cold feeling of lube as Frankie squeezes a dribble of gel straight onto your tight hole. You suck air between your teeth and the combination of sounds prompts Santiago to prop himself up with his elbows to watch. Frankie tosses the tube onto the bed as you go back to rubbing your lips messily up and down the length of Santiago's cock. He starts rubbing soothingly across the bare flesh of one of your cheeks. The attention you are receiving from these too men sends a feeling shooting straight to your core and Frankie observes how your arousal leaks from your cunt.

He swipes his thumb over it, collecting it and adding it to the lube sat waiting to be rubbed into your tight asshole. You moan into Santiago's cock as you feel Frankie push his thumb against the hole gently, massaging the lube into the tight rim. You flick your hair, arching your back, raising your ass up in presentation for Frankie. You feel his hand, still brushing gently over your skin as he begins to push the tip of his thumb into the tight muscle. Santiago watches as you pull your full bottom lip between your teeth. He reaches to brush a thumb soothingly across your cheek. “You look so beautiful like this querida.” Santiago praises, sending another wave of arousal to pass down to your cunt. Frankie watches as your holes flutter at Santiago's words and his own breathing becomes slightly more laboured.

“Fuck baby.” he joins in. “Got to stretch you out if you're gonna take both of us.” You moan again at his praising words. You release Santiago's cock from your grip to better balance yourself on the bed as Frankie's thumb moves agonisingly slowly in and out of your asshole, as he begins to work it open. Santiago keeps a reassuring hand to your cheek but uses the other to take his cock in hand and lazily stroke it as he watches you.

Your thighs shake slightly as you begin to feel yourself relax. Feeling your ring begin to loosen against his ministration, Frankie removes his thumb. He leans down, placing a soft kiss to the ass cheek he's been soothingly stroking, before reaching for the other item he had gotten out of the bottom draw. Frankie reaches for the tube of lube and squeezes a small amount onto the small pink butt plug that had been sat conveniently on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently to be used. He brushes a soothing hand over your ass once more, then he's pushing the tip of the toy into it's designated hole.

He gently begins working it in, pushing it in slowly then pulling it back again, steadily stretching you out until he can push the widest part of the toy into you. You moan. Your head slumping forward between your shoulders and Santiago's thighs with the feeling. As soon as it reaches it's apex, it's like your asshole does the rest of the work to suck the plug in to it's base. You breathe in deeply, taking in the full feeling, your head flicking back, back arching, ass wiggling in satisfaction. Frankie can't help himself. He slaps a hand forcefully down on one of your cheeks in response to your ass and hips grinding back into the air.

He climbs up the bed, reaching for your face, clasping his hands around either side of it and bringing your lips to his in a bruising kiss. It's all firm lips and teeth as he inhales you deeply through his nose. “Alright hermano, my turn.” Santiago says breaking you apart. You look to the other man with heavy eyes.

Frankie releases you from his grasp and you begin to crawl up the bed and over Santiago. You straddle his hips, your wet pussy pressing against his erect cock resting across his stomach. His hands reach to pull your lips down to his. He wastes no time deepening the kiss, moving your lips wider and licking into your mouth with his tongue. He moans against your lips as he tastes you and is sends another flutter down to your core. Santiago feels how you wiggle against his cock with the sensation and begins grinding up against you, his hard cock rubbing against your clit.

Your mouth falls open with a small gasp, your back arching. Santiago reaches his lips to start leaving bruising kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Frankie kneels on the bed, straddling one of Santiago's legs to lean into your back. “Lift up baby.” he whispers into your ear. You raise your hips and Frankie reaches a hand down for Santiago's cock. He lines it up with your entrance before he encourages you down onto it. You close your eyes savouring the feeling of the stretch as Santiago's cock fills your pussy.

Santiago closes his eyes, holding you close burying his head into your breasts as he braces himself. The feeling of your wet cunt paired with the push of the plug against your walls, flooding his senses. His mouth paws at your covered boobs, making the fabric damp. “Frankie man, get this off of her.” he leans back commanding as you come to settle at the base of his cock.

Frankie reaches to unclasp the bra from the back and Santiago pulls it off of your from the front. He throws it carelessly to the side as you feel Frankie flutter gentle kisses across the soft skin of your back. Santiago begins rolling his hips up into you, slowly grinding his cock inside you. You moan freely now, Frankie's lips brushing across your shoulder and you tilt your neck, exposing it to him. Santiago fixes his mouth firmly around one of your breasts, his tongue flicking over your nipples.

You reach a hand out searching for Frankie's cock. You find him standing hard, large and erect. You begin pumping him lazily with your hand as you bounce up and down on Santiago's cock. “You look so hot like this.” Frankie praises into your ear and it makes you moan. The feeling of Santiago's cock inside you and both of their mouths running over your skin is almost too much. You quickly find yourself building to yet another climax and Santiago continues to rub his cock against a devastating spot inside you. Your breathes come faster and shallower. “Come on baby. I want to see you come all over his cock.” Frankie encourages you and his words destroy you. It's all too filthy, to hot. It sends you careening to the edge. Santiago reaches up for your face, pulling your face back down to his, his lips swallowing your moans of pleasure as your climax hits.

It pulses violently against his cock and makes your ass muscles relax and flutter to the point you end up pushing out the butt plug that had been sitting there quite content. “Ahhh fuck.” you cry out into the room as you remove your lips from Santiago, your forehead pushing into his own, panting heavily. You sit yourself upright, your eyes and hands reaching out for Frankie and Santiago doesn't protest when you remove yourself from his cock, searching for the comfort of your boyfriend. Frankie wraps you in his arms, smoothing your hair as he coos tenderly into your temple. “Oh my god baby you're so amazing. You look so beautiful when you cum like that.” You press kisses against his chest and mew quietly to yourself, your breathes still shaky as you come down from your high.

You feel another warm hand reach out to rub soothing circles into your lower back. The three of you stay like that for a moment, allowing you the time you need to calm yourself again. “You still want me to fuck that pretty ass of yours?” Frankie finally murmurs against the side of your face. You pull back to look up at him with doe eyes, nodding with your lower lips pulled between your teeth. He clasps his hand over your cheeks, pulling your lips to his.

He pulls himself away, giving a small tap to your ass encouraging you to move over. You look down to see Santiago still lazily fisting his cock with your cum, keeping himself hard. He shifts himself over on the bed to allow Frankie to lay down as you reach across the bed to the tube of lube. You place a reasonable amount on your hand before you reach to rub it over Frankie's length slowly working him back up to full mast again. “Turn around baby.” he says, his hands reaching out for your hips to guide you as you turn.

You straddle his hips, facing out into the room. You lean a hand back onto the bed as Frankie lines himself up with your ass. You feel him slowly push the tip against the tight ring. There's a slight pressure as he passes the initial tight muscles and you suck in a sharp breathe between your teeth as you begin to lower yourself onto him. There's a slight burn as he splits you open. “Oh fuck.” you grit as you adjust.

“You're doing so fucking well baby.” he praises, using his words to embolden, yet also comfort you.

“You take him so well hermosa.” Santiago chimes in from his spot, lying on his side stroking his cock watching the two of you. You feel yourself begin to relax around Frankie's cock and with the small encouragement of his hands on your hips, you begin to bounce yourself up and down on his cock. Every movement relaxes you and opens you up that little bit more.

Santiago sit's himself up, rolling himself onto his knees and shuffles himself between your legs. He reaches a hand out, his thumb making contact with your clit, circling it slowly and you let out a choked wine at the sensation. He brings the thumb to his lips, licking it, before he pops the tip of it into your wet cunt. “You ready baby?” he asks as he stares hungrily into your eyes.

Unable to form words you just nod. You stop bouncing on Frankie's cock and his arm wraps around your stomach pulling your back down into him, exposing your pussy easily for Santiago to slip into. It's slow going and the stretch is unlike anything you had felt before. You hear both men let out small restrained moans as their cocks push up against each other, only a thin wall inside you separating them. You too cry out with the feeling and Frankie bends his head forward to nuzzle into your neck whispering soothing words of praise.

“Ah shit.” Santiago exclaims as he bottoms out, pausing to savour the feeling. He lowers his head, his forehead pushing against yours as he closes his eyes, attempting to ground himself.

“Fuck hermosa, you feel so fucking good. So fucking wet and tight for us.” Frankie coos and your mouth falls open in a silent moan as he slowly begins to grind up into your ass.

Feeling Frankie start to move, Santiago begins to set his own agonisingly slow pace. He pulls his head away from you, attempting to take in as much cool air as possible, calming himself and making sure he doesn't blow his load too soon. The feeling is unlike anything you have every felt as they both slowly increase their speed, finding their rhythm. You all moan, grunt and gasp in pleasure as they fuck into your wet holes. “Oh it feels so fucking good.” you say, reassuring them of your enjoyment.

“Fuck baby, you gonna squirt for us again?” Santiago half asks, half demands. The ridges of his cock are rubbing up against that devastating spot inside you and you can feel the coil tightening with each thrust they make. You nod at him, your lower lip sucked between your teeth, unable to form words. You feel Frankie's grip on your hips tighten and Santiago's hand move to push the backs of your thighs back so he can fuck into you even deeper.

“Uh right there, right there, right there.” you squeak out. Your fingers suddenly reaching to rub vigorously against your clit. You cry out as Santiago's cock get pushed from you as you squirt all over the bed and his thighs.

“Fuck.” he exclaims as Frankie holds you still against him, feeling the rim of your ass pulsate tightly around his cock. You are barely given a reprieve before Santiago is lining himself back up and sliding himself back inside you again. “One more time baby,” his voice pleads, “one more time.”

You hear a moan tear itself from Frankie's throat as your holes constrict with Santiago's sudden furious pace. You feel tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes, the sensitivity almost getting too much. Santiago reaches a hand around the back of your neck, forcing your eyes to look into his, grounding you. “Come on baby, you're doing so well for us. One more time querida, just one more time,” he repeats.

“Pope.” Frankie's voice warns him.

“Come on baby.” Santiago's voice continues to encourage you. His thumb reaching to rub over your clit again.

“Pope.” Frankie growls again. It's too late though. Your chest heaves as you clamp down on both of them, your climax taking over once more. Your ass constricts around Frankie's cock and it sends him over the edge, his spend filling you. Santiago continues to thrust twice more before you are pushing him from you again, your spend spilling all over the bed, as he quickly fists his cock until he is shooting his own load all over your stomach.

You are all panting heavily, your body completely collapsing back into Frankie as he wraps himself around you, holding you close to him. Santiago slumps back onto his heels before flopping onto the mattress, a hand reaching to his thumping heart in his chest. With Santiago out of the way Frankie slowly roles the two of you over, your head hitting the pillow as he encompasses you with his warmth, his cock slipping out of your ass. His hands rub soothingly up and down your arms as he spoons you.

You scrunch your eyes as tears leak out of the corners, a small sob escaping with your ragged breathes as your thighs grind together, trying to dissipate the lingering sensitivity between them. You can feel Frankie's cum slowly sliding out of you and you suddenly feel the heavy crashing weight of gravity on you after such a high. “I love you so much.” you hear Frankie repeatedly whisper into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Santiago begins to sigh, running a hand through his hair as he rolls onto his back.

Frankie slowly props himself up on one elbow, reaching out for your cheek to turn your face towards him with his other hand, checking over you. “You okay.” he asks you gently between fluttering lashes. You can't help but get lost in the glistening warmth in his eyes as you nod up at him. He kisses your lips tenderly, then your forehead and then back down to the tip of your nose, before closing his eyes and placing his forehead to yours.

You all lay like that for a few minutes catching your breathe and allowing yourselves the time to come down. You feel yourself shiver slightly as Santiago bounces himself off the bed, a chill setting in now your heart rate and blood pressure were stabilising. Frankie looks across the room as Santiago returns running a warm wash cloth over himself as he walks back in. He holds a second in his other hand and tosses it over to Frankie so he can begin cleaning you up.

“You tired baby?” he asks softly, his low vibrato like velvet as he begins to wipe your skin clean. You simply nod back with heavy eyes.

“I'm not surprised.” Santiago chuckles out from across the room.

You feel Frankie sit up to wipe himself off. You watch for the briefest of moments as he runs the cloth over the contours of his body before your nestling your head into the soft pillow beneath you. You feel the mattress shift as Frankie throws the cloth back across the room to Santi to get rid of. You then feel him get up. You peep out of the corner of your eye as you watch him walk around the bed. “Shift your hips baby.” he says as he begins to pull the duvet out from under you. You groan but comply, wiggling until it's completely out from underneath you.

You shiver again as goosebumps begin to break out over your skin. “Frankie.” you whine. You don't even get a moment to moan about being cold though before you're being covered by the clean bedding that's been taken from the guest bedroom.

“Yes baby.” he panders to you softly as his hands move the covers up over your body, his fingers tucking it in around you and you let out a content moan into the pillow, a tight lipped smile spreading across your lips. “Sleep baby.” he says, leaning to place a kiss against your head.

The light in the room suddenly switches off, blanketing you in darkness. You listen to the sounds of retreating feet and muttered voices as Frankie leaves the room, going to talk to Santiago. You try to listen intensely from your cozy little cocoon, but all you can focus on is your tired body growing heavier and heavier as you relax into the bed until sleep completely takes over.

You don't know how long it's been, but you don't think it's too long, when you are suddenly jostled awake again as Frankie climbs into bed. His arms reach out, pulling you into him tightly. “Where's Santi?” you croak.

“I set him up in the guest bedroom.” Frankie quietly nuzzles into your neck. He places a gentle warm kiss inbetween the top of your shoulder blades. He shifts himself slightly, his body moulding to yours. You can feel the soft fabric of his pyjama bottoms, sat low on his hip, brush against your skin and you melt back into him. You let out a small content smile as you relax once more knowing that both your boys were now safe and settled.

“Night Frankie.” you mumble sweetly into your pillow.

You feel him chuckle silently before he responds, “Night baby.”

------------------

As always I'm sorry if your tag doesn't work properly :(

@icanbeyourjedi @theshiningharmony @darnitdraco @kesskirata @wyn-dixie @rosiefridayrogersunday @actual-spawn-of-satan @clydesducktape @asta-lily @honey-hi @heythere-mel @heidi-toevs @wigofokoye @choricenter @goodgriefitsawildworld @d0uwannkn0w @justdrawings101 @nicotinebirds @bisexualolympuss @babyratt19 @cookiecat22-blog @peterhollandkaitt @a-bang-for-your-bucky @codenamewife @emmy626 @natura1phenomenon @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels @fangirl-316 @thisisthewaytofiction @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @aficwhore @slayerx147 @alberta-sunrise @itspdameronthings @nano-pax @bunnypascal @niki-xie @eowynshairflip @mamacitapascal​ @dobbyjen​ @t3rradactyll @shadowolf993 @supersingle @alexa-rae-dreamz @lostgirlheather @lazyunknownwerewolf @aupernatural-teenwolflover @h-hxgirl @dykebettycooper @fwotts @ahookedheroespureheart @holmesacademia @rav3n-pascal22 @16-9-1997 @samsquachdreams @pascals-whore @anehempel @littleone65 @captainpuffyrp @hornetscoochie

#what benny doesn’t know #frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader #frankie catfish morales #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier x reader #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #smut #frankie x reader x santiago

[youngpettyqueen]

I think the reason Charles never refers to Hawkeye by his name is because it’s a nickname, because he’ll call BJ, Margaret, and Klinger by their names without issue, and I could write up an entire post about Charles’ approach to names and nicknames and I might come back and do that tomorrow when it’s not so late

For now I just want to make the point that there’s a scenario in my head where Charles tried one (1) time to call Hawkeye Benjamin in casual conversation and the entire conversation ground to a halt because they both got incredibly uncomfortable about it because it sounded so WRONG and they agreed to never talk about it again

#mash #charles winchester #hawkeye pierce #‘but Queen what about Radar’ I think he just doesn’t know Radar’s actual first name #cause Radar doesn’t really bring it up like ever #and also it’s very funny to me if he thinks Radar is just his actual name #’but he calls Klinger Max’ only after a very profound and sincere moment between them #after which I think he considers Klinger to be his close friend #a level of closeness he does not allow himself to express with Hawkeye and BJ #for whatever reasons (I have thoughts but I’m sleepy and also on my phone) #I think a lot about this. can you tell. #anyways I think only Hawkeye’s family is allowed to call him Benjamin #or Ben #and like one specific aunt is allowed to call him Benny or something #because she’s very old and he can’t say no to her she’s his favourite #wow I’m tired this is going in so many directions #anyways #hope this is coherent

[quietwingsinthesky]

what if Dean killed Charlie himself for helping Sam with the book of the damned instead of immediately telling Dean what was happening. what if he still told Sam it was his fault for putting Charlie in harm’s way (in this scenario, anywhere near Dean with the mark on him, despite her and Sam trying to remove said mark?) what if Dean had actually killed someone important to him who trusted him and loved him?

#he should literally also have just killed Cas as well and god should have brought Cas back. again. #that’s his favorite doll right there he can’t stay dead <3 Dean Winchester would be too sad about it #anyway. Sam mopping up the blood in the library scene but it’s not the Stynes #it’s Charlie’s blood and Charlie’s body and he’s cleaning up the mess and Dean tells him at her funeral that it should be Sam burning #and Sam gets to blame himself for it <3 #come on fellas if we have to fridge Charlie let’s at least give it some stakes #Dean already broke her shadow self’s arm and nearly killed her despite knowing he’d be killing the good Charlie too. what if he lost #control again. she went behind his back. Dean doesn’t react well to betrayal. and she’s Charlie! she’s supposed to be Good and Perfect! #she’s supposed to be like a little sister to him! and if dean were in his right mind he might deal with this okay #(like say. how he forgives Benny in that deleted scene for breaking and drinking from someone. when he sees Benny as a man and not the ideal #of a person who won’t ever mess up or betray him.) #but Dean is not in his right mind. and Charlie is the key to cracking the book. and he can’t let the book be cracked. #and she only came to him because she felt guilty. maybe something Rowena said dug too deep under her skin. and he’s dean! he’s still dean! #and she forgave him. (she couldn’t stay in that bunker another minute around him.) but she forgave him! he has to understand how important #it is to save him! just like he saved Sam! and Dean stands up. and you know. if this was really the show I’d still say we don’t get to see #what happens. we just get Sam mopping up the blood afterwards. that’s all. #I’m just saying. if she had to die. make it count. #spn #charlie bradbury #dean winchester

[crazyw3irdo]

what is your opinion on gnomeo and juliet (2011)

they got rid of mercutio 0/10

#fr like every other major character is in it cmon where’s my boy!!! #(​actually i don’t think the prince is in it either) #they combined benvolio and mercutio into a single character that sucks man they have so much banter :( #he doesn’t even die :( #benvolio is the more reasonable one and mercutio is the more silly one and they made him into a single guy named benny. what the fuck #cowards. let children learn how to pronounce benvolio and mercutio #also weird point to get stuck on but why are they british. i know this is. an au to say the least. but them being british confuses me #also also why is the cast so fucking famous like holy shit #i was double checking about mercutio but. i saw the voice actors. what the hell #do like the elton john music tho i’ll give them that much #crazwaz posted #audience participation #romeo and juliet #shakespeare

[callilouv]

Cal, eula main arc real??

#𓍊𓋼 misc. #ignore that she has one artifact missing she doesn’t have her phys dmg goblet yet🙆‍♀️ KFSHXI #god she needs so much work tbh #BUT I CAN DO THIS #im a big fan of elemental reactions but I think eula is fun 2 use #although a bit complicated in terms of stacking up her buffs ykyk #but I can do thisiss #if I could get ONE more Rosaria con for c6 Rosaria that would be great TvT #I still don’t know what to do for her team tbh.. #rn it’s eula/fischl/diona/Beidou #but ik I’ll replace diona w Rosaria soon #and then replace Beidou w a healer T-T #I can’t use Benny bc he’s in hu Tao’s team.. bc I specifically make my teams for abyss #although I could technically switch Benny out w diona and then put Benny on Eula’s team #hmmmmmm

[sinofwriting]

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Taglist | Masterlist | Emergency Dental Fund

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.” Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.” He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.” “Not gonna tell me it gets easier?” He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know. “I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs. She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.” He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back. “You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head. “Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go. She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.” He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his  wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t know. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.” He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly. “You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.” He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.” “Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.” His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.” Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.” He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock. “He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.” “Madelyn and Daniel?” She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.” One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.” Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.” “Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.” “Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table. “Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.” She makes a humming noise. “C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.” Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle. He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.” “Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.” He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?” Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?” She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.” Logan both blushes and preens at the same time. Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?” She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.” He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.” She laughs, “good gin and tonic?” He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.” She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,” “Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.” Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.” “We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts. “Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused. “Ah.” “Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.” She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases. The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.” “Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?” She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.” Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.” “Your work allows you to do that?” Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.” “You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.” “I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious. “No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.” “Manager?” “God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.” “Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.” “Of course.” “Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.” “Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?” “Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him. He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?” “It’s nice.” She smiles. Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.” Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him. “You seemed a bit more relaxed.” “No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.” Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.” Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?” He shrugs as best as he can. “I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.” “You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs. Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.” “What happened?” “She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.” Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.” The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies. “What?” “I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.” “Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar. “I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.” Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?” Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?” “The one that gave Fred shit.” “I thought she died?” The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?” “Mate, you didn’t hear about that?” “No!” “She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.” “How do I not remember this?” Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,” “No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.” “Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.” Logan groans, “Os, no.” “Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.” “Oscar, please, it’s my mom.” “She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush. He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.” “Lando was looking.” Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.” He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.” “He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns. “I saw that too.” “But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?” Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.” “Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?” “I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.” Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.” “We all want to age like her.” George agrees. “What are you saying?” Fernando frowns. A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.” Fernando frowns, “Lines?” Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank. Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.” The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.” “Fuck.” “Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,” “He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her. “He did it! He did it!” She cheers. The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.” “Got it. Where’s Alex?” She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.” It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.” Both of her hands fly up to her mouth. “Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.” She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control. “What? What do you mean?” “You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.” “Holy fuck.” The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes. “You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.” She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.” “Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.” “I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried. “You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.” She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?” He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.” “He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her. His smile widens as he takes the seat. “I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear. “I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?” She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.” “Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.” She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?” “You did.” “Sweet.” “Very. How’s the head?” Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.” She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.” “Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it. She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.” “True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.” “I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.” “Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.” “I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.” “Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?” “It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.” His brows press together. “Max?” “Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?” Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.” “You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.” “I go on dates.” “Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.” She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists. “Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?” “Yes.” “Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?” Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,” Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?” “Oh.” Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.” “I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!” He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces. “Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?” He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press. “But how are you feeling about it?” Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.” He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.” Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.” “P10 and P9.” He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.” Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.” “Not yours?” He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.” Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?” Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.” “Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.” “And if I go into the wall?” Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?” Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.” “Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.” Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.” He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him. “And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his. “So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say. “I’m a mom.” He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.” “Logan is important to me.” Oh, god, did Logan not like him? “The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.” “Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?” She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.” “I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?” Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.” He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.” “His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right. “His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?” “No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.” She stares at him, lips pressed together. He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.” She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?” “The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears. “I am his mother, just adopted.” “Not that either of you see it that way.” “No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.” “Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?” She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.” “How old are you?” “I’m twenty-nine.” He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.” “Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.” “How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch. “Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun. Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach. “What?” “How was your date last night?” Her smile widens. “It was good.” “Yeah?” She nods. “Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?” “No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.” “About what?” “Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well. She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.” “What about Max?” She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.” “You know, I’m okay with it.” “I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.” Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.” Logan flushes at the words. “He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age. He flushes even more. “Really?” “Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.” “I am an adult.” “You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.” He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.” “Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?” She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?” “Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?” “First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder. “Am I late?” “Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen. “Can I,” She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.” “Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.” “Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her. “Logan and you are both going to get on too well.” “Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye. “You both don’t like when I lift anything.” “What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back. Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.” “One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.” “See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head. “I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.” Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.” He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.” “Are you sure?” Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage. The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at. “Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.” “Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely. “Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?” The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.” “Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member. “Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?” He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.” “And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases. “No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.” “I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.” “Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.” “Oh?” Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room. “Hi, schat.” “Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats. His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.” “Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask. “He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.” Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?” She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.” “Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?” “Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.” “Anything I can help with?” She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops. “Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.” “Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?” His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.” “The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.” “They have to be not performing well.” “They’re a rookie in a back marker team.” “They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about. “They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.” His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?” “Nine.” “I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.” She shakes her head. “Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?” She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.” “I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.” She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “The driver’s Logan.” “What?” “Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.” Max stares at her. “How?” “I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.” “He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.” “I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.” “It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it. “Why’s that, honey?” He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team. “I guess you are a bit spoiled.” He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle. “That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.” He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more. “I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.” She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.” “It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends. “Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder. “How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner. She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.” He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?” “I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.” “I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside. “I know.” “Logan still wanting to do his new routine.” She nods, lips pursed. He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?” She throws him a look. “Us?” “You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that. “Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.” “Will Logan be joining us for Florida?” “Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.” Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,” “You go to Milton for a day after.” He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.” “Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.” “Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.” “Yes?” “Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend. He freezes. “Max.” “I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #I ❤️ MILFS verse #I was on something when I came up with this idea and the name of this fic

[lovebugism]

shy! reader request: eddie & reader having their first sleepover? reader bein all cautious about her actions and if it’s ok and eddie seeing this just lifts up the blankets to the bed to welcome her in to snuggle :)

love love love this request! hope you enjoy :D — eddie tries to make his shy!gf feel at home in his trailer (fluff, new relationship hijinks, 2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Despite what people say, Eddie Munson does not drive like a maniac.

Correction— Eddie Munson doesn’t drive like a maniac when there’s a pretty girl in his van.

Even though you’re pretty much the first girl to be in his van period (and even though you wouldn’t consider yourself all that pretty), you’re glad to be an exception to the rule. Your panoply of anxieties couldn’t have handled anything more than the passably steady car ride from Benny’s Burgers to Forest Hills.

You don’t mean to let out a sigh of relief when he parks in his driveway.

Eddie grins and unlatches his seatbelt with a soft click at the same time you do. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks with eyes just as wild as his hair.

You shake your head with your lips pursed to the side, then peer at him from beneath your lashes. “After everything Steve said, I was expecting a lot worse,” you confess. And even though you duck away from him, Eddie can still see the small smile on your petaled mouth. Just as quiet as you are.

“Well, one, don’t listen to anything Steve says, okay? Like, ever,” Eddie cajoles lightheartedly. “And two, I don’t drive crazy when I have precious cargo sitting next to me, alright? Stevie’s just jealous ‘cause I think you’re prettier than he is.”

Your nose scrunches as you try to worm your way out of his compliment. “So you think Steve’s pretty?” you tease, already knowing the answer.

He scoffs. “Totally! Just not pretty like you. And don’t tell him I said that either— It’ll just go to his hair.”

The incorrect turn of phrase makes you giggle.

He turns his knees towards the door and curls his fingers around the latch. “Wait for me a second, will ya?” you hear him mumble before he hops to the ground. He slams the door shut behind him and rounds the hood on his way to you — sneakers crunching against the gravel, momentarily aglow with yellow headlights.

He’d done this before at the diner. You wait patiently for his arrival like you did then, even though you feel a bit silly doing so. You’re more than capable of getting out yourself, but Eddie always insists. 

He opens the passenger side door for you with a tightlipped, lopsided grin and holds his free hand out towards you. His fingers are larger and much warmer than yours as they wrap around your palm to guide you out. 

The van isn’t that high up off the ground, really. He just likes to hold your hand.

You don’t mind it, though. You’ll take any opportunity to hold him back.

He leads you up the driveway and inside the trailer with his hand entwined with yours. “Wayne’s not here?” you murmur when you’re finally inside, noticing how quiet and empty the place is. 

Though maybe empty’s not the right word. The place is filled with stuff — old furniture, a collection of mugs, and various other necessities. Not a mess, just an organized chaos of miscellaneous clutter. It feels like a home. Like a place that’s been lived in.

“No. He’s at work. Graveyard shift,” Eddie answers, tossing his keys onto the coffee table with a high-pitched clack. 

He starts to shrug off his leather jacket and notices how squirrelly you seem, all skittish with your face twisted with a distant worry. Your neck twitches softly, head tilting once to the side and back up again. Your quiet concern becomes his own.

His brows raise, hidden beneath his curly bangs, as he slides the fabric down his tattooed arms. “Is that okay?” he wonders, eyes wide and twinkling with apprehension.

“Yeah!” you answer, louder and quicker than you mean to. You’re obviously overcompensating, but you shrug it off anyway. You smile sweetly at him, even though it wavers at the edges, and tilt your cheek to your shoulder. “I was just— It was just a question.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“‘Cause it’s okay if you don’t wanna stay the night,” Eddie assures you, giving you an out so you don’t have to make one yourself. “It’s whatever, you know? Give me the word, and I’ll take you back home. I’ll just spend the night all alone… In an empty trailer… In bed all by myself…”

His quiet smirk widens to a broader beam when he nears you. His pale hands curl around your arms, the faded bats below his thumb sitting neatly outside your elbow. 

He’s joking, of course. Well, not about the taking you home part, but about all the rest of it. 

He thinks he’d die if he ever made you feel anything less than totally safe. Dying would feel easier, at least. He’d never make you feel bad about being anxious, or coerce you into hiding your feelings for his sake. He cares about you far too much for any of that.

So his tense heart rests a bit when you smile.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, quiet but still sincere. 

The boy brightens all at once. Excited in such an innocent, boyish way. “So I get to kiss you all night long?” he wonders in a disbelieving murmur.

“Only if you want,” you answer with burning cheeks and clammy hands.

“Well, I do want… I want very much…”

He kisses you then, until your lungs run out of air. Standing together in the middle of his living room, lit by so many yellow lamps, with the croaking of frogs and the chittering of crickets sounding in the navy blue night.

He pulls away sometime after. Maybe a second. Maybe an eon or more. He recovers from being so ardently kissed much quicker than you do and guides you down the short hallway to the single bedroom. You still feel the imprint of his mouth against yours, like he’s still there. 

Your lips tingle with longing, grieving the lack of him.

You still make him turn around before you change, though.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he teases from the very center of his mattress, right before turning onto his stomach and shoving his face into the pillow.

“It’s different,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you slide the sleeves of your dress down your shoulders. The fabric falls to the carpeted floor in a puddle at your feet. You make quick work of redressing, as though there were some kinda time limit to what you had asked of him.

“I know,” he replies, muffled into the cushion his cheek is smushed against. “You’re still pretty, though.”

“You can’t even see me,” you argue and slide a pair of frilly sleep shorts over your thighs.

“I’d still think you were pretty even if I never saw you again.”

“Jeez,” you laugh, shoving your head through the neckline of a band-tee older than you are.

“…That sounded kinda morbid, huh?”

You giggle again. This time because his voice is still smothered into the pillow, stifled and utterly faint. “Just a little,” you answer.

“Well, it was supposed to be a compliment.”

“I know. You can turn around now.”

Eddie lifts his wild head and peeks at you over his shoulder, one eye squinted shut just in case he heard you wrong.

You’re less dressed up than before, but still as pretty as you were ten minutes ago. 

The subtle domesticity of seeing you in pajamas makes his chest ache. It’s like doing laundry or making a shopping list — something so utterly mundane that’s so strikingly tender.

“Pretty,” Eddie mumbles some moments later, when his brain forgets every word but that one.

“Shut up.”

Your hands wring together as you idle at his bedside, like you need some kinda invitation to come closer. Your head tilts again, a gentle swaying of your head that seems almost involuntary.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Eddie wonders with a soft pink, inquisitive grin. 

‘Cause this isn’t the first time you’ve done it. You did it earlier, when you first walked in, and a couple times at the dinner. Like when you catch him staring or after he’s complimented you. It’s almost like you have some genuine aversion to his affection.

“Doing what?” you murmur, all innocent.

Eddie swings his legs off the side of the mattress, socked feet melting into the carpet. His parted thighs are enough of an invitation as you settle intently between them. 

“That thing with your neck,” he answers when he’s fully upright. “The uh…” He replicates it for you, drops his cheek to his shoulder and brings it back up again. He doubts he looks nearly as cute as you do doing it.

You get so self-aware that your stomach starts to ache. “I don’t know,” you answer through the frog in your throat. “I do that sometimes, I guess— When I get nervous. I can’t really help it.”

“Nervous?” Eddie echoes, face twisted with sudden anguish. His hands reach for your wringing ones. He musters a shaking smile up at you. “Babe— Why are you nervous?”

You dig your bare feet into the carpet, shifting your weight and ducking your gaze like a nervous child. “‘Cause I haven’t slept over before. And I don’t really know what to… do. Like, what if I snore really loud? Or drool a lot? What if I accidentally punch you in my sleep or something?”

Eddie doesn’t mean to laugh in the face of your genuine worries, but it spills out before he can stop it. It’s so like you to stress yourself sick over something that’s about as likely to happen as getting struck by lightning.

“I’d probably like you more, honestly,” he answers, giving your clammy hands a gentle squeeze. His nose scrunches until the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You’re too perfect. You need something to humble you.”

“Don’t be nice to me, I’m being serious.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can sleep on the couch. Or on the floor or something—”

“It’s your house, Eds.”

“Well, I’m not making you sleep on the couch, and especially not on the floor. Even if I was that big of an asshole, I think Uncle Wayne would kill me.” He grows suddenly serious a second later. Still smiling, but with something more earnest in his eyes. “But… I do think we’d be more comfortable, you know, in a bed. Together.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t mean you’re happy about it. Not because you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as him, but because you’re too anxious to let yourself enjoy a good thing.

“I’m just bad at sleepovers, I think,” you confess in a tiny voice, like that fact isn’t utterly obvious now. “Like, one time, I was at a friend’s house in middle school, and I used a poster as a blanket ‘cause I was too scared to ask for a real one.”

Eddie’s smile widens. The rose petal expression blooms so large it makes his cheeks hurt. 

“Of course, you did,” the boy says with a shake of his head, frizzy curls swaying around the outsides of his jaw. “You’re so damn cute, you know that?”

You make a vague, grumbly noise of disdain right before Eddie wraps you in his arms. He pulls you softly down until you’re sitting on his jean-clad thighs, then buries his face into your shoulder. You smell like the soap you showered with and the burgers you ate and the perfume you put on just for him.

Eddie presses his lips there, to your collarbone, where the neckline of your shirt has dipped slightly down. He lingers there for a moment, then pulls away with a soft smack.

“I promise to make this the best damn sleepover you’ve ever had in your life,” he promises, muffled from where his nose is smushed into your neck.

“Yeah?” you mumble into the curls tickling your chin.

He nods, still pressed against you. “And I promise to tuck you in before bed so you don’t have to go using my posters as blankets, either.”

You push him away with a half-hearted hand. His boyish laughter paints the tiny bedroom golden. He pulls you back a second later, and you melt into him without thinking twice.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

#this has like t wo more parts #pre steddie #wayne as a BAMF #wayne and Hopper both as psuedo parents to Steve #ya'll are gonna have to put up with my weird ass jumping all over the place warm ups sorry lol #Gary's fourth piece is coming no worries #and then this will either take its place or the other one I have will #you CANNOT look me in the eye and tell me all the blue color workers arent aware shits going down #like 100% local crews took one look at starcourt and went what the fuck #nevermind you know the local power plant lol #and with demo critters running around its not like they were tearing through brushes and shit #your local hunters are gonna know somethings up #anyway #beat to shit Steve Harrington #my beloved #hes gonna show up busted to shit with a major grade concussion and Eddie is gonna shit himself #steve harrington #steddie #I spelled collar color and im not changing it #outsider pov #wayne pov #I will write the first person who knows where I pulled John from a prompt of their choice #catholic wayne munson #jim hopper

[luxurychristmaspudding]

listen

summary: you’ve been serving frankie and his friends at your bar for months. despite your wishing and wanting, the shy pilot doesn’t work up the nerve to ask you out before santi introduces you to his buddy, joel.

swept off your feet by the sweet southerner, and charmed by pope, the boys come together to show frankie exactly what it is he’s missing.

read part 2, watch, here

grouping: f!reader x joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia

rating/warnings: 18+. MDNI. no outbreak (tlou) - but based after the tf mission. softdom!joel, softdom!santi, sub!frankie, sub!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, maybe MFM?, sharing the luuuurve, praise kink, one (1) count of spitting in mouth, dirty talk, daddy kink (heavy, sorry lmao), oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it!), creampie, come eating, pussyjob?, so many orgasms i started to lose count, maybe a tiny bit of angst, m!masturbation, light choking, f!overstim, bad spanish, right okay we’re done.

wc: 14.7k. we aren't gonna talk about it.

an: this is fucking filthy. i’m sorry. don’t ask.

When you first started to hang out with them all, Will told you that Frankie was useless with women. What you didn’t expect was for him to be this fucking oblivious.

You had been bartending when you met him at a bar downtown - all industrial steel, burnished mirrors, and low light. Frankie and the boys would come in every so often, and you warmed to them immediately. It was hard not to. The four men were always respectful, always polite. They never overstayed their welcome, or their tolerance, and always asked how you were. 

Of course, it helped that they were also handsome, and you quickly fell into the trap you were sure they wove for all hospitality staff. The lingering glances from their table, the crooked smiles at the bar. The competition they seemed to enjoy amongst themselves of who could lather you with the most attention.

Will and Benny did particularly well. The elder brother saved a special, particularly mischievous smile and a wink for you every time he came to order, and saved a special, bruising elbow to the ribs for his brother every time he caught Benny staring. Benny was always a hoot considering his sore ribs, the air never seeming to have been knocked from him as he chatted away to you across the polished wood.

But it was the quieter two, Frankie and Santi, who piqued your curiosity. Santi - often cool, detached; who offered little information in the way of his life but seemed to want to be wrapped up in yours. Who would watch you over the rim of his glass of whisky, drop his eyes to your lips, dip his mouth in a smirk, and say he’d see you later. And Frankie, who could do almost nothing but watch you from his corner of their booth, his Standard Oil cap sunk low on his brow, both hands around his bottle. His deep swallow when you’d catch his eye. The blush that would crawl up his neck, threading through his cheeks when you smiled.

Over the months they came to the bar while you worked there, the five of you became friends of sorts. Once in a blue moon turned into once every two weeks, turned into every Saturday night. And you made sure you were always there, sacrificing the time you would have spent surfing social media on your sofa for time spent flirting with your favourite regulars. Enjoying their eyes on you. Enjoying Frankie’s blush when you called him sugar as you asked if he needed anything else. 

One day, you hoped he’d gather enough courage to give you the answer you hoped for.

You.

But he never did.

When the time came for you to move on from the bar, you made sure to let them know. Your new job further into the city was a step exactly in the direction you wanted to go, and though the men shared touching groans of disappointment, they congratulated you wholeheartedly. 

They also invited you to their Saturday night drinks. You gladly accepted. 

On your last shift, Will slid you Frankie’s mobile number, explaining that he was the most reliable member, the one most likely to know what was going on with the group at any given time. When you ribbed him about how he must always be on his phone, Frankie shyly admitted it was because he had a daughter. He was constantly on the lookout for updates, sweet little pictures and messages his ex would send over. They had a good relationship, and his kid - Lucia - was gorgeous. They just live a little far away, Frankie had admitted, a sad little frown glazing over his features. 

You had softened to him even more, asking him questions about his daughter over the bar while you poured his drinks, propping your chin in your hand and listening to him as he continued to talk after you were finished. You found yourself trying to make Frankie laugh, to hear his sweet chuckle, to brush a touch against his arm, see the sparkle in his eyes beneath his cap - similar, you imagined, to how your own eyes glittered back at him. 

The conversation only stalled when Benny called for him - Fish, where are those drinks? - earning himself a thump from Will, who muttered something about Frankie finally finding the courage and Benny’s big fuckin’ mouth. Frankie’s cheeks had heated, and he'd cleared his throat, thanking you before gathering all the drinks in his large hands and heading back to the booth.

What you had overheard heated the tips of your ears and rattled around your brain, looming in the back of your mind when you joined them the Saturday after. 

But Will's words must have just been a silly little joke, because no matter how hard you try, Frankie will not bend. No matter what you wear, no matter what you do, the curly haired pilot remains firmly out of reach.

And it’s not like you don’t have fun together. You join them on nights out. You’ve been invited over for poker games and parties. You share glances with Frankie, jokes, tales, hell, sometimes he even puts an arm around you. But it’s always the same. The end of the evening is always frustratingly uneventful. 

Crowded into sweaty bars and packed living rooms, you’re caught in a never ending circle of wanting and longing. Maybe that’s why, one night, you find yourself exchanging heated glances with Santi. 

Frankie never really touches you beyond a hug and a kiss on the cheek when you arrive, and remains a staunch gentleman no matter how much he drinks. Santi seems to strive to do the opposite. He finds you in the kitchen one night, trying to cool off after watching Frankie laugh and lean into another woman’s conversation, feeling foolish, immature, but trying to blink away tears anyway. 

He talks to you like you’re the only interesting person he’s ever met, standing a little too close for a friend, only moving away when you’re interrupted by one of Benny’s buddies searching for a beer. When you return to the living room, Frankie notices. Notices how Santi pulls you in close when you’re near, presses a kiss to your hair, places a casual hand on your knee when you’re sat next to each other. And how you let him do it. 

When Santi drops you off at your house, he looks at your lips for a long time. His eyes are burning as he tucks your hair behind your ear and wishes you a good night. But he doesn’t go further. 

It’s driving you fucking insane.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined the chemistry between the three of you before, so what was wrong now? Whose starting pistol were they waiting for? You can’t help your desperate huffs of frustration every time you close the door at the end of another night - alone, sopping wet, with only your hand to help.

Until one night, when you really believe, truly believe that it might end differently.

Frankie has been sat next to you in the booth all evening, laughing and chatting away. His arm is slung over your shoulder, his thigh against yours, your body pressed into his side. It feels good, it feels right, and he’s looking at you in such a way that you begin to teeter dangerously close to pressing your lips to his in the middle of the bar. 

You and Frankie take the opportunity to talk about anything and everything. Catching up on your jobs, how he’s re-received his licence, your families, future dreams and aspirations. It’s almost funny how perfectly everything seems to realign. You think this is the turning point - this is when you realise how perfect you are for each other, this is when you take the leap. The only hiccup seems to be when Frankie says he’ll be away for the next three weeks - working, and then visiting Lucia. Your heart crumbles a little - just a little - before you try to sweep away thoughts of him dying in a helicopter crash or falling back in love with his ex. It feels like you’ve waited so long for this moment that the universe might just try and be that cruel. Just for shits and giggles. 

But it won’t. Everything’s fine. Everything’s great.

Santi seems to notice. He’s quieter than usual, watching the two of you cosy up together. He looks pleased, if a little put out, and when he thinks you aren’t looking he exchanges a look with Frankie. A raised eyebrow, a dipped head. A fucking finally.

As you move to leave the bar at closing time, Frankie touches your arm.

‘Mind if I walk you home, querida?’ He asks, holding out your coat. You take it and swoop it on over your shoulders, grinning at him.

‘Thought you’d never ask.’ You say.

Frankie walks you home like a gentleman. 

Too much of a gentleman.

You bump shoulders every so often, but he doesn’t move to take your hand. And he’s all bashful smiles and throaty laughter, compliments and flirty asides, but you return them tenfold, wrapped up in a blinding smile.

You’re making it easy for him. Obvious. But he still isn’t taking the bait.

Maybe he doesn’t want you.

It’s an uncomfortable thought, but it bounces around your skull the whole way home. And it rumbles even louder when you get to your door and he pulls you in for a hug, a light hand barely lingering on your waist, before he wishes you goodnight. 

You stand there, a little dazed before your brain catches up and decides to deploy your last ditch attempt. Just to see. Just to find out. 

He’s halfway down your front path when you call out to him.

‘Frankie. Do you want to come in?’

He turns, limbs coming to a clumsy halt. His brows are high on his forehead, mouth a little ‘o’. Then he frowns.

Fuck. You’ve never felt like such an idiot in your life.

‘I - er,’ he starts, and you look down at the floor, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the concrete. ‘I have an early start tomorrow.’ He says. 

You look back up at him.

‘Sorry,’ he continues, ‘Any other time and I’d be - I’d be right there. Y’know. Just - timing, that’s all.’

You try to soften the bite that wants to creep into your words at his rejection, but barely manage it.

‘It’s cool,’ you say, trying to smile. ‘No worries. I just - I bought that film you said you watched the other day. Paddington 2? The one Lucia likes.’ A slow smile lights his eyes. ‘Just wondered whether you wanted to come in and watch it with a beer. But yeah. No worries,’ and then, because you just can’t help yourself, you add - ‘Wouldn’t have been any funny business, just so ya know.’ 

You force out a laugh, and Frankie drops his eyes. Disappointed, confused. You feel bad for a second, but then you remember how embarrassed you feel, how stupid. It makes your skin crawl. Nevermind.

You clear your throat.

‘Anyway. Get home safe, Frankie,’ you say, ‘See you soon.’ 

You rush in and close the door before he can reply.

---

Your phone buzzes with a text early the next day.

You open your eyes with a groan, clutching unseeingly at trinkets on your nightstand until your stomach lurches at the thought that it might be Frankie. You sit up to grab it.

It’s not Frankie. It’s an unknown number.

Hey. Do u want to head to the bar 2night?

You frown, confused, fingers dancing over possible replies before another text flies through.

Got a friend Id like u to meet.

And then another.

Its Santi btw. Cant remember if u have my no.

You breathe out, type a quick sure. Fuck it. What harm could another of Santi’s friends do to your pride? Your sex drive? What harm could a night with Santi do? You follow it up with -

Who else will be there? Are you setting me up?

You chew on your thumb anxiously, waiting for his reply.

Just the 3 of us. Might be ;)

You snort at his reply, shooting back -

God. Am I really such a charity case?

 - before getting out of bed to make breakfast. Halfway through your pancakes, you get a text back.

Nah. Just cant stand seein a good girl like u go to waste.

You put your phone back down on the table, slowing your chewing. Good girl. The two words send a lick of heat curling up your spine. A good girl like you going to waste. 

A slow, smug smile spreads across your lips. You pick up your phone again and begin to tap out a reply. A risky move, one which would surely harm your chances with Frankie, but fuck it - 

If you don’t want me to go to waste, you could always have me to yourself.

You stare at the blinking cursor for a second before deleting the message, instead asking him for a time. No need to be hasty. 

You don’t know what his friend looks like yet, anyway.

As it turns out, Santi’s friend might be exactly who you need to forget about Frankie.

Joel Miller is older, in his fifties. Greying, tall, broad, gorgeous, and a true southern gentleman to boot. The kind of guy - you imagine - who would drive you to work the next day if you couldn’t walk after seeing him the night before.

And it’s going well. Really well.

You, Joel, and Santi chat easily around your little table, swapping jokes, telling stories, brushing touches to each other here and there. Joel works in construction - runs his own company with his brother, Tommy - and has a grown up daughter called Sarah. He’s worked on Santi’s house - actually knows most of the group - but is usually too busy (or too tired, he tells you) to come out and join them. You think about how unlucky it is that he hadn’t come around before you made such a fool of yourself last night. And then you vow not to think of Frankie again for the rest of the evening.

Joel is easy to be around - warm, safe - earthy and masculine. And maybe it’s something to do with the way his chocolate brown eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles, but you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You can’t seem to stop thinking about what it would be like to run your fingers through his curls, feel the scrape of his stubble between your thighs, what his arms look like beneath his flannel, what his fingers - what his cock - would feel like inside of you. Something about the man is making your toes curl in your seat, and he hasn’t done anything more innocuous than thumb the charm hanging from your necklace. It’s agonising. 

And to make it worse, Santi knows. You don’t know how, but he does. Maybe you’re just that easy to read. 

In the blur of Joel leaving to go to the bathroom and get more drinks, Santi leans over to you.

‘What do you think?’ He asks.

You shrug, trying your absolute hardest to play it cool.

‘He’s nice. I like him. You should bring him out more often.’ 

Santi’s eyes glint with something molten, something teasing and knowing and sharp.

‘You want to take him home.’

You baulk at his words, cheeks flaming in response. You open and close your mouth as he leans in and laughs.

‘I never said that -’ you splutter, but Santi takes your hand.

‘You don’t need to, querida,’ he says, ‘I can see it written all over your face.’ 

You groan, forehead falling to his shoulder. 

‘If it helps,’ he continues, ‘I think he wants to take you home, too.’ 

You look up from his shoulder into his eyes, and they glimmer back at you. You bite your lip.

‘Ya think?’ You ask.

‘Yeah, baby,’ he teases, ‘I do.’

You hum against him before tilting your face further back.

‘You know…’ you say, lips loosened by the alcohol. Santi tips his head to the side, waiting for you to continue. ‘'S not quite how I imagined the night would end.’

His lips quirk in a smile again. Ah, fuck.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. I kinda thought you’d take me home instead.’

Santi chuckles and looks away around the room. When his eyes settle back on you, they’re black and burning.

‘I’ve thought about it,’ he says, scratching his beard, ‘A lot. But I guessed you were too caught up on Frankie.’

You freeze at his words and sit up straight, clearing your throat.

‘I don’t -’ but Santi shakes his head at you, cutting you off. He says your name softly.

‘I know about last night,’ he says quietly. Your cheeks begin to burn again, but this time for a completely different reason. ‘He told me about it after he walked you home. And I told him he was the biggest fuckin’ idiot I know.’ 

Despite yourself, you smile.

‘I’m not gonna take you home, baby,’ Santi continues as you watch him, curious, ‘Not right now, anyway. My shit is complicated enough -’ Santi cuts himself off with a sigh, and your brows bunch together.

‘What’s wrong?’ you ask, your voice low and kind despite the fire sparking at his words.

Santi looks at you again, and whatever’s in his eyes looks too complex to divulge. He thumbs your knuckles, swirling patterns onto your hand.

‘Nothing,’ he says, but you frown at him again. ‘Just… stuff. Stuff to do with Frankie. It’s - complicated. I’ll tell you about it some other time. But what I wanted to say was - I wanted you to meet Joel. Because I think you’d be great for each other.’ 

Your jaw drops again, but before you can ask any questions, anything about his stuff with Frankie, Joel reappears with new drinks for the three of you. Santi gives you a tight-lipped smile, squeezing your hand before picking up his bottle. But you drop his gaze when Joel places a hand at the top of your back as he sits down.

‘Everything okay, baby?’ He asks. 

Santi doesn’t leave early, but he doesn’t leave late, either. He stays long enough to know exactly where this thing with you and Joel is going, and then bails when he knows he should. Even if you still kinda wish he’d stay. 

Even if you didn’t get the chance to ask him more about Frankie.

You and Joel linger for an hour longer, the ache in your core and the wetness in your underwear in response to him now almost impossible to ignore. Joel keeps a hand on your thigh. He sweeps a palm down your arm, tucks your hair behind your ear. And when the bell for closing rings out, he takes your hand and leads you out into the night.

He keeps a hold of your hand the whole way to your door. 

When you get home, you turn to him on your doorstep. He smiles at you, taking you in through his eyelashes. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

You grip your keys tightly in your fist, the metal leaving marks and almost drawing blood as he leans in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You forget to breathe as his scent crowds your senses, as the scruff of his beard scratches your cheek. You want to lick his neck, find out if he tastes as good as he smells, want to know what it feels like to have him pressed against you, on top of you, under you, behind you -

Joel cuts through your thoughts with a low chuckle against your ear.

‘Breathe, darlin’.’ He murmurs.

You open your eyes, take a deep breath, and sigh a laugh as you look down at your feet. 

He is still unbearably close, and you know, you know you shouldn’t, but you don’t know if you’ll ever see this man again, and everything Santi said at the bar, and the fact that you feel like Joel could make you come with just a flick of his wrist is likely what sparks your tongue to stutter out - 

‘Do you want to come in?’

Joel looks down at you again, a fire alight in his eyes. The heat sends a shiver down your spine.

He doesn’t give you an answer. Just pushes your front door open, takes your wrist, and pulls you inside.

---

Being with Joel is great.

It’s amazing. It’s like you finally have someone who can keep up with you. Your brain, your days, your plans. It’s like someone plopped Joel Miller on earth with a little note saying he was yours.

In the three weeks after you first meet him, you share countless breakfasts and dinners and spend your weekends wrapped up in sheets watching reruns of Golden Girls. It’s so simple to spend time with someone who is so easy to be around, someone who just gets you. 

Joel makes you laugh, makes you feel important, wanted.

And the sex is incredible.

Like nothing you’ve ever had with anyone else. He seems to know what to do, exactly how you want it done, every time - it’s effortless. And somehow, you seem to do the same for him. In fact, the only problems you seem to have found are his size (because he’s huge) and the fact that you can’t be inside each other all the time.

Which is why it takes so much effort for you to peel yourself away from him when Santi asks if you’d like to join him and the guys for drinks on Saturday. You give him an affirmative before promptly being distracted by Joel coming out of the shower.

You see his reply forty minutes later.

Frankie will b there. That OK?

You type back a quick -

Of course :)

 - before getting on with your day.

Drinks are almost the same as usual. It’s surprisingly easy to slot right back into where you were. Laughing, chatting, joking with Will and Benny. What they’ve been up to, who they’ve been with. Questions you manage to dodge with only a knowing smirk from Santi to remind you he knows exactly who you’ve been doing. 

Frankie joins in from across the table. He couldn’t meet your eye when you first arrived, but over the course of the evening and a few drinks, he seems to have relaxed enough to look at you. Really look at you.

Which is unfortunate, because you can still feel Joel’s come from earlier in the day seeping into your underwear.

At some point in the evening, Benny and Will make their excuses - they have a family get together tomorrow they can’t be too hungover for - and it’s just you, Frankie, and Santi left. 

It’s easy for the most part. Santi bridging the gap so effortlessly that it begins to feel like nothing happened between you and Frankie at all. And it didn’t, you remind yourself. Nothing happened. And then you met Joel.

So why are you still thinking about it?

You try to distract yourself, lose yourself in the conversation taking place between the two men. Something about Star Wars, new castings they’ve chosen for a series coming out later in the year. You try to contribute as much as you can, but fail miserably, earning yourself a brief history of the franchise from Santi. Eventually you get him to ease off with a hand to his chest, laughing until he starts to giggle, too. He uses the interlude to get up to use the bathroom and get more drinks, leaving you with Frankie and his soft, brown eyes.

You peer at each other nervously from across the table. You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lip, as he chews the inside of his cheek before taking a deep breath and meeting your eye. 

You feel your jaw clench.

‘About the other night, a few weeks back,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I was a fuckin’ moron -’ he pauses for a moment, sweeps a hand over his face. ‘I’m real rusty at this. The whole dating thing. I don’t think I even realised what it was you were sayin’ to me.’ Frankie huffs a laugh. A horrible, anxious feeling starts to work its way up your throat. ‘But I -’

He’s interrupted as a bartender floats by your booth, sweeping up some of the empty glasses. You smile up at her and thank her sweetly. 

Maybe you can stall whatever Frankie has to say.

She swats at the air with her free hand.

‘Not at all, sugar,’ she says, ‘Can’t let a thing like empties get in the way of a date like this.’

You smile at her and bite your tongue, feeling hot. A blush begins to claw up your cheeks as she winks at you both and swings away. Had she not seen Santi? And - fuck - now how do you brush this off with Frankie? How do you stop where this is going?

You turn your eyes back to him, and he hasn’t even flushed at the insinuation. Instead, he bites his lip, something which sends a jolt of heat to the space between your thighs. He scratches the back of his neck, and rushes out in a lowered voice that even though he’s busy with work at the moment, he’d like to make it right -

‘I’d really love to take you out this weekend.’

Your stomach plummets to your feet. Fuck. 

Tears of frustration prickle in your eyes. A lump of panic settles in your throat, and you almost feel like you could run out of the bar. Why is he doing this now?

You take a deep breath and try to form the kindest smile, the most apologetic furrow in your brows that you can.

‘Frankie,’ you breathe, and already his face begins to fall. You lean across the table and take one of his massive hands. ‘I’d have loved to, but -’

He shakes his head quickly, trying to draw his hand back.

‘It’s okay,’ he begins, ‘Fuck, I’m sorry. I must have just misread - I didn’t mean - I don’t want you to feel -’

But his interruption only serves to further spark the surge of irritation. You squeeze his hand tighter so he can’t rip it away and utter his name harshly. He stops immediately, his eyes whipping back to yours. Something stirs in you at his immediate obedience.

‘Listen to me,’ you say, shaking off your traitorous thoughts. ‘I’d have loved to. But I - I literally just started seeing someone, and I -’ you break off, groaning in frustration, ‘I don’t know if it’s serious, or if it’s exclusive, but he’s great, and I don’t want anyone - especially you - to get hurt by me being selfish or not knowing where things are at.’ You huff out a breath and meet his eye. He looks disappointed, upset even - but worst of all he looks understanding, almost grateful that you don’t want him to get caught up in this complex knot of wanting. 

‘Frankie,’ you say softly, and try to smile, ‘I mean this in the least… damaging way. If you had asked me three weeks ago, when we were here last, I’d have said yes. In a heartbeat.’

Maybe it does make you an asshole. Maybe it does make you selfish. But it feels important in this moment to make sure that Frankie understands - you like him. You wanted him.

It’s just timing. 

Frankie grimaces.

‘Fuck.’ He hisses. And when he tries to withdraw his hand this time, you let him. But you don’t look away. 

A low light flickers in his eye. Something close to anger, you think - at himself, or at you, you’re not sure.

‘Is it -’ he begins, ‘Is it Pope?’

‘Pope?’ You ask, confused. Frankie shakes his head.

‘Santi. Is it Santi?’

You bark a laugh. You can’t help it.

‘Santi? Your Santi?’ you ask, bewildered. Frankie’s cheeks heat again. You want to put a pin in that, the flush at your, but your brain is suddenly so riddled with dredged up questions you can hardly order them.

‘What do you mean, Frankie?’ you ask, exasperated.

Frankie shakes his head again, realising his mistake, but you are beyond dropping the topic.

‘Frankie,’ you say, stern this time. ‘What do you mean?’

Frankie whips his cap off, runs an agitated hand through his hair, shifts his gaze around the bar for the other man.

‘He - he likes you, too,’ he says. ‘I was worried - worried he’d beat me to it ‘cos I didn’t ask before I went away. He said it was taking me too long to do - to gather the confidence to ask you -’ Now Frankie barks a laugh. ‘But it looks like we were both too late.’

You shake your head, the cogs in your brain turning slowly. How Santi looked at you was no secret. But if what Frankie was saying about how Santi felt was true, why had he introduced you to Joel? And if that was true, had you misunderstood what Santi said about him and Frankie? You feel your mouth open and close, but Frankie takes your silence to ask you another question.

‘Who is it?’

‘What?’

‘Who is it?’

You splutter over your answer, hesitating, stalling -

‘Frankie, how the fuck would you know?’

Because he would. And, rightly or wrongly, that panics you a little.

‘Is it someo-’

You cut him off, holding up your palm.

‘Frankie -’ you press a hand to your throat, feeling your rapid pulse. Fuck it. ‘I thought - I thought Santi was interested in you.’

Frankie chokes on his breath.

He stares at you, calculating something, breathing heavily.

‘It’s not - we’re not -’ he fumbles. You slouch back in your seat. Frankie’s eyes flutter closed. ‘We fuck around sometimes. And sometimes - sometimes other people -’ You groan, your head tipping back against the leather. Your head is spinning. ‘But we wouldn’t - I wouldn’t - fuck. I don’t want you to think that that’s what this is about -’ Frankie splays his hands in front of you. ‘God,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to explain any of this.’

The room suddenly feels too warm. You cradle your head in your hands, and stare at the way the table swims beneath you. What the fuck is happening?

You glance up at Frankie, but he’s watching you so intensely, so much concern and panic and want in his eyes that it makes you feel claustrophobic.

‘I need some air.’ You mumble across the table, and stumble out of the booth on unsteady legs. From the corner of your eye, you see Santi begin to cross the floor to return to the booth with drinks in his hands, see him watch you trip across the bar. In the back of your brain, you hear him call your name, but your hands are already on the handle of the front door, pushing it open and feeling the cool night air hit your clammy skin.

What the fuck is going on?

You fumble in your pocket for your phone and find Joel’s contact. You want to go home, and you want his help to forget about this. And, you think, you should probably ask whether he had any idea about Santi, or Frankie, or Santi and Frankie. 

The call with Joel is quick, and he sounds appropriately concerned without needing to hear any details. He tells you to stay in view of the bar and to not move a muscle, and that he’ll be there in 10. You hope he can make it in five.

He’s too slow. After seven minutes, Frankie bursts out of the bar, Santi quickly following him.

‘Fish -’ Santi’s calling, but he catches himself when he sees you still standing there. Frankie screeches to a halt, too.

The three of you stare between each other, eyes wide, like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off. 

Frankie says your name before you shake your head - rushing out a not now, Frankie just as Joel’s pickup peels into the parking lot.

Frankie can’t see him with his back turned, but he sure does when Joel comes striding from behind the two men to stand at your side.

‘Everything okay, baby?’ he asks in his low, southern drawl, and you instinctively lift your mouth for a kiss before realising how cruel that would be.

Joel tenses as you withdraw, finally taking in the other two men.

‘Pope,’ he says with a nod, and Santi smiles weakly back at him.

‘Frankie,’ Joel says a little softer, ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Joel.’ Frankie says through his teeth, realisation burning in his eyes. 

‘How ya doin’, kid?’ Joel asks him, placing a hand on your lower back. Frankie juts out his chin.

‘Fine. Great.’ He says, ‘I was just leavin’, actually.’ Frankie whips his cap off, runs a hand through his hair. His jaw is set, angry. He shakes his head at the ground. ‘I’ll see you guys around.’ He says to no one in particular, turning on his heel and fleeing towards the car park. 

Santi and Joel meet each others’ eyes in some kind of understanding, and you look angrily between them. Being left out of the loop again was not feeling cute.

Joel sighs, wrapping his arm around your waist.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.’ He murmurs, but you lurch out of his grasp and turn on the two of them. They watch you, surprised.

‘No,’ you say, ‘Nu-uh. We aren’t going anywhere until one of you tells me what the fuck is going on.’

Joel and Santi look at each other, expressions unreadable. 

Santi shakes his head.

‘Come back inside,’ he says, turning back to the bar entrance, ‘We’re gonna need more beers for this.’

---

When you get down to the root of it, the truth isn’t even that complex. That’s the laughable part.

The long and short of it is this. One: Pope knew Frankie liked you. But he knew Frankie moved slow. And he’d gotten tired of watching, of knowing he’d be a dick if he made a play instead. And he cares about you, his friend. Wants to see you happy. Enter Joel. Two: Santi and Frankie fooled around while they were in Delta Force. It’s not a secret, but it’s never really been discussed. Sometimes they still fool around, but it’s been less frequent as they’ve gotten older. As they date other people. Three: Sometimes, when those other people they’re dating are willing, they bring them in, and they all have fun together. 

Something Santi would have been fine with if you were his. Something Frankie was less cool with doing if he’d made his move. 

Santi admits that he’s likely just been a dick throughout the whole thing. You make him promise to do better over another beer. He does. He also now knows not to cock block his best buddy with a mutual friend.

And Joel feels kinda bad about that. Not bad enough to pump the brakes with you, but uncomfortable, sure. He’s had Frankie round for barbecues, he likes the guy. He’s sorry he whisked you away from him. But not sorry enough.

Joel hasn’t been involved in any of Frankie and Santi’s adventures, but it’s something he’s played around with before. He’s had threesomes, but he doesn’t really volunteer more than that. The thought ignites something deep in your belly and you file it away for another day, a different conversation.

Once it’s all explained and you’re laughing together again, everything feels fine. Normal.

Except you don’t see Frankie for weeks afterwards.

You drop him a text every now and again, just wanting to know whether he’s okay, but you hear nothing back. Santi tries to assure you that you’ve done nothing wrong. There’s nothing for you to worry about.

But it still sits uneasy in your gut.

You see Joel almost every day. And Santi once a week. 

The three of you meet for beers in a different bar from the one Santi meets Frankie, Will and Benny in - your bar. And you have fun. 

It never goes beyond touches with Santi, though you find yourself wishing more and more often that it would. He rests a hand on your thigh under the table, his thumb swiping patterns over your flushed skin. Sometimes he has an arm flung around the back of your seat, sometimes rubbing the back of your neck, sometimes tucking hair behind your ear. He watches and stares and smiles and laughs at you and Joel, and you watch back with delighted curiosity. You like the way he makes you squirm while you sit next to the older man. And Joel loves to watch you squirm, too.

He loves getting you home and finding your panties soaked with arousal. He loves swiping two of his thick fingers through your folds with the front door barely closed, his hand shoved down the front of your jeans, your back arched already, a needy whine heavy in the back of your throat. He loves talking you through the things he’d like to watch Santi do to you, how good he knows you’d be for the two of them, how well behaved, how you’d take, take, take it, and how proud he’d be to show you off. My girl. He growls as he fucks into you at night. My girl.

And it suits you, how giving, how generous Joel is. 

Seems to suit Santi, too.

At some point ideas had been swapped between you and Joel - some thinly disguised remark dropped by him over dinner one night had led to you picking at the thread and grinding him down over three days, trying to get to the bottom of it. He liked to share, he’d said. He liked to watch. He liked the control, and the pride, and the possession of it all. And goddammit, you liked the sound of it, too. Because after serious discussion - serious boundaries, limits, run throughs of possible scenarios, you talked through people who you wouldn’t mind trying it with.

And there was obvious one name you both settled on.

Santi.

And well, given his history, it didn’t take too long for you to convince him to join you.

And if it hadn't been for Santi’s suggestion, his knowledge, his understanding of his best friend, there’s a chance Frankie’s name wouldn’t have come up at all. You’re not sure if you’d have dared, considering how things were left. But, lo and behold, it does, and along with it the chance for him to see exactly what he's missing out on. 

---

All the rules have been arranged for tonight, but the most important one, which you must remember, is that Frankie is not allowed to touch you.

At all. At any point. 

You and Joel head to the usual bar to meet Santi and Frankie for drinks. You make sure to wear a dress which clings to your curves, dips at your cleavage, and settles just high enough on your thigh to be bordering on acceptable. And it must be more than acceptable, because Joel threatens to fuck you out of it three times before you leave the house.

It must be acceptable, because Santi cannot keep his eyes or his hands off you when you arrive at the venue, and Frankie from across the table cannot regain control of his jaw.

They both look good - you all look good - Joel with his hair combed back, a deep green flannel on, Santi in all black - and suddenly all you want to do is call the drinks off now and just head back to Joel’s. But the patience, the build up is critical. It’s foreplay.

Instead, you lean back in your chair, sipping on your cocktail as you take in the three men.

The conversation flows easily after a while. Joel is a master at it, weaving questions in and out, making sure to put both you and Frankie at ease. Besides, it’s been a while since you last saw each other. Not that either of you were any less eager for him to be involved. He’d been very keen, according to Santi. 

He’s in dark jeans and a tight navy blue t-shirt tonight, his trademark cap confining his curls. He’s not dressed up, but he’s made an effort, and his shy looks across the table, his kind questions and easy jokes have begun healing the fractures of what happened weeks ago.

It doesn’t hurt that he and Santi had a good, long talk, and that you then shared a sweet phone call. 

All the same, he sits opposite you, unable to touch you for the rest of the night.

Instead, he just gets to watch as Joel presses kisses to your neck, pulls you into his chest, skates his hands over your thighs - anything he can get away with doing to turn you on. And Santi isn’t far behind. Holding your hand on top of the table, bringing your knuckles to his lips, keeping a hand on your knee almost the entire time.

Your brain is a hot, buzzing mess by the time Santi checks his phone.

‘It’s getting late.’ He says, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Eager, no?’ You tease, trying - and failing - to cover the scent of your own desperate need.

‘Of course,’ Santi smirks over the rim of his glass, ‘But I’ll take my time with you.’

You try to laugh but fall back into Joel’s shoulder at his words, and the older man chuckles. He kisses your forehead tenderly. Frankie watches hungrily from across the table, the dark void of his eyes flicking towards his watch, desperate to leave. 

When you do, he walks at a distance behind the three of you. You smile to yourself and sway your hips a little more for his benefit. And you swear you get a low whine as your reward.

---

You’re quiet the whole way home, trying not to clench your thighs too hard or rock yourself against the seat. You're so desperate for friction, for relief, that it’s hard for you to concentrate on what’s going on in the car. Hard for you to think of anything beyond Joel’s warm, heavy hand on your thigh as he drives. 

He leans over to you halfway home, and whispers -

‘You’re quiet, baby. Everything okay?’

You flick a glance to him and find his eyes equal parts concerned and equal parts aflame. You smile.

‘I’m trying to be good,’ you murmur, ‘But you’re making it very difficult.’

Joel dips his chin in a smirk and squeezes your thigh, his fingers drifting dangerously close to your panties. You squirm a little in your seat, and it goads him to drift his hand further until it catches at the lace of the gusset. You gasp at the feeling, a tiny whimper making its way out from your lips, and all conversation in the back of the truck grinds to a halt. Your cheeks heat, and you turn to look out the window again, clamping your lip beneath your teeth.

No one says a word the rest of the way home.

Once you're all home, a silence settles around you. Everybody wide eyed, geared up, on edge. You’re not sure who to look at or what to say until Joel does it for you.

‘Upstairs.’ He commands, and everybody moves to follow him up the staircase. You keep your eyes on his broad back the whole way up, and once you reach the top, he holds his hand out behind him for you to grab. You do.

When you get to his bedroom door, Joel leads you in. You turn just as Santi crosses the threshold, as he pivots to Frankie behind him and says -

‘Kneel.’

Frankie glances at you, swallows, and returns his eyes to Santi. He drops down to his knees in the hallway.

‘Good,’ Santi murmurs, stepping forward to crouch down in front of him. ‘Do you remember the rules?’ He asks Frankie.

The younger man nods, his eyes dropping to the floor.

‘Yes.’

Santi nods once. 

‘Good. Listen. And do not leave this spot.’

Santi straightens, turning his back on Frankie. You can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him on the floor - small, submissive - and you can’t help the little gasp you let out as Santi steps towards you and closes the door slowly behind him, leaving just enough of a gap so that Frankie can hear everything that happens but watch none of it. 

Joel skirts his fingers down your waist and presses a kiss just under your ear.

‘You ready, baby girl?’ he rumbles. You turn your face to look at him over your shoulder, finding his eyes dark, a familiar power behind them. You nod.

‘Yes.’ you say. He nods, pleased, twisting to kiss your mouth before guiding you towards Santi.

‘Good,’ he says. He turns and moves towards the armchair in the far corner of the room, sitting heavily in it.

Santi steps towards you and gently takes your face in his hands.

‘You okay?’ He asks quietly. You nod.

‘Yeah,’ you whisper, ‘Are you?’ 

Santi nods, his eyes searching yours for a hint of hesitation. You try to open up your mind to show him the excitement, the want you feel. Satisfied, he licks his lips.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He asks. You nod again, and Santi leans forwards, capturing your mouth in hard, slow movement.

Santi means to make a study of you, you think. His tongue is everywhere, his teeth grazing over your bottom lip, his hands gentle and then needy, already figuring out exactly what it is that makes you tick. And to make it even worse, every time you take a moment to catch your breath, he has that fucking smirk on his face. It’s infuriating, and you quickly need to find something  which will wipe it off.

So you begin to undo his belt.

Pope huffs a chuckle against your lips, but doesn’t stop the work your hands are doing. Instead, he matches it with his own fingers. 

With deft movements, he slips a hand under your dress and finds his way to your panties, touching you through the fabric. You groan against his mouth, and he smiles, ghosting over your folds. Not to be out done, you slip your hand into his jeans and palm him over his boxers. He hums against you.

‘Are we racing?’ He asks.

You cock your head to the side.

‘Thought you wanted to take your time?’ You quip back, and something flashes in his eyes. 

He steps back.

‘Take this off.’ He says, tugging at the hem of your dress, and you pout at him. 

‘Does that mean you take these off, too?’ You ask, tugging at his jeans. You’re pushing your luck, you know. But you think this might be easier if Santi undresses with you, if only to really see what you held in your hand. 

Santi raises an eyebrow. ‘We’ll see,’ he says, ‘But you go first.’

You step back from him and glance at Joel, assessing. He nods at you, encouraging, and you pull your dress up and over your head. You stand before them in only your panties, and Santi takes a deep breath, biting his lip, smiling again.

‘Gorgeous, baby.’ He says. And you feel it. The way this man looks at you makes you feel weak, giddy - like your core is on fire. 

Santi steps towards you to kiss you again, making sure his hand returns to where it had been, ghosting over your underwear. You groan into his mouth, impatient now, and his teeth scrape at your chin as he clicks his tongue. In answer, he sweeps your panties to the side, and grazes two digits along your slit. You moan loudly again, and Santi groans up at the ceiling.

‘Fuck, querida.’ He says, before stretching a thumb to your clit and sinking the two fingers deep inside you. You stumble against him as he begins to work you, breathing heavily against his clothed chest. You turn your face so your teeth can nip at his skin underneath.

‘Take - this - off.’ You hiss, and he laughs, slipping his fingers out of you with a groan to oblige. Santi removes his t-shirt quickly and chucks it somewhere across the room before pushing his jeans down and stepping out of them. He hurries to find purchase within your body once more, rocking you against him, curling his fingers deep inside you. His tongue returns to your mouth and you remember his hard cock in his boxers. You reach for it, but he blocks you with his arm. You whine.

‘Tan mojada ya, baby.’ He drawls. Santi removes his fingers from where they were curling inside of you and brings them to your mouth, tapping your lips. You open for him, and he presses them in, allowing you to swirl your tongue over them. You clean off the scent of your heady arousal as Santi watches you. He presses them hard, once, against your tongue, and you open your mouth wide for him. 

He retracts his fingers.

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs, and it goes straight to your cunt. You whimper a little, and he grins, stepping back and out of his boxers. ‘Take those off for me.’ He says, motioning at your soaked panties. You almost trip in your eagerness to do so. He retreats backwards until his calves hit the mattress, and he sits down before laying back, getting comfortable.

Santi watches you from the bed, laid out on his back. His lips curl as you rake your eyes over him - hands folded behind his head, his biceps rounding by his ears, his firm, strong torso spattered with dark hair, and his long, hard cock, bobbing and drooling as he takes you in.

‘Come here.’ He says. 

You begin a slow walk to the bed, hesitating only for a moment as you crawl onto it and towards him. He licks his lips as you come closer, and you bite your lip back.

You feel unsure without being given specific direction, but you know that Joel will put you right if you step a toe out of line. So you place a knee on either side of Santi’s hips, and sink your heat down onto him as he pulls you forward by the back of your neck, searching for your lips.

You start to move, to adjust to try and let him inside, before Joel’s voice cracks like a whip out of the corner.

‘Either of us tell you you could fuck him yet?’ He growls.

You try to draw your mouth away from Santi to give your response, but he clamps your bottom lip between his teeth so you can go no further. You whimper and shake your head.

‘So put your fuckin’ hips back down. Y’ain’t earned it yet.’

Santi lets your lip go and flops back against the sheets with a shit-eating grin. You lower your hips again and place both your palms on his stomach, pushing your tits together. He eyes them greedily, reaching out and flicking a thumb over each nipple. You feel your pout grow, your brows drawn tight together and your bottom lip swollen, jutting out almost comically. Santi catches a glimpse of your face, and puffs out a laugh.

‘Poor baby,’ he coos, ‘Just wanna get fucked, don’t ya?’ You nod pathetically, but don’t dare move. He is achingly hard beneath you, his thick length resting perfectly between your folds. Santi lowers his hands from your nipples until he has them on your hips, and like he’s read your fucking mind, he begins to rock you back and forth.

A wanton, needy moan drools out of your mouth as your pussy wets him, fresh slick leaking out of your clenching hole. You wonder how much of this Frankie can hear. 

Santi groans beneath you, watching the head of his cock disappear under you every time he slides you forwards. The pressure of him just against your lips is heady, and you watch as he guides you forwards just a little more, urges you to lean a little further forward until your clit catches on the head of his cock on every slide. You throw your head back, your fingers scratching at his torso, and he watches you. He whispers that you look so pretty like this, how he can feel you, look at how wet you’re making my cock, baby, can feel you twitchin’ on me already, angel. He guides you back and forth until you feel a heavy pressure begin to settle in your pussy, a burning beginning deep in your gut. Your moans become more frantic as you begin to plead with him, though you’re not sure what for.

‘Use your words, baby,’ Joel reminds you from his seat. ‘Ask Santi. Tell him what you need.’

You release a hot breath of air, biting your lip.

‘Gonna come, Santi,’ you tell him breathlessly, ‘Need to stop. Gonna come.’

But Santi just smiles sweetly up at you, his eyes heavy lidded. You pussy twitches, the knot pulling tighter. He reaches up with one hand and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Why would I want you to stop, angel?’ He asks. You shake your head. You don’t know. ‘Talk to me, baby.’ He prompts.

‘I don’t know. Haven’t been - fuck - told -’ you whimper. He nods, swallows harshly.

‘I want you to come,’ he tells you, ‘I want you to come now, and then I’m going to make you come again, and then as many more times as I see fit, do you understand?’

You groan and nod.

‘Yes, Santi.’

‘Good girl,’ he says. ‘And when I’m done with you, I’m gonna give you back to your daddy, and he’s gonna make you come as many times as he sees fit, too. Okay, baby?’

You clench around nothing, painfully, moving faster over Santi’s cock of your own accord.

‘Fuck. Yes, Santi.’

Santi settles his head back against the bed again, running his hands all over your body, anywhere he can touch you.

‘Go on, baby,’ he says, ‘Use me.’

Fuck, you groan out, tilting your hips to allow your clit to scrape down the underside of his cock at every pass. Without thinking, you lean so far forward that you plant a hand around the base of Santi’s throat to keep yourself upright, tightening your fingers over his pulse point. He lets out a strangled moan, his eyes fluttering closed, and you feel the pressure in your core build heavier and heavier until the white hot heat snaps. You throw your head back, coming with gasps of his name and loud moans, still rocking yourself back and forth, still squeezing over his neck.

Your vision is fuzzy and your breathing still feverish when Santi grabs at your fingers and pries them away from him. You flush at your carelessness, an Imsosorry rushing out as you stare at your hand in his. He shushes you tenderly, breathing deeply.

‘S’okay, baby,’ he says, ‘I like it. Don’t have a problem with it.’ He squeezes your hand, and then fixes you with a wicked, cruel look. ‘Just don’t wanna come yet, that’s all. Only so much a man can stand when I can feel you falling apart on top of me.’

You flush even deeper, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, laving hot, open mouthed kisses along the hard muscle there. He groans and chuckles against you, kneading your ass.

‘Want me to fuck you now, baby?’ He murmurs into your ear.

You whine against him, lick across his jaw.

‘Yes, Santi,’ you groan. ‘Please fuck me.’

Santi grips the hair at the base of your neck to pull you away from him, and you let yourself be led. He slides you off him, and rests on his knees before you. Your eyes dip hungrily to his bobbing cock, shining with your come, tip an angry red, precum dripping down its length. It twitches under your gaze, and you lick your lips. 

Santi chuckles again, his hand still buried in your hair.

‘Dirty fuckin’ girl.’ He murmurs as he manipulates your body. ‘Turn around,’ he says, ‘Hands and knees, baby.’ You follow his directions, turning on the bed towards Joel before planting your limbs and curving your spine, angling your ass in the air. You’re not sure where you should look until Santi releases your hair and leans over your back, a hand on your hip.

‘Look at your daddy,’ he says into your ear, gripping your chin softly to angle your head. You look at Joel through heavy lidded eyes, only to find his are similar. ‘Keep your eyes on him.’

Joel is still fully dressed in the chair, head heavy against the back of it. His legs are spread wide, a hand on either arm, fingers spread and clenched slightly against the fabric. His jaw is tense, and you can see how his jeans strain over his cock - fully hard by the looks of it. You moan into the sheets as you watch him watch you. Santi kneels behind you, running his hands over your soft skin, as he dips two fingers through your folds, swearing softly.

‘She’s so wet, Joel.’ He whispers, and Joel’s eyes leave yours momentarily to see Santi hold his fingers up to the light, coated in slick. Joel’s hips move slightly, bucking into nothing, and he barely manages to grunt out a response. You wonder again how much of this Frankie can hear behind the door, whether he’s straining in his jeans just as Joel is, whether his ear is pressed against the crack just so he can hear what Santi is whispering to you both.

Pope grips one of your hips, and uses his other hand to line himself up at your entrance. He uses his tip to spread your slick around a little more until you whine again, fisting the sheets.

‘Please, Santi, please -’

And he needs no more encouragement, sinking all the way in on the first thrust. You cry out into the mattress, your sounds coming out choked, overwhelmed as he sets a relentless pace.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he hisses out behind you, neither of you able to get more words out. 

You quickly lose yourself to the feel of him pumping in and out, every part of you wound up tight, hot. You can feel yourself squeezing him already, making his hips stutter. Joel notices, too. You wonder whether he remembers Frankie is outside, as well, because he manages to force out in a low grumble -

‘How does she feel?’

Santi gathers your hair up in a fist, bringing your face up from the sheets just so they can hear you better. He grits his teeth, tries to stutter out his answer -

‘So - fucking - good -’ and at this, a delicious smile sweeps across Joel’s face. He’s proud. You moan even louder and manage to garble out a daddy, which makes him positively grin.

‘Atta girl, baby,’ he says to you, before turning back to Santi, ‘Just good?’

You and Santi both hear the prod in his words, and it shoots another thrill through you to remember just how much control Joel has; how he wants him to tell him what he already knows, to prove that his worth.

‘Not just good,’ Santi groans, ‘Fuckin’ perfect. So tight. So warm. She’s clenchin’ me already, makin’ me feel like a fuckin’ teenager,’ he laughs around a puff of air, before leaning back into you. ‘Tómatelo con calma, hermosa - quiero que esto dure.’ You moan again at his words, as they spark the opposite of their desired effect.

‘Shit,’ Santi chuckles out, ‘God, Joel. Pussy like I’ve never felt. And so responsive, too.’ To prove his point Santi lands a firm smack on your ass and you yelp, pulsing around him, biting your lip. He moans behind you. ‘Don’t know how you ever get anything done,’ he bites out, ‘I’d never be able to leave her alone.’ 

You glow under Santi’s praise and Joel’s warming stare, and push yourself up loosely onto your elbows as Santi returns both of his hands to your hips. You push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Santi gasps, before reaching around you to rub desperately at your clit. Your moans bounce off the walls, sharp gasps and whines melting into begging -

‘Please, Santi - fuck - oh my god, oh my god, please - ‘m so close. So close -’

‘Gonna come again, baby?’ He coos from above you. You nod furiously.

‘Yes,’ you gasp out, ‘God, please Santi, fuckin’ me so good -’

With a grunt, Santi hauls you upwards so your back is flush against his chest. He fucks into you harshly, fingers still working your clit, his other hand pinching and twisting a nipple as he kisses and bites his way along your neck, you shoulder, below your ear.

‘Good girl,’ he says, and your head dips back onto his shoulder, mouth open in a sob because he feels so good - 

Santi grips your chin again, yanking your face down and towards Joel.

‘Look at your daddy,’ he snaps at you, ‘You look at your daddy when you come for me.’

And you do. You can barely keep your eyes open as your body gives out, loud, broken moans escaping your mouth, Santi and daddy alternating somewhere in there as Santi fucks you through it, fingers still on your clit as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder -

‘Good - fucking - girl.’

And you see even Joel’s eyes close momentarily, his hands clenching to fists on the arms of the chair, a growl of desperation only you can hear tumbling out of his chest.

Santi is relentless as he chases his own release, but you’re so tight around him that he refocuses his efforts.

‘Again, baby,’ he orders, ‘Give me another. I can feel it. Come on. It’s right there. You gotta give it to me, hermosa -’

But you whine against him, twitching, trembling, sobbing through the overstimulation, unsure where the boundary between pleasure and pain is. You shake your head, try to catch your breath.

‘Too much, Santi, too much,’ you cry, ‘Can’t - don’t know -’

‘You can, baby,’ he breathes, voice like steel, and you whimper. That tone so similar to Joel’s, how he knows, how now Santi knows, that you can.

At his insistence, you tumble off the cliff again, weakly calling his name as a gush of arousal spills onto his lap, as you pulse and contract around his cock. He releases a strangled groan, his hips stuttering, his breathing heavy. He peers over your shoulder at Joel.

‘Where do you want it?’ he gasps.

‘Inside her.’ Joel growls, and you moan again as Santi sheathes himself to the hilt and comes and comes and comes. You feel him fill you, his dick pulsing and twitching deep in your pussy, and he sags as he begins to leak out. You both hit the mattress, Santi just about propping himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. You both breathe heavily for a second, until he moves your hair from your face and touches your cheek.

‘You okay?’ he rasps, throat dry. You chuckle breathily.

‘Yes.’ You sigh. Santi licks his lips and laughs quietly, too, shifting gently to slip out of you. You both groan, trying to catch your breath again. Your limbs are liquid, your body heavy, and somewhere in your dazed state you feel him dip a kiss to your shoulder blade before using his tongue to soothe the bite mark he’d left earlier.

You turn your face towards him as you feel his weight leave the bed. He smiles at you, muttering something about getting himself cleaned up before gesturing to the opposite way you're facing. You turn your head to find Joel, pulled to his full height, standing at the foot of the bed, still fully fucking clothed.

You slowly rise to your knees on the mattress, and Joel smiles at you, lifting a hand to settle against your cheek. You lean into it, turning your head to kiss his palm.

‘You okay, baby?’ he asks softly.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You breathe.

He nods, pleased.

‘Good. On your knees, on the floor for me, baby girl.’ He says.

You pull your languid limbs off the bed and settle on your knees on the floor, waiting patiently for him. You rest your palms on top of your thighs, tingling and relaxed, and wait for your instruction. It comes before Santi even leaves the bathroom. 

‘Mouth.’ Joel says, and you shuffle forward towards him, hungry hands grappling with his belt as he chuckles down at you. ‘My eager girl.’ And you shine a blinding smile up at him. 

You whip his belt off, launch it across the room, and make quick work of the button and zipper, pulling his jeans down his thighs so just his boxers are left. You lick your teeth at the sight of his barely contained cock, the front of his underwear stretched, the tip of his dick peeking from above his waistband, leaking and swollen. You rise up on your knees as you reach for the band, lifting your eyes to Joel’s as you pull his underwear down, smiling again as one of his big hands comes to rest at the back of your head, impatient already. 

His boxers and jeans pulled down, you take Joel into your hand, pumping him gently before pulling the tip to your mouth, blowing on it lightly before pressing a kiss to the weeping slit. Joel sucks a breath in through his teeth, and presses his hips forward, sinking his cock past your lips. You take him gratefully, opening as wide as you can, your tongue soft and firm against him, tracing and twirling as you hollow your cheeks.

‘So good t’me.’ Joel breathes out, pushing a little further, just to hit the back of your throat and hear you choke lightly. You moan around his length, your eyelids flickering shut as he begins to fuck your throat slowly, making sure to feel every inch you allow him access to.

Santi emerges from the bathroom, and he can’t help but grin as he takes in the sight of you on your knees before Joel, swiping a hand over his mouth to try and hide his mirth. You flutter your eyelashes at him, and he shakes his head before crossing the room to sit in the chair Joel was in before. He crosses an ankle over his knee, leaning back to watch you both. 

You hum around Joel and begin to bob up and down his length, using your fist to pump what you don’t have the patience to take in your mouth. Joel tangles his fingers in your hair and groans as he feels your tongue dip into his slit, slip over the sensitive spot on the underside of his head. 

‘Fuckin’ hell,’ he grunts, ‘Putting on a show for Santi, are we?’

You smile wickedly around his cock, before taking him all the way to the base on your own. You hold your head there as long as possible as Joel chokes out moan after moan, and from behind you Santi mumbles -

‘Fuck, Joel. She’s leaking all over the floor.’

Joel huffs out a breath, pulling you off his cock. He peers down at you, eyes dark.

‘Are you, baby?’ He asks.

You wiggle your ass to feel what even you hadn’t noticed, too caught up in sucking his dick. A small puddle of you and Santi has been dripping down onto the hardwood where you kneel. More slick pulses out of you at the realisation.

‘Yes, daddy,' you sigh, and Joel’s eyes roll up into his head. He yanks your hair roughly to bring you to your feet.

‘Get up,’ he snarls, ‘And get on the bed.’

Joel all but throws you back on to the mattress, and it happens in such a rush that you wonder if you’ve done something wrong. You wrack your brain as Joel undresses before you, his eyes scouring your body, taking in the marks, the bruises already forming, how your hair is wet with sweat at the roots, how your pussy still drips onto the sheets - 

And then you get it. Joel is getting off on it - on the thought of you being full, used, wanted, shown off -

Once he is down to just his skin, he crawls over you, lifting and pushing your hips to move you up the bed. He dips his head to lick and kiss and bite at your neck, and your hands flutter around him, touching him everywhere. His back, his arms, his neck, his face, scraping your nails down his exposed skin. He makes his way to your mouth, devouring you - all tongue and teeth until he rears back to look at you, sprawled and gorgeous below him. 

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he groans, ‘So perfect like this. Open your mouth for me.’ You do as he says, flattening your tongue out against your lower lip for good measure. He groans again, and then leans forward to spit in your mouth. You swallow it down hungrily.

‘Thank you, daddy.’ You say, and he leans back down to kiss you again before retracing down your neck, your collarbones, your breasts -

‘Such a good girl, rememberin’ your manners,’ he grumbles, ‘So good, takin’ Santi, look so good when you’re takin’ his cock.’ You whimper as he bites down on each of your nipples, soothing them with open-mouthed kisses. He kisses down your stomach, around your heat, nipping the inside of your thighs, making sure to leave marks, breathing hotly onto your skin.

‘But now you’ve made a mess, baby, haven’t you?’ He says. You mewl at the ceiling, clutching the sheets around you as Joel blows on your clit, hovering just above where you need him. ‘Words, baby.’ He reminds you, with a sharp slap to your thigh.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You cry.

‘And what do we do when we make a mess?’ He asks.

‘Clean it up, daddy.’ You pant.

‘Good girl,’ he coos, ‘Good girl.’ Before he licks a fat, hot stripe from your leaking hole up to your clit.

You gasp at the sensation, your back arching off the bed, the coil in your stomach already wound impossible tight, every part of your body still so sensitive. Joel works with abandon at your pussy, flattening his tongue to lap at you, tasting the mixture of you and Santi, slurping around your opening before focusing his efforts on your bundle of nerves, sharpening his tongue to work it in tight circles, then figure eights. Your hips buck strongly against him, and he secures a forearm against your lower belly to stop you struggling. He hums against you as your hand winds its way into his curls, scratching lightly at his scalp.

‘Daddy, daddy, daddy, so good - fuck - so good - tongue feels so good, baby -’ You babble to him, to yourself, and Joel lowers his mouth, working his tongue inside you, grinding his nose against your clit. Your shoulders shoot off the bed, and you pull his hair now, biting a curse between your teeth. Joel doesn’t let up for a second, just moves his forearm so he can force your upper body back down onto the bed. Your fingers loosen their grip on his hair, coming up instead to scrub at your face as moan after moan escapes you.

A groan echoes from the chair, and you flick your gaze behind you to see Santi watching greedily, palming himself through his boxers. The sight only serves to work you up more, your core tightening and tightening and tightening, an unbearable heat settling where Joel’s tongue is, but you need him deeper -

‘You close, baby?’ He mumbles against you.

‘Y-es.’ You force out, as he pinches your clit between his lips.

‘What do you need?’ He asks.

‘Fuck - your fingers, Joel, please -’ 

Joel obliges, slipping one, and then two digits into your cunt easily, fucking them in and out as he licks again at your nub, swirling and sucking and lapping -

‘Come on, baby,’ he groans, ‘Give me what I want.’

The forearm he has braced against your middle barely keeps your back on the bed as you come, hard and loud against his tongue. Your whole body twitches, so warm, as he laps and laps and laps at you, as you beg him to stop, to let you breathe for just a second - but he doesn’t, he never does, just eats until he’s had his fill, until he’s satisfied. 

When he lifts his head from between your thighs, his beard and cheeks are glistening with your come. He releases his grip on you and begins to crawl upwards again, and you clamp your thighs shut to stop him from provoking anymore overstimulation. He laughs down at you, kneeling back to yank your legs back open with his strong hands.

‘We’re not done with you, yet, baby,’ he coos, ‘I ain’t had all my fun.’

You shake your head at him, pitiful, your lower lip jutting out. He pouts back at you.

‘You don’t want daddy’s cock, darlin’?’ He asks. You can’t even find it in you to hesitate.

‘I do,’ you cry, ‘Just don’t wanna be touched anymore.’

Joel nods at your words, strokes your cheek, kisses your forehead.

‘It’s okay, baby girl,’ he murmurs, ‘I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. Won’t make you come again if you don’t want to.’ Liar. He knows just as well as you do what his cock does to you. But still, he pauses, makes sure you’re looking at him. ‘Can I still have this pussy, angel?’

You blink up at him. Something warm curls in your stomach. Relief, you think, that he’s heard you, understands - that you know - even with Santi and Frankie here - you could stop this at any time.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You say. 

He smiles, wraps you up in a tender kiss.

‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ He murmurs as he lines himself up at your entrance, and begins to sink in.

Joel tugs at the backs of your thighs, hitching them to your chest so he can watch as he splits you open. His eyes flick from your cunt to your face, the glistening slit stretching to accommodate him and the way your jaw falls loose in a silent ‘o’, your brows brunched, your eyes rolling and falling shut. The slip of him is sinful tonight - your orgasms leaving your body like jelly, Santi’s cock preparing you for Joel’s thickness. But he still moves toe-curlingly slow, inch after inch after inch providing a delicious stretch. He groans as he feels you flutter and tense and contract around him, still unable to breathe, unable to speak. Only he can get you like this - not a babble slipping past your lips, unable to do anything but feel him. Joel pants, moaning again as he bottoms out, tip kissing your cervix. He runs a finger over your cheek, letting you adjust further.

‘Talk to me, baby,’ he urges.

He rocks his hips back and forth, no more than an inch, but it punches out the breath you were holding.

‘Fuck, Joel,’ the whisper all you can get out. He smiles at you.

‘Yeah, angel?’

‘So big.’ you breathe, shifting your hips so he can sink even further in.

‘There she is,’ he huffs, pulling out again, ‘There’s my girl.’

Joel rocks forward again, and you cry out around him, the noise setting him off into a languid pace which allows him to hit every single spot inside you. You can’t bear to touch your own body, frightened of sending yourself into the void, but you do touch Joel. You clutch at his biceps, his tight forearms, nails leaving little crescent moons wherever you grip. You tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper curls, swipe the lines on his forehead, the stubble on his cheeks. He twists his head to kiss and suck at your thumb, and you mewl at him, eyes wide and glassy, so full of him you don’t know what to do.

You’re barely aware, even, of the slick sound of skin and Santi’s soft groans as he works his cock in the chair, caught up in the intensity of you and Joel fucking, his chest flushed and shining with sweat. 

There’s still not a noise, not a peep from the other side of the door.

All you can hear is Joel; his deep breathing, low grunts and moans, his whispered praises, and the startlingly wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you. You can’t stop the contractions that build inside you, and every time one ripples through your pussy Joel’s head drops a little lower towards your chest. 

Your orgasm feels deafeningly close and impossibly strong, brought on by every shift of Joel’s dick. You try to breathe through it, your moans getting louder, soaking the room with sound, but it’s hopeless. 

Joel dips his head to kiss you softly, swallowing your sounds for just a minute. When he pulls away, you teeter on the edge, everything feeling heavy and blurred and blazingly good.

‘Joel.’ You whisper urgently.

‘I know, baby,’ he says, ‘I can feel it. You’re taking it so well, sweet girl. So good f’me. I know it feels good. You can let go. You can do it. Come on.’

You all but scream against him, your orgasm ripping through your body, every muscle on fire. Your legs shake and your arms tighten around his neck as you shiver and twitch around him, and he moans, long and loud, like you’ve never heard him do before. 

As he fucks you through it, the relief, the pleasure catches up with you, and tears swell and pour out of your eyes.

‘So good,’ you sob, ‘So good daddy, God -’

Joel coos back at you. ‘Atta girl, baby. Knew you could do it. Knew you could give me one more. And it was so pretty, baby.’ he grins at you, before picking up his pace. You whine beneath him.

‘’S okay,’ he promises, ‘Where do you want me, darlin’?’ and you huff at him, as if you could ever give a different answer.

‘Inside. Come inside me.’ You say. And Joel crowds you out, pushing all the way in so you’re moaning again, pumping in the deepest part of you as his hips flex against yours, his head in your shoulder. You stroke his curls, breathing deeply as he relaxes. 

‘Jesus Christ,’ he mumbles against your skin. He pulls his head away, blinking. You giggle up at him.

‘Y’alright?’ you ask, and he smiles back.

‘Fuckin’ more’n alright,’ he laughs, ‘Are you?’

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘Real good.’

Joel slides himself out of you, both grunting at the loss, and he flicks a look over your shoulder.

‘You good, Pope?’ He asks, grinning at the other man. You twist your head to look at him too, giggling again when you take in his fucked out face, exhausted in the corner, his stomach covered in come. Santi can’t help but grin back.

‘Yeah, great.’ he answers wryly, and you giggle even more.

Joel laughs with you, rolling onto his back and pulling you against his shoulder, kissing your hair.

‘Did so good, baby.’ he reminds you again as you feel him begin to dribble out of you.

Santi stands with a groan, and makes his way back towards the bathroom, muttering something about having to clean himself up again. 

You press your face to Joel’s neck with a smile, leaving soft kisses, only coming away when you hear the jingle of a belt buckle. Santi is dressing at the end of the bed, just short of pulling his top on. You frown at him.

‘You’re leaving?’ you ask. He looks up, smirking again.

‘Not yet, querida,’ he says, ‘Just cold. Besides, there’s still someone we need to look after.’ 

You watch him as he buckles his belt with baited breath, curious as to how this will play out. You aren’t sure what exactly will happen next - whether Frankie will come in, or who will… deal with him. Your breath hitches in your throat before Joel answers your questions for you.

‘Go check on Frankie, baby girl,’ he murmurs, stroking your hair back. You bury your face in his chest again, and breathe in deeply. You scrunch the sheets at his waist in your fist, and Santi chuckles at your reluctance to leave the bed. You plant a kiss to Joel’s exposed skin before pulling yourself away to sit up on the bed. Planting your feet and gathering your strength before standing. You pick up Joel’s flannel from the floor and slip your arms into it, bundling yourself against the chill you now also feel as you pad towards the door. You feel Joel and Santi’s eyes on you, silent, assessing.

When you reach the bedroom door, you touch it gingerly, breathing deeply. You feel… nervous. How would Frankie react to everything he’d heard? You knew he’d done things like it before, but you knew you would be so… angry. Jealous and frustrated. You bite your lip, and slowly pull the door back.

Frankie is exactly where Santi left him, on his knees a step back from the threshold. Your breath catches in your throat as you take him in.

At some point during it all, he'd removed his cap. It’s tossed on the floor a few feet away, and his hair is… fucked. Strands stick out on all sides, his curls mussed and frazzled. Sweat is gathered at his temples, and his skin has a warm, glossy sheen to it. All across his face, right down to the hollow of his throat peeking above his t-shirt. His lips are swollen and bitten, wet with spit as his tongue pokes out to lick them again at the sight of you, and his eyes… Eyes so dark they’re almost black, pupils blown so wide they just sparkle back at you. Deep, dangerous, and hungry. 

He’s ravenous as he looks you up and down - your smooth skin, naked thighs, bare pussy - still dripping with come - up to your exposed tits, bitten and bruised, your neck, your face… totally fucked out, swollen lips, smudged makeup, your own blown out eyes. He moans as he takes you in, and you go weak at the knees at the sight of his hands raking up and down his jean-clad thighs. His dick is straining against the denim, against the claw of his zipper, and as you look closer, you see a wet patch much larger than just precum darkening the fabric. Your cheeks flush at the sight, at the knowledge - Frankie had come in his pants just listening to the three of you.

You breathe out shakily and get to your knees, so close to him you're almost touching. You reach a hand out to cup his cheek, and he leans into it, breathing in and out deeply, closing his eyes.

‘You okay, baby?’ You ask him softly, voice low. Frankie groans again.

‘Yes.’ He croaks out. 

You don’t know if you’re allowed, but you figure you’ll find out soon enough. You lean forward, tits spilling out of Joel’s shirt, and place your hands on his thighs. His breathing sputters, and his head drops forward, but not before you can catch his lips in a sweet, soft kiss. Just like you’ve wanted to, for so long. 

He sighs against you, lips seeking yours. But he seems so exhausted, so on edge, that he can hardly pour any fire into it. His tongue searches your mouth, almost like a plea. 

Please. Please.

As though he hears it too, Joel says quietly from the bed -

‘Help him, baby.’

You pull away from Frankie’s kiss and lean your forehead to his.

‘What do you need?’ You whisper. 

He looses a ragged sigh, too turned on to even know himself.

‘Can I touch you?’ He breathes.

You nod, and he reaches out his hands - carefully, gently - to skirt over and up your waist, to touch your stomach, to skate over your tits. You wince, once, as he traces over one of your nipples, and he freezes. You smile shyly at him.

‘It’s okay,’ you whisper, ‘’M just sore.’ He nods, and continues to touch, caressing your neck, thumbing your jaw, your cheekbone, stroking your brow. He’s so tender, so Frankie, that you feel tears well behind your eyelids. As though he can sense it, tell the gravity of the moment, he drops his hands, skirting them along your thighs, drifting towards your hips, thumbs rubbing the sides of your tummy, before creeping towards your heat.

‘Is this okay?’ He asks.

‘Yes.’ You sigh, this time against his mouth, drawing his lips back to yours. 

When Frankie dips one of his hands to sweep through your folds, you both moan. Low and long against each other. 

‘Fuck,’ he breathes against you, stalling. Slowly, slowly, he brings his coated fingers to his mouth, so close to you that you can smell it, the mix of you and Joel and Santi, and he slips the digits between his lips. He holds your eye the whole time, devouring, tongue swiping over every knuckle, every valley, until they’re clean. He releases them with a pop. You groan, wanting him, impossibly, and you ask again.

‘What do you need, Frankie?’

‘You.’ He says. Frankie swoops forward again to kiss you, one hand now at the back of your head, one back between your legs, gathering the mess between your thighs. You rock against his hand as he parts you, feels you, and you reach forward for his belt, his button, his zipper, undoing all three in record time. You slip a hand into his jeans, under his boxers, impatient to feel him, all of him, and he gasps against you, stilling his movements. He groans your name, almost in warning. 

‘It’s okay,’ you tell him, stroking his hair soothingly, ‘You’ve waited so long, Frankie. It’s okay.’

You take your hand out from his pants, and join his at your pussy, just for a moment, just to collect what’s left and what’s already pooling from you again, before returning your hand to his cock, using the combined juices to move your hand easily up and down. Frankie moans brokenly against you, his body slumping forwards. 

You can’t see him like this, but you can feel him - and Frankie is big. Not quite as big as Joel, but thicker and pulsing against your palm, already wet from his come and what you have just provided him. You swipe your thumb over his tip, collecting his precum to spread down his length, and he jerks against you at the movement. 

‘Fuck, baby,’ he whispers, ‘I can’t, I’m not gonna last, hermosa -’

You shush him again, kissing at his temple, his brow, his cheek, before nudging to his lips.

‘It’s okay, Frankie,’ you say again. ‘I want you to come. You deserve to come. You’ve been so good for us.’ 

And it’s all Frankie needs as he moans loudly against your lips, body seizing and relaxing harshly against yours as he spills himself over your fist, over his jeans, over your thighs and the top of your mound. There is so much of him it’s almost comical, and you laugh softly as he finally starts to relax.

He looks up at you shyly, questioningly.

‘Look at you, Frankie,’ you breathe, and he flushes right to the tops of his ears. ‘So good.’ You murmur.

‘All for you,’ he whispers so only you can hear. He holds your gaze, trying to communicate everything he’s been thinking behind that door. ‘All for you.’

You lean forward and kiss him again. Try to forget, for now, the scratch of those unanswered questions, what it could all mean. Later.

‘Come on,’ you say, taking his hand and rising from the floor. He follows and returns your smile. ‘Let's get you cleaned up.’

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia x reader #joel miller x frankie morales x reader

[backtothefanfiction]

ummm.....

COMING THIS FRIDAY!!

When you tease your other projects and then return to an old faithful and write a bonus chapter. The start of this has been sat in my notes for far too long. If you can't wait until Friday, there is a little teaser below the cut.

To catch up on the series just click here!

It's Saturday night. The whole gang are out at a bar having a good time, but Magpie's only got one thing on her mind.... getting revenge on Santiago for what happened in Italy.

-----------------

You turn yourself back around and Santiago dips you with one arm around your back, the other lifts your leg up to rest against his thigh. Your hands reach to tangle into the back of his hair as he flips you back up again, his fingertips ghosting along the bare flesh of your thigh as he still holds you close to him. You hold your face close to his as you speak into his lips, “I promise you the only one of us who's gonna break tonight Garcia, is gonna be you.”

You let your eyes move temptingly between his eyes and lips. His fingertips slacken on your thigh and you slowly slide it back down his leg. You feel him shudder slightly as you place your foot firmly back on the floor. His gaze on you changes as he tries to work out what you mean. You subtly bite your lip as you begin to step backwards away from him teasingly. “Sure you still want to play Santi?”

The question is left open as you make your way back to the booth. “What did you say to him?” Frankie asks you as he stands to allow you to slide onto the seat next to Lisa and Benny. Frankie's eyes watch Santiago concerned as he moves over towards the bar instead of following you back to the table.

“Nothing. He's just thinking through his next move.” you shrug nonchalantly.

“You think he's gonna back out?” Will chimes in from across the table.

“Hardly.” Benny scoffs. “Pope loves two things a challenge and good pussy.”

“Benny!” Lisa says as she gives him a slap to his arm in an attempt to hold him accountable for his words.

“Ahh what!” he retorts, not thinking he's stepped over any line. He looks between your own face and Frankie's before it hits him. “Oh sorry man.” he offers his feeble apology towards Frankie. It makes you chuckle. Benny never changes.

“You can sweet talk my pussy all you want Ben, you're still not gonna get a look in.” you throw back at him. He clutches at his chest in response, pretending he just got hit. You all laugh at the younger Miller's crassness.

“I'm gonna go check in on Pope.” Frankie leans down to say into your ear as he dismisses himself from the laughing group. You give a quick glance over at Santiago's back as he leans on the bar before giving Frankie a small nod.

“You okay man?” Frankie asks, slapping a hand on his best friends shoulder. Frankie looked down at the bar to see one empty shot glass of tequila already on the top. A second sat between Santiago's fingers, ready to be drunk.

Frankie watched as his friend knocks back the drink, slamming the glass back down on the bar top, before he responds. “You gonna tell me what I've walked into tonight or what man?” Frankie can't help but let out a chuckle. He's never seen Santiago so rattled before. “Seriously hermano, tell me. Am I in trouble here?”

“Look man, you got the opportunity to fuck her again. You telling me you gonna turn that down?”

--------------------------------------------

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@icanbeyourjedi @theshiningharmony @darnitdraco @kesskirata @wyn-dixie @rosiefridayrogersunday @actual-spawn-of-satan @clydesducktape @asta-lilyy @honey-hi @heythere-mel @heidi-toevs @wigofokoye @choricenter @goodgriefitsawildworld @lostgirlheatherr @d0uwannkn0w @justdrawings101 @nicotinebirds @bisexualolympuss @babyratt19 @cookiecat22 @peterhollandkaitt @a-bang-for-your-bucky @asta-lily @codenamewife @lazyunknownwerewolf @emmy626 @natura1phenomenon @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels @fangirl-316 @thisisthewaytofiction @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @aficwhore @slayerx147 @alberta-sunrise @itspdameronthings @nano-pax @bunnypascal @niki-xie @eowynshairflip @mamacitapascal​ @dobbyjen​ @t3rradactyl @shadowolf993 @supersingle @alexa-rae-dreamz

#what benny doesn’t know #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier x reader #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #fanfiction

[earwig5]

it’s kind of crazy that both fallout new Vegas and fallout 4 have the same driving force for the first half of the narrative (find the guy who wronged you and make him pay) but Benny is so much more memorable and narratively interesting than Kellogg.

It’s a matter of a strong character foil versus a weak one, in my opinion.

Benny and the courier are very much alike. They are both ambitious people who are willing to do anything possible to stack the odds in their favour. Honestly, Benny and the courier are the same card, reversed.

The Sole Survivor and Kellogg are also intended to be character foils. The game tries to convince us of this with the scenes in Kellogg’s mind, where we see that he ‘isn’t so different’ from our protagonist after all. But we don’t know anything about Kellogg other than his backstory. How can he parallel the protagonist if we don’t know which traits he has? Which traits the two of them share?

(As a side note, I wish Fallout 4 had touched way more on the ‘Man/Woman Out of Time’ thing. The protagonist being frozen in the past + Kellogg being functionally immortal would’ve been really cool to explore! Especially in the context of grief!)

In the end, I think the reason Benny is a more powerful character foil is that he doesn’t disappear from the world when you kill him. The chairmen can mourn him, House will comment on it, and even NPCs across the Mojave will talk about Benny’s death!

In Kellogg’s case, the protagonist is basically the only person who knows he even existed! Once he’s dead HE’s DEAD! He disappears completely from the narrative! As soon as you leave fort Hagen, the game doesn’t bother looking back.

that’s why Benny is a more haunting force for new Vegas; particularly an independent courier. You are Benny’s legacy because you are what he leaves behind whether he likes it or not. People remember him as the couriers victim. Meanwhile, nobody remembers Kellogg at all. The memory of who Kellogg was dies with you, and you can choose to forget him.

#i hope this makes sense #my ‘what if fo4 had interesting writing’ moment #what I would’ve wanted to see is more Kellogg&sole survivor parallels #+Kellogg to be relevant in act 2 or 3 #+ MAYBE JUST MAYBE. we get the chance to spare him #it just frustrates me that fo4 has a lot of wasted potential #fo4 #fallout 4 #fallout #fnv #fallout new vegas #benny fnv #conrad kellogg #kellogg fo4

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 4

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of drugs, allusions to homophobia

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Steve finds himself yearning for your attention.

Word count: 7k+

A/N: @nemesis729 I had to put in one of your ideas/suggestions! thank you for the inspiration <3

series masterlist

-

Let go. Just let go. Let her go. He has been repeating those words in his head since, well, since he left you. He can’t understand what it is that just pulls him back to you all the time. Whether it’s all in his head or not. He keeps coming back to you and it irritates him because why does this keep happening? 

He left you because he didn’t love you, he left you because he fell in love with her but why isn’t it enough? Why isn’t his love for the other girl enough for him to finally push you out of his mind and out of his life? You seemingly had no problem doing it with him. You pushed him out of your life already so why can’t he do the same? 

The conversation with Billy only left him feeling more irritated. 

Shouldn’t he feel peace, knowing that you aren’t hurting anymore? Shouldn’t he be content with his life now that he finally got what he wanted? 

He doesn’t feel at peace and he doesn’t feel content and it causes anger to rise up in him because why? 

Why, why, why… 

Maybe it’s a good thing that he couldn’t find you anywhere after the conversation with Billy. He looked for you but you were nowhere to be found. He wanted to talk to you about the essay, despite you telling him that you’d call after school. He most certainly would have talked about something else, something that would make things even worse between the two of you. 

The tiny voice in his head that kept telling him to let go, eventually got to him. He gave up on trying to find you and he went to find his girlfriend instead. He took her out for a late lunch at Benny’s Burgers and then brought her to the book shop she loves so much before he ‘begrudgingly’ canceled their movie night– Nancy didn’t seem to mind it that much, saying that she would rather work on her project anyways. After he had dropped her off at her house, he went home, walked into his empty house and waited for your phone call. 

But you never called. 

-

“Is it just me or does Steve seem different?” 

Heather looks at you through the mirror, annoyance flashing in her eyes in an instant at the mention of your ex boyfriend. She lowers the dress that she was holding against her body and sighs. 

“Different how?” She asks as she hangs it back on the rack before she reaches for the purple one, the one you claimed as your favorite. 

You shrug, “I don’t know, it’s just, he seems less– nevermind.” 

Chrissy raises her eyebrows at you, “no, no.. keep going.” 

You blush a little, regretting bringing him up. You look around the bustling store, Heather isn’t the only one looking for a dress for the winter formal next week, a few girls from school are around as well. In fact, Carol Perkins is here too, currently holding up a baby blue dress, just the sight of her makes you want to throw up. 

You never liked her or her boyfriend. Steve had always been friends with Tommy. Carol only came along when she started dating the unfriendly jock. When you had only been friends with Steve, you never hung out with them, you didn’t like them and you didn’t get along with them, not even when you started dating Steve and you were forced to tag along. You always hated the way Steve behaved when he was with them, he always turned into someone else, he let them influence him into doing things that he normally wouldn’t do. They always laughed behind his back, they used him for money and for popularity. You tried showing him that they weren’t real friends but he didn’t believe you or maybe he just didn’t care about what you thought of them. 

She must’ve changed his mind after only one month of dating, he dropped his friends. She got through to him after only one fucking month. 

“He wants to work on the stupid essay with me– he never did that before, he always convinced me to write them for him, even when I wasn’t part of them and now he wants to write it himself and he started reading Pride and Prejudice, willingly!” 

“That’s because he’s already crawling back to you,” Heather mumbles, “they always do that.”

Chrissy nods.

“Not that I’d ever take him back but I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Then what is the case, y/n?” 

You shrug and look down, “I let go of things so I’m not holding onto him or what we used to have if you think that. I don’t want him anymore, not after what he did. It’s just, I’m starting to realize that he truly never loved me. He never changed for me. It’s not that I asked much of him, I just wanted him to drop his toxic friends and for him to start doing better in school so we could go to college together, I just wanted what’s best for him but he never cared about what I wanted. Yet, he cares about what she wants. He dropped his friends for her right away, he started doing better in school for her. That’s what you do when you love someone, you do better for them,” you pause, looking down, you play with the hem of your cheer skirt, “you are willing to change for the right person… So, I guess she is the right one for him. I never was.”

Heather and Chrissy share a look, one of pity. Both girls know that you have let go of your first love but the pain and the heartbreak is still fresh. Steve had always been there, all your life, he had been by your side. He was your friend and then he was more than that, you were hopelessly in love, blinded by it to see how bad he was treating you or how he never even deserved to have a chance with you. 

Neither of them can imagine the pain you are still going through– he was the one for you. 

“I don’t think that she is the right one for him, I think that he’s a blind fool, that’s what he is,” Chrissy says. 

Heather raises her brows, “he’s a real fucking clown, that’s what he is. He dropped the hottest girl there is because he set his eyes on some shiny new toy that’s no one touched before and now he is already crawling back. Not even two months in and he’s already back in your bedroom.”

You scrunch your face up at her words, raising your head, “don’t say it like that, makes it sound like we hooked up.”

“You wouldn’t, right?” Chrissy asks as she stares at you with big eyes, “h-hook up with him or, I don’t know.. kiss him?”

You instantly shake your head, “no! It’s bad enough that I have to do this stupid assignment with him. I don’t ever want him near me again, King Steve is dead to me– besides, he has her now so..”

“Yeah and he cheated on you with her,” Heather says with disgust in her eyes, “he’ll do it again– or, she will do it.” 

“Oh and she will.” 

At the sound of her voice, you all share a look of annoyance. Heather rolls her eyes, she throws the dress over her forearm, putting her other hand on her hip as she looks at the redhead.

You and Chrissy turn your heads to look at Carol, who as always, is chewing her gum and twirling her hair as her eyes flicker back and forth between the three of you. 

“I’m sorry but who invited you into this conversation?” You ask, giving her a false smile. 

“Oh, I just thought that you’d be interested in hearing about what I had to say but hey–”

“Tell us,” Chrissy says. 

Carol tilts her head, laughing a little. 

The cashier behind the counter raises her head, finally tearing her eyes away from the magazine she’s been staring at for the past forty minutes, she looks between you all, mumbling something under her breath that you can’t make out, the Christmas music is too loud. 

“Nancy has a new friend– Jonathan Byers.” 

“And?” Heather shrugs. 

“Well, they seem to be getting really cozy with each other. She is canceling date nights just to hang out with him and Steve is an idiot, I mean he always was so he is kinda blind to the whole thing but when Tommy made a comment about it, he blew up on us, he left us stranded on some parking lot–”

“We don’t wanna hear your sob story about why King Steve stopped being your friend, Carol.” 

She looks down at you where you are sitting on the couch, eyes flashing with irritation but the grin remains on her lips. 

“Well, all I’m gonna say is, their relationship isn’t going to last. Weirdly enough, she started being a little distant ever since he deflowered her. Wouldn’t it be funny if that’s all she wanted him for?” She giggles, giving you a pitiful look, “for sex? I mean, getting to have your first time with King Steve must be really special, right?” 

Irritation sparks inside of you but you don’t show it. A smile tugs at your lips and you shrug, “not really, Carol. There is nothing special about a man, ever.”

Your friends chuckle at your words. 

Carol lets a small laugh leave her lips, though it’s more sarcastic. 

“So, who knows, maybe she stole him from you to hop on his dick, maybe she has a thing for wanting things that she can’t have– although, she did get what she wanted,” she snorts, “but Nancy’s eyes are on the little freak and his eyes, well,” she pauses, smirking at you as she eyes you up and down, “they are elsewhere too,” she chuckles. 

Carol walks past you and Chrissy, staring at the dress in Heather’s hands, she touches the silk material with her fingertips before she brushes past her. 

“If I were you, I’d get him back, y/n.” 

You want to scoff and roll your eyes but that’s exactly what she wants from you. You tilt your head and raise your brows at her. 

She glances back at you over her shoulder, “I mean, losing your boyfriend to some loser is pathetic, especially for someone like you, y/n. I mean, the queen of Hawkins High losing to some little nerd?” She laughs.

You lean back against the couch and cross your arms over your chest. You couldn’t care less about your stupid title. 

Heather squints her eyes at Carol and steps closer to her, “you know what’s pathetic?” She asks, not giving her the chance to respond, “drooling over some guy who isn’t your boyfriend and walking around trying to stir shit up.” 

“Yeah, she moved on if you haven’t noticed,” Chrissy mumbles from beside you. 

Carol turns around, she looks at you before she eyes your friend, “with who? You?” She laughs. 

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips. The smugness on her face, the everlasting smirk and the amusement in her eyes is so irritating to you. 

You fail to notice the blush on Chrissy’s cheeks or the embarrassment in her eyes. Carol smirks, she notices the look on her face and so does Heather who narrows her eyes, glaring at Carol and eying Chrissy slowly. 

“I know what you are, Chrissy–”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Heather interrupts her, “go and find yourself a dress, it’ll take you some time,” she says, eyeing the redhead up and down. 

Chrissy squirms in her seat, she begins to twist the ring on her finger. You frown when you notice it, knowing that it’s a nervous habit of hers. Carol’s words confuse you a little but you don’t think too much into them. She leaves after giving all of you her judgmental looks. 

Heather turns back to you both the moment Carol is out of eyesight. Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head, “I swear to god, she is everywhere– are you okay?” She asks you. 

You nod, “yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, plastering a smile on your face. 

Both of them look at you skeptically but instead of questioning you, they quickly change the topic, knowing that you desperately need the distraction. 

“You know what you should do? You should pick out the hottest dress,” Heather smirks as she looks through all the dresses, “show up at the snowball and make him see what he lost.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. 

“Yeah and make him regret everything,” Chrissy smiles, nudging your shoulder.

You giggle, shaking your head, “I don’t even have a date.” 

Heather laughs, waving you off, “I know a few guys who would be happy to take you to the dance.” 

“Yeah, me too..” Chrissy mumbles. 

You shake your head at them and get up, walking towards Heather, you reach for the dress in her hands, “how about we make you two look hot. I don’t feel like going anyways, so…” 

Heather sighs, her shoulders slump, “come on, we’ve been talking about this since the summer.”

“Yeah. We talked about our matching dresses,” Chrissy says as she gets up as well, “we can still find a pretty one for you, y/n.”

“And a date.”

You truthfully don’t care about the dance anymore, you only wanted to go there because of Steve, the thought of him picking out a tie that matches your dress and him inviting you for a slow dance seemed so perfect and romantic for you back then, now it’s just something that no longer matters to you. You don’t feel like going to the dance with someone who couldn’t care less about you and the thought of sitting at a lone table while your friends have the time of their lives makes you want to slam your head against the wall. 

Shaking your head, “no, there’s no one I’d wanna go with.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Heather mumbles as she squints her eyes at you. 

Furrowing your brows, you chuckle, “uh yeah, I am sure.”

Chrissy eyes Heather with a curious expression, “what do you know?”

“Nothing,” you snort, “she knows nothing, Chris.”

Heather smirks. 

“Is this about Billy Hargrove ‘cause if so, ew?” Chrissy mumbles, clearly not liking the idea of you going out with Billy. 

“Not Billy,” she smirks and turns around, “although he did tell me something very interesting,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

Sighing, you turn away from your friends and chuckle, “you didn’t hear anything, Heather.” 

“Oh yeah?” She asks, “and what about the stoner you’ve been hanging out with?” 

Chrissy gasps, “what stoner!” 

“There is no stoner!”

-

Steve’s back aches when he wakes up, a groan falls from his lips, he opens his eyes, feeling a little disoriented when he looks around the living room. He fell asleep on the loveseat his mom always relaxes in when she reads one of her favorite novels. Rubbing his eyes, he frowns a little. Your book is lying on his chest, he must have fallen asleep while reading it– while he was waiting for your phone call. 

The phone call that never came. 

He waited and waited but you never called. Time wouldn’t pass, no matter what he did, it just didn’t pass while he waited for you to call him. Eventually, he reached for the book in his backpack and continued reading it, though his eyes kept straying away to the telephone. 

His thoughts kept going back to you just like they do now. 

What did you do last night? 

Where were you last night? 

Who were you with last night?

Why didn’t you call? 

Using a bookmark, he puts it in between the pages that he has to reread again. He closes it and puts it down. He feels a little irritated. What is this radio silence? You promised to call, you broke it, the promise. You were never one to break promises. 

He canceled his date with Nancy just for you, so you could both work on the essay, together. 

Frowning in annoyance, he walks towards the telephone, grabbing the receiver, he dials your number, still remembering it. But just like he suspected, you don’t pick up the phone. He calls you once, twice and a third time until he finally gives up. 

Why won’t you pick up? 

Sighing, he slams the receiver back into place. He runs his fingers through his messy hair and shakes his head as he makes his way into the kitchen to brew some coffee. His mind is occupied by you. Not her. You are not the girl he should be thinking about. He should be thinking about her, he should be planning a date or think about the right Christmas present he should get her, instead he thinks about you. It’s always you. 

The morning goes by and so does the afternoon. He takes a shower, he cleans his room, he reads, he starts writing the essay, he even cooks and still no call from you. 

By the time the evening rolls around, he is fuming. What is more important than an essay? You were never one to abandon school work, it was always your first priority. What changed?

He grabs his textbook, his coat and his car keys before he makes his way out of the house. Only as he steps out into the cold, does he notice the blanket of white enveloping the streets of Hawkins. Snowflakes are falling from the sky, the silence is almost eerie. 

The snow always reminds him of you, the way he kissed you for the first time after removing the snowflake from your lashes. 

He sighs, shaking the thought of the way your lips felt when they touched his for the very first time. He makes his way towards his car, removing the snow off the windshield before he gets inside. Throwing his textbook on the passenger seat, he rubs his hand together to warm them up a little before he starts his car. 

It’s only a five minute drive to your house, yet, tonight it feels longer than that. He doesn’t know why. 

He parks his car behind yours, which is luckily the only one in your driveway. But the house is dark, no lights are on. He doubts that you are home, he still gets out of his car.  Locking it, he puts the keys in his pocket. The snow crunches beneath his shoes. The cold air stings his cheeks a little. 

He rings your doorbell twice, the way he always used to do. 

You don’t open. 

He knocks and rings the doorbell again. 

Still you don’t open. 

Where are you? 

It’s on Monday when he finally sees you again. You are standing by your car, holding your backpack against your hip, rummaging through it. Your hair keeps falling in front of your face, you are muttering something under your breath. 

Steve approaches you with a frown.

You don’t notice him coming, only as he stops in front of you, accidentally kicking some snow towards you. 

“Where have you been all weekend?!” He asks, throwing his hands up. 

Raising your brows, you stop rummaging through your bag and lift your head to look at him. The stressed expression on his face makes you want to laugh. He has dark circles under his eyes, his hair is a little messy but that might be because of the wind. 

“I’m sorry?” You chuckle. 

His hazel eyes flash with confusion, he shakes his head a little, “where have you been?” 

“How’s that any of your business?” You mumble as you zip your backpack shut and pull the strap over your shoulder, brushing past him, he instantly follows you. 

“I– we were supposed to work together, remember?” He exclaims, staring at you in disbelief, “I waited for you all night on Friday, I showed up on Saturday night and you weren’t there!” 

You notice the curious eyes on you– not his but the ones of the students when you walk into the school with him hot on your heels. 

“I was busy.” 

“With what?” Steve asks, furrowing his brows, “I know school is your first priority, since when do you put anything else before it?” 

You shrug, looking over your shoulder to glance at him, “since I changed my priorities.” 

“And what are those?” 

“Those are none of your business, Steve.”

He follows you to your locker.

“We lost three days, y/n! We could have made some progress!” 

You squint your eyes and turn to look at him, he looks stressed. 

“Do you think I wanna work with you?” You mumble, “I got better things to do.” 

Steve shuts his mouth. Sighing, he leans against the locker next to yours and takes a moment to look at you. You abandoned your cheer uniform yet again. Your hair is open, you are wearing a sweater that looks way too big on you and a plaid skirt. He can smell your perfume, it’s not the same one anymore. 

“Like what? Hanging out with stoners?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“We got five days to work on this stupid essay, I can write it in one day!” You exclaim, not bothering to answer his question that he so desperately wants. 

You don’t look at him directly and you don’t tell him what he wants to hear, yet again. 

“I don’t wanna work on it on the last day!” 

Rolling your eyes, you shut your locker and put your hand on your hip, facing him again. 

“You know what, fine,” you sigh. You narrow your eyes at the redhead who walks past you, already wearing a smug look on her face when she looks between you and Steve. 

“Where do you wanna meet up today?” You ask with a bored expression on your face.

Steve blinks. For a moment, he stays quiet and he looks at you, he looks into your eyes, desperately trying to read them. What happened to you? You don’t seem like yourself, you seem different. He steps closer to you, your perfume isn’t the only thing he smells, there is a hint of smoke and weed lingering. He swallows, concern rushes through him. Your eyes are a little red rimmed, from crying or from smoking weed, he can’t tell. 

A part of him tells him to ask if you are okay, the other part tells him that it’s not his job to ask you this question, not anymore. 

“Hello?” You mumble, waving your hand in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Uh, we could meet up at the coffee shop downtown?” He suggests. 

You nod, “yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there after school.” 

You don’t give him the chance to respond, you turn around and walk away before he can even utter a word. Steve frowns as he watches you leave. He might never get used to this, to the cold shoulder you are giving him. It’s been a long time since he had seen a side of you that he used to know, now you just seem like a stranger. You changed, it’s obvious you did. Every smallest thing about you is new to him. 

You used to be on time. Whenever he would pick you up for date nights or for school, you would already sit on your porch steps waiting for him with an excited smile on your face. He was the one who showed up late, now it’s you. 

It’s 5:25 pm when you finally walk into the coffee shop. I’ll meet you after school, you said. School ended two hours ago, he went straight to the coffee shop, he even chose your favorite spot and waited for you as he continually looked down at his watch. 

You look around and he has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, he is annoyed. When your eyes find him, you take a moment to look at him, he sees the way you look at him, even from afar. You look irritated and annoyed, just like he does, still, you make your way over to him. Pride and Prejudice is lying open on the table, you see the page number; 301. Surprise is what you feel when you stare at the number, you raise your brows. Did he actually read that much? 

“Hi,” you mumble. 

Taking your coat off and scarf off, you throw it on the bench before sliding into the little booth. 

“Yeah, hi,” he mutters angrily, “I waited for you for two hours!” 

Leaning back, you raise your head to look at him. His hazel eyes are filled with anger and annoyance, it’s almost amusing to you. 

“Why?” 

“What do you mean ‘why’?” He exclaims. 

His brows knit together and his cheeks grow red. 

“We didn’t make any plans–”

“You said we’d meet after school, y/n.”

“Yeah but I didn’t say when,” you smile, “I’m here now so relax, Steven.” 

“Where were you?” 

Where were you, Steve? You had asked him this question so many times, yet you never got an answer so why should you give him one? 

“I was busy doing stuff.” 

He opens his mouth to speak but decides against it, he clenches his jaw and turns away from you to look out the window. He deserves it, he knows he does. It had taken him some time to realize some things but ever since Nancy and a couple of kids had stepped into his life, he began to see things a little clearer. He began to realize that he mistreated you, though he is still in denial because the guilt is just too heavy. 

He stood you up. He showed up late. He was awful to you. Now you are doing the same thing to him and he knows he had it coming. Deep down, he knows it. But he feels the ugly burning in his chest, the one he only ever felt when he saw Billy flirting with you or any other guy. 

Where were you? Were you with Billy? With the Stoner?

“Did you actually read it?” 

He turns back to you, you look at him in curiosity. 

“Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” You ask, “301 pages?” 

He nods, “yes.” 

You are genuinely impressed. For someone who always hated reading, he is quick. What did she do to him that you couldn’t?

Giving him a lopsided smile, you raise your brows, “impressive. Do you like it?” 

“Yeah, I mean, there’s some good quotes in there. I just don’t like the slow burn.” 

“Really?” You ask, leaning your elbows on the table, you move closer, “I love the slow burn– what quotes do you like the most?” 

He blinks as he stares at you, this is the first time you talk to him ‘normally’. 

“Uh, I’ve written some down,” he mumbles, squinting his eyes as though he tries to remember, “I think it’s uh – ‘they walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt– a-and… uh–”

“And said, for attention to any other objects.” You mumble, finishing the quote for him. You refuse to look into his eyes but your heart is bleeding in your chest.

“Y-Yeah.” 

“What’s your favorite?” 

“We do not suffer by accident.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath. He can see the way you stare at your hands, awkwardly, avoiding his eyes. The silence between the two of you is loud and awkward. 

“It’s a good one.” 

“Yeah..” 

Steve feels the urge to reach out and take your hands in his, he doesn’t know why. When you look up at him and your eyes lock with his, his heart stops beating for a moment. He can’t read you, not anymore. He knows that you have built up high walls around you, not letting him see you anymore. It bothers him because he wants to see you so badly, he wants to know what you are thinking about, what you are feeling. If you still have feelings for him.. 

“Y/n–”

“I started working on it already!” You interrupt him, “do you wanna read what I have so far?” 

He sighs, shoulder slumping and his expression sinking for a moment. “Y-Yeah, I wanna read it.” 

“Okay,” you whisper as you slide the notebook towards him, “I uh, I’m gonna get myself something to drink.” 

“Yeah sure.”

You push yourself up and smooth down your skirt before you take the first step away from the table. Your emotions are in overdrive, you still feel so much anger for him but deep down, beneath all the layers of anger and pain is the yearning, the longing in your heart that you still feel for him despite the way he treated you.

You preferred the radio silence between you two in those weeks you have pretended that he stopped existing. It was much easier to deal with all of this when you stayed away from him but now you can’t. The thought of spending time with him, every day for the rest of this week makes you want to cry. 

Having to look at him and feel yourself still wanting him, makes you hate yourself. It fuels the anger and worsens the ache in your heart. It makes you want to run away. At one point you even think it’s worth dropping the essay and risking failing the class just because you don’t want to be around him but you would only make things worse for yourself. Steve Harrington isn’t worth the bad grade.  

You make it through the evening, dodging questions that aren’t related to the essay. You continue giving him the cold shoulder, only speaking up when needed. You want this to get over with quickly. 

The next day goes by similarly, Steve asks questions and you stay silent. He tries to find out more about who you spend time with. He asks about Billy and mentions the Stoner, Billy told him about but he gets nothing from you, absolutely nothing. 

Why should you tell him anything?

Why should you tell him who you spend time with? Why should you tell him where you have been all weekend? You don’t owe him anything. He is not a part of your life anymore, yet he keeps acting like he is, he keeps prying and throwing questions at you that he knows he will get no answers to. 

You don’t care how annoyed or frustrated he gets with you, he has no reason to even ask those questions. 

On Wednesday, Steve finds himself in your bedroom again. He is sitting on your carpet, staring at all the chaos in front of him. You kept criticizing his texts, crumbling up all the papers and throwing them on the ground. It’s been hours and hours of writing and rewriting, you barely made any progress. 

Now you are rewriting his part.

The dark denim jacket is still in your room. Maybe it’s just yours. At least he hopes it is. 

“Why don’t you like Mr. Darcy?” You break the silence. 

“He’s arrogant.” 

You snort, “you should meet yourself.” 

A little offended, Steve scrunches his face up, “what is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that you are arrogant and you’re a dick,” you murmur under your breath, thinking that he won’t hear. 

But he did hear, he doesn’t speak up, though. He wants to hear what else you will say about him. After weeks of no reactions, no arguments, no anger directed at him, he is left wondering what you think of him. The past few days you have been calm but the energy surrounding you tonight is tense. 

“You are wealthy and arrogant like Mr. Darcy and you can be condescending sometimes. That’s something I never liked about you, the way you treated people who are less popular and liked than you are. You can be mean.”

“Mean?” He asks. 

You push yourself up on your knees and look down at him, “yeah, you were mean to me.”

He looks up at you, a strand of hair falls in front of his eyes, his lips are set in a frown. He doesn’t look angry or pissed, he looks curious.

“When?” 

You promised yourself that you wouldn’t do this, that you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing him that he got to you, that his actions hurt you. Another part of you doesn’t care, it’s all in the past, you don’t have to show him what you feel now, right? 

“All the time, Steve.” 

His face falls a little, his lips part, he looks like he wants to say something but he can’t form any words, right now. He stares into your eyes, the tugging feeling in his chest returns. The urge to apologize the way he wanted to do two days ago comes back. 

You look at each other for a while. The only sound being the howling wind outside. The music stopped playing a while ago. You watch the way his eyes soften, the way they flash with sadness and regret, it makes your heart hurt. 

Your hand itches to reach out to him, to run your fingers through his hair and smooth it out, to touch his cheek and feel him again. He looks at you differently now. He talks to you differently now and it hurts. 

He is much more gentle and kind. It hurts to know that it’s her whom he changed for.

He grew up with you, he was your friend first, he was your lover first, he was your boyfriend first but you were never good enough for him. You see the way he is with her, even when everyone, including him, thinks that you don’t look at him anymore, you do. You secretly watch him. He touches her gently, he kisses her softly, he stares at her and smiles when she isn’t looking, he kisses her hand and carries her books, he wraps his arms around her waist and he gives her his jacket when she is cold. He loves her, he genuinely loves her.

You wonder if he knows how horrible she is, how cruel her words can be – but then again, his words were just as cruel when he spit them in your face before he shattered your heart into a million pieces. 

Now he looks at you with those eyes that you longed for when he was still yours. Soft eyes. Now, you can’t stand them. You don’t want him to look at you like that. 

You force yourself to look away from him. You stand up and pick up all the papers on your bed, throwing some of them in the trash. 

Steve watches you, not taking his eyes off of you yet. 

“But also, you’re kind of a clown, so you’re very far from being like Mr. Darcy.” 

Steve tilts his head up to look at you with a frown on his face, a laugh tumbles from his lips, “a clown?” 

“Yeah,” you smirk when you notice the offended look on his face, “they call you King Steve but you’re really just a clown who entertains all the girls.” 

“Uh–”

“Really, I know college isn’t on your list of things to do in life but maybe a circus would do for you.” 

“Look who’s being mean now,” he murmurs as he stands up. 

“I’m not being mean, I’m just being honest,” you say, “you’re a clown just like all the other douchebags on the basketball team. Honestly, I don’t know how it just occurred to me that you all look ridiculous running after one ball – but then again, you also do that with everything else in life, you all see one desirable woman and you are all running after her like a hungry pack of wolves.” 

Steve looks a little caught off guard, though he doesn’t look mad, not even in the slightest. If you had said these things to him two months ago, he would have gotten off on you. 

“Yet you still go for clowns like me?” 

You laugh, “oh you admit to being a clown?” 

He rolls his eyes at you. 

“No, I don’t go for clowns like you anymore, Steve. I think I learned my lesson. I’d never do that again.” 

Instantly, his eyes flicker to the denim jacket on your chair. So it certainly isn’t Billy’s. 

“So.. you didn’t sleep with Billy?” 

A look of disgust that you can’t fight off this time crosses your face and you shake your head, “what ever made you think that I want to fuck Billy Hargrove?” You ask. “In what world would I touch that man?” 

“Well, he told me.” 

You snort and shake your head in disbelief. 

“Billy says a lot of things that aren’t true.” Except for the one time he did tell you the truth. 

He won’t argue with that, he knows you’re right. Still, a part of him believed him. 

You walk towards him and bend down to pick up the crumpled paper balls on the ground. You also throw them in the trash. 

“Who’s the stoner you’ve been seeing?” He blurts out as his eyes stick to the jacket again, “is that his jacket?” 

A part of you wants to laugh in amusement, the other part of you is pissed at him for sounding so jealous. If you wouldn’t have figured it out by the tone in his voice, then you would have known by the look on his face. 

You know Steve like the back of your hand. Right now, he is jealous. Why? You have no idea. He never loved you, he never actually wanted you. He wanted to own you and that’s what he still does in his head. That’s why he keeps asking you all these questions, that’s why he lets Billy’s words get to him. That’s why he hates the thought of you being someone else’s.

You walk towards him with a smirk on your face, “none of your business, Harrington.” 

To know that it troubles him so much to the point that his cheeks glow red makes you feel satisfied. 

“Just tell me, please.”

You snort, “no way.”

He steps closer to you and looks down at you with pleading eyes. What the hell? 

“Why should I tell you?” 

“Because I wanna know,” he mumbles. He pokes at your waist, making you flinch. He knows that you are ticklish. He does it again but this time, you grab his finger. 

“Stop that!” 

He uses his other hand, poking the other side of your waist, hard enough for you to giggle. 

“S-Steve, stop!” You snap at him, trying to keep a straight face but when he does it again, you flinch and try to step back but he pulls his finger out of your grip and wraps his arm around your waist to keep you from escaping. 

“I’ll stop when you tell me,” he says. His eyes light up when you giggle again. You squirm in his arms, trying to push him away. 

You don’t know how it happens but for a minute, you get so lost in the moment. For a minute, you forget about everything that had happened, you forget about the heartbreak and the pain that he had put you through, you forget about how he had cheated on you, how he had lied to you, you forget about the things he spit in your face, you forget about how he never loved you. For a minute, you forget it all. 

What starts off with him poking your waist, ends with him tickling your sides and making you giggle and laugh as you step closer and closer to your bed. Steve is chuckling as he holds your squirming body against his. You try to fight him off but he is much stronger than you, you poke his sides but you don’t get much of a reaction out of him, if anything, it makes him hold you even tighter. 

Tears from laughter well up in your eyes, your stomach begins to hurt from it all. As you near the edge of your bed, you stumble backwards when the back of your knees hit the mattress. Instinctively, you hold onto him and pull him down with you. When your back hits the soft cushions and he lands on top of you and you feel his chest pressed against yours for the first time in a while, you know that this should have been the moment for you to snap out of it and push him away but you are still in the bliss of the moment. Right now, you are in the past where things are still good. 

You are still giggling and he is still chuckling. His nose bumps against yours and it only makes you laugh harder as you look into each other’s eyes. He lets go of your waist but he stays on top of you. His heart is racing, you can feel it. 

Yours is racing too – and then, it flutters when his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. His fingertips graze your skin and his eyes roam your face. His other hand, pushes your hair away from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. Steve is so lost in the moment, he admires you, your pretty eyes, your beautiful face, the feeling of your body against his, the racing of your heart. He finds himself moving closer to you. It only feels right to do it.

There is this feeling between the two of you. Neither of you can describe it but it only makes you yearn for more. It fills you with false hope knowing that it will crush you again, a moment later. 

While his smile lingers, yours falls quickly when you snap out of it and realize what is happening, right now. Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart stops beating and you freeze when you feel his lips brushing against yours.

Everything comes crumbling down, all the walls that you had built around you, all the strength you had found within yourself to push him out of your life, all the peace you have made with living a life without him. 

It all fell down and one minute is all it took.

next part

-

tagging friends and mutuals only

@mysticmunson @screammunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @hellfire--cult @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @take-everything-you-can

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things angst

[thatgirlstrawberry]

How to Lie to a Behavior Analyst pt. 2

In which Y/N still thinks her dad doesn’t know about her and Spencer’s relationship. Rossi sets his daughter up on a date at his book signing party….

Warnings: semi-smutty scenes, cursing, you’ll probably get second hand embarrassment, Fluff, cute/horny/loveydovey!Spencer, JEALOUS!SPENCER

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

“Do you think we have too much sex?”

This question caught Spencer off guard seeing as they were literally in the middle of having sex. He paused his movements and looked at her. “Uhhhh no?” He shook his head. “Do you?”

Y/N quirked an eyebrow. “No. But I’m just trying to figure out the societally acceptable amount of sex to be having.”

With this Spencer busted out laughing. “Do you think we have over the societally acceptable amount?”

She shrugged, smiling up at him. “I mean we have sex a lot but I don’t think too much.”

Spencer chuckled. “Where did this come from?”

Y/N wiggled her hips as Spencer continued his movements, pushing into her over and over again. “Oh fu— it’s just my next door neighbor has like a lot of sex— all the time and it’s loud.” She nodded, moaning in between her words. “Like I was up until four am one night because she was moaning like a fuckin’ diseased cat.”

“How come I’ve never heard her?” He asked, groaning loudly.

Y/N titled head. “Oh so you want to hear her moan?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

“What— no!” Spencer exclaimed.

She rolled her eyes laughing. “Kidding!” She hit his shoulder.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

The next day, Y/N was at her dad’s house baking a bunch of desserts for his book signing party the next day.

“Dad, how many mini strawberry shortcakes did you need?” She asked as he walked into the kitchen.

“Um… 10, i think.” He nodded. “Y/N/N, sweetheart can I ask you a question?” He asked.

She cleared her throat. “Sure.” She smiled, wiping the flower off of her forehead.

“Are you seeing anyone?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow. She froze for a millisecond.

She remembered the text Spencer had sent her two weeks before at the dinner party her father held.

How to lie to a behavior analyst: Don’t maintain excessive eye contact, keep your voice even, say my name if you refer to me, don’t fidget— I love you

She licked her lips and glanced at him before busying her hands with mixing the cake batter together. “No, why?” She asked, her voice calm.

He shrugged and leaned on the kitchen island. She didn’t turn back to look at him. “Oh, good.” He smiled. “I have this friend and he has a son. I wanted you guys to meet.”

Y/N swallowed hard and let out a quiet scoff. “Really?” She shook her head, turning around and smiling. “You’re trying to set me up now?”

Rossi shrugged. “I just noticed that you haven’t been in a relationship in a while and I think you would love Benjamin Fitz.”

“Your friends with Eric Fitz and his son?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Eric Fitz was a very… controversial news paper company man. Her shoulders tensed.

“Yes. He always made me look good in the paper.” Rossi joked, strolling over to his daughters side. “So, what do you say? Will you meet Benny?”

If I say no, he’ll definitely catch on.

Y/N smiled tightly and inhaled through her nose. “I-of course! It’s not like I’m seeing anyone so, it should be fun!” She said, internally scolding herself for speaking so fast.

Rossi nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll let Eric know.”

Spencer is gonna fuckin’ kill me

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Y/N shivered as Spencer’s finger tips lightly glided across her back. They were laying in bed just soaking up each other’s company. She had been holding back the fact that she was set up on a date by her father since she saw him.

She could tell Spencer was about to fall asleep because his fingers started to move slower and slowly. “Hey, Spence?” She spoke quietly.

He inhaled deeply, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Yeah, baby?”

“Uh…” She bit her lip. “So… I um… my dad— he set me up on a date tomorrow night at his book signing party.”

Spencer’s eyes got wide. “What!?”

The woman sighed and sat up, straddling his thighs. “I— my dad asked me if I was seeing anyone and I told him no because then he would find out about us and then he asked me if he could set me up with his friend’s son and I said yes because I thought it would seem like I was seeing someone even though I just told him that I wasn’t.” She spoke very quickly and Spencer found it hard to keep with her words but he got the gist.

“So you’re going on a date with someone else?” He asked, his eyes dropped down.

Y/N tilted her head and she bit her lip. “Aw Spence, no— well yes but no.” She shook her head. “It might be a date for him but it won’t be a date for me. It’s gonna be torture.” She placed her hands on his cheeks. “I’m gonna hate every second of it because I won’t be with you, okay?”

Spencer nodded. “W-well… what are you gonna wear?” He asked, his eyes avoiding hers.

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek. “I will literally show up in sweatpants if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

He pouted a little bit. “You look really sexy in sweatpants.” Y/N giggled quietly.

“I’ll wear a trash bag— a potato sack! Anything you want me to wear, I’ll wear it.” She nodded.

Spencer smiled, his pouty lips fading away. “I want you to wear…” He thought for a minute. “That pretty white dress that I like on you.”

She quirked a brow. “But you said I look sexy in that one.” She traced circles on his chest.

Spencer leaned forward and kissed her. “I want him to see how sexy you look and I want him to know that he can’t have you.” He whispered. A breath left her lips and she smiled.

She was about to lean in and kiss him again but the ‘diseased cat’ who she shared a wall wit started making noises.

Y/N gasped and slapped Spencer’s chest. “Oh my god! Do you hear!?”

Spencer stopped and listened for a moment before laughing. “Holy shit, why does she sound like that?” He asked through his laughter.

Y/N groaned and rolled her eyes. “We’re never gonna be able to sleep now!” She shouted, doubting that cat lady could hear it over her dramatic moans.

Spencer pulled her closer with a smirk. “We’ll just have to show her what pretty noises sound like.”

“Oh my god, please make me scream.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Y/N nervously looked around as she clutched her bag in her hands. She stood by her dad’s signing table. He wasn’t there, he was making rounds but she stood there in her tight white dress, waiting for him to show up with her ‘date’. She rolled her eyes even thinking about it.

Soon, her father and a tall blonde man emerged from the crowd of people and headed towards the table.

The first think she noticed about Benjamin Fitz was that he looked her up and down unashamed.

She gave a fake smile to her father and a head nod to Benjamin. “Bella, you look lovely.” Rossi smiled, hugging his daughter and kissing her on both cheeks.

“This is an amazing turn out, daddy.” She smiled, kissing his cheek. They stood in the rental area of a very fancy wine and dine restaurant. She looked at the blonde man next to her father. “You must be Benjamin. It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled, holding out her hand.

“Please, call me Ben.” He winked and instead of shaking her hand, he pulled her in for a hug. His hands landed on her waist and her eyes widened, pulling away quickly as she laughed it off. “And your Y/N?”

She nodded, glancing at her father who had squinted eyes, observing the two. “Y-yes. It’s nice to meet you.” She said again, looking back at him. She had to admit, he wasn’t ugly.

“You as well, sweetheart.”

Y/N blew air past her lips and she looked around. Rossi cleared his throat. “Oh, I see one of my friends.” He smiled, glancing between his daughter and Ben. “I’ve got to make rounds. Have fun you two.”

“Thanks, dad.” She gritted her teeth as he walked away.

Ben looked at her. “Where do they keep the booze?”

Be fucking for real.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Y/N had been leaning against the wall listening to Ben talk about being a Lacrosse star in high school and college. She nodded along but she wasn’t really listening.

Suddenly, she saw a very familiar face over his shoulder. Her eyes widened and she almost choked on the champagne she was chugging.

“Uh, sorry to stop you there Ben but uh… could you give me a minute?” She asked. She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she pushed off of the wall and walked around him.

Her boyfriend stood in the middle of the room with a book in his hand and a very sexy suit. He looked at her and smiled. “Spencer, what the hell are you doing here?” She asked, looking around to make sure that her father wasn’t there and watching them.

He smiled. “I just so happen to have a book that Rossi hasn’t signed.” He shrugged.

“Oh, really?” She asked, a smile forming on her lips. “That’s the only reason you’re here?”

“Mhm.”

She squinted her eyes. “Not because you want to spy on Ben and I?”

Spencer blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes. “Please. Me? Spying? Nooooo.” Y/N raised her eyebrows.

“Okay.” She nodded. “Well, I gotta get back to my date so… I’ll see you later.” She winked.

She walked back over to Ben, swaying her hips for Spencer to look at. “Who was that?” The blonde asked.

Y/N sighed. “Oh, just one of my dad’s coworkers.” She shrugged.

Ben scoffed. “That twig is an FBI agent? He’s too tiny.” Y/N raised her eyebrows.

That twig’s dick Is most definitely not tiny.

She let out a fake giggle and waved his joke off. “More champagne?” She asked, nodding her head towards the catering woman who walked around with a tray.

“More? Really?” Ben asked. “You must be trying to get me drunk so you can take me home.” He laughed.

Y/N’s tongue slid across her teeth. “Yeah, most definitely not.” She shook her head. The woman walked by her and she snatched a glass off of the tray.

Spencer clenched his jaw as he watched Ben stare at his girlfriend like some porn actress.

I’m gonna kill him, I’m gonna kill him, I’m gonna kill hi—

“Reid! You made it!”

He snapped out of his jealous daze and looked down at Rossi. “Yes, I did.” He nodded.

Rossi held up his pen and his free hand. Spencer opened the book to the front page and held it up for him. He sighed the book quickly.

Spencer sighed before speaking. “If you knew Y/N and I are together then why did you set her up with him?” He asked, heavily annoyed.

He hummed. “I wanted to see how much she cared.”

Spencer squinted her eyes. “What do you mean?”

The man smiled. “I wanted to see if she cared enough about you and your relationship by going out with possibly the biggest pig in the city to to make sure that I didn’t find out about it. I wanted to see if she cared enough to keep you safe.”

Spencer let the corners of his mouth turn up. “Rossi, I love your daughter.” He spoke.

“And she loves you, kid. I Can tell.”

He sighed. “Thank you for not telling her. I don’t want her to be upset or nervous.”

Rossi nodded. “Anything to make my girl happy.” He sighed, watching her roll her eyes as she drank more champagne. “I’ve got more signings to do. See ya, kid.”

He nodded as he walked away, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he saw Ben reach to push her hair behind her ear. She moved away smoothly, playing it off like she had to cough. She kept trying to glance at Spencer without actually turning around.

To: Kool-Aid girl 💘

Meet me in the bathroom in five?

She looked around and saw him before looking back at Ben when she felt her phone buzz. “Sorry, about this.” She shook her head as she dug through her bag for her phone.

From: Kool-Aid girl 💘

Of fucking course

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Their lips were heavy on each other’s. Her legs were wrapped around his waist while she was sitting on the counter.

She moaned so quietly as he thrusted his fingers in and out of her. Her hands grabbed at whatever they could. Her eyes never left his though. That was the one thing he wanted.

“Fuck, Spence—“ Her eyes watered at the immense amount of pleasure she was experiencing.

“This is mine— no one else’s.” He grunted. Y/N nodded and bit her lip. “Are you close baby?”

“So fucking close.” She nodded. “You’re- fuck— the only one that gets me there.” She added because 1, it was true and 2, she knew he was feeling a little insecure because of Ben.

Soon, she came on his fingers and shut her eyes, panting. She didn’t have to worry about getting her dress wet because Spencer had pulled it up as soon as they got in there.

Knock knock knock

“Hey is someone in there.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she and Spencer recognized the voice. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Uh— it’s just me, dad.” She said, sliding off of the counter making sure that he heels hit the ground silently.

“What are you doing in the men’s restroom and why is the door locked? There’s like forty stall in there.”’

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She whispered. “Uh, I had a woman emergency and someone was in the other restroom.” She nodded her head at Spencer towards the door at the other end of the room. She had no idea what it led to but oh what the hell, right?

Spencer started walking silently towards it as she pulled her dress back down to where it was supposed to be.

She watched him walk through the door and disappear and sighed. She unlocked the bathroom door and smiled at her dad. “Hi, daddy. Sorry.” She mumbled, walking past him.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Now, Spencer and Y/N laid together in his bed. They were just in each other’s company. Again, his fingers were drawing random patterns on her back as she dozed off.

“Hey, Y/N? Before you go to sleep…” He spoke quietly not to startle her. She hummed and nuzzled her face into his chest.

“Thank you for caring.”

She smiled and squeezed him. “I love you. I will always care.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Holaaaaaaaa

I love this. Thanks to everyone who loved the first one so much!!!!!

You guys are amazing and I wanna kiss all of you.

Also ask me questions in my ask box!! I would love to answer them :))))

Anywaysssssssssss love ya bunches ❤️❤️❤️

#spencer reid #spencer fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x original female character #criminal minds #spencer x oc #spencer x reader #Rossi!fem!reader

[the-name-is-loser]

I suddenly realized why people hate artifacts

#loser’s liddol rambles #decided to get my teams artifacts in order because they’ve had basically the same artifacts since the beginning of the game and #yeha no hats not gonna work #so decided to go for Benny’s artifacts first since I know what his role is in my team (healer) so it’d be easier to find artifacts for him #bro. b r o. #finding an artifact for him is damn near impossible what the duck #like it’ll have an acceptable main stat and the subs look good but then it’ll come out of left field with flat defense or something like #Benny doesn’t need crit dmg 😭 how could you do this to me

[kaleldobrev]

Possessive

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: Ben is highly against when other men hit on you

Original Prompt: Requested by anonymous | HEYYY THERE. First of all- I love your work so freaking much. Second of all- if you’re still accepting requests I was wondering if I could ask for a soldier boy x reader where they’re out at a bar and some creepy guys hits on her?? Basically how Ben would react and everything. THANK YOU SO MUCH LOVE <333

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Cursing (21x) & Possessive!Ben

Authors Note: I re-wrote this I think like a handful of times cause I honestly wasn’t happy with it. But now I am finally happy with it | I really hope you guys liked the way this turned out | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

“So tell me why you fucking dragged me here again?” Ben asked, walking very close behind you that he might as well be attached to your back.

“Hughie’s birthday,” you reminded him.

“Remind me again why he invited me?” Ben asked. “Because we aren’t really buddy-buddy babe.”

“Because believe it or not, he doesn’t hate you,” you said. “Besides, even if he didn’t invite you, I would have dragged you here anyway cause he said I could bring a plus one. And you my guy, are my plus one.”

He rolled his eyes. “I seriously do not want to fucking be here. I have other things I could be doing than hanging out with your friends.”

You turned to him, cocking a brow. “Like what? Smashing bennies on our kitchen counter while you watch re-runs of M*A*S*H?”

He furrowed his brow, hating that you knew him all too well. “Fuck you,” was how he chose to respond.

“Fuck you too,” you smirked. “Now let’s go grandpa,” you said, taking his hand in yours and making your way to the back table where your friends probably already were.

“Y/N!” Hughie exclaimed, holding a beer in his hand. “You made it!”

“Of course I did,” you smiled; him and you exchanging hug. “I wouldn’t miss actually seeing Butcher let loose,” you winked.

“You’ve seen it plenty of times luv,” he said, picking up a shot of vodka.

“Yeah but, that was when strictly murder was involved,” you clarified. He shrugged his shoulders in response, knocking back the shot.

“Hey. I’m shocked you actually came,” Hughie said, gesturing toward Ben.

“She dr—” he started to say, but changed his mind when he saw you, looking at him with the biggest ‘do not piss me off’ look. “Wouldn’t have missed it.”

“So, what’s everyone drinking?” You asked.

“White claw as usual for me. But we have beer and vodka shots too,” Annie replied, gesturing around the table as your eyes followed the drinks.

“Anyone in the mood for some rum?” You asked. “Kinda in the mood for a rum and coke myself.”

“You’re always in the mood for rum and coke,” Ben mumbled. “Rum and my coc—” He mumbled again, but you quickly cut him off, not wanting him to finish his sentence.

“Okay!” You clapped. “I’m gonna go get some rum and coke. Ben, you wanna come with me?” You asked, turning in his direction.

Ben weighed his options: he could either sit at this table making small talk with your friends that he had nothing in common with, or he could go with you to the bar and maybe have the chance to convince you to have a quickie in the bathroom. “I’ll come with you.”

“Perfect!” You clapped again, aggressively taking his hand as the two of you started making your way toward the bar.

As soon as you and Ben were out of ear and eyeshot, Annie was the first one to break the silence. “So, what’s going on with them? Because whenever I bring up their relationship she always changes the subject.”

“They aren’t in a relationship,” Butcher clarified. “Not a real one anyway.”

“I mean, friends with benefits is kind of a relationship,” Annie said. “I mean, it’s not like the two of them don’t have feelings for each other ya know?”

“How do you figure?” Butcher asked.

“You don’t see the way the two of them look at each other? Those are more than ‘I only fuck you cause you’re convenient eyes’,” she explained.

“He doesn’t love her. Dont think the cunt is even capable of love,” Butcher replied, taking another shot of vodka.

“Did you actually want rum and coke or did you just want us to have some alone time?” He smirked. “Come and cock if you will.”

“Why does everything that comes out of your mouth sound disgusting?” You asked, not nearly as disgusted as you were over a year ago when you had first met him. Because you had been around him for as long as you have, you had basically become desensitized to basically everything he had said or did. Him walking around naked? Just an average Tuesday. Him snorting coke while you make pasta? Just an average Friday.

“I thought you liked the things that came out of my mouth,” he winked.

“We are not doing this right now,” you warned him.

“I mean we could. Your heart is beatin’ rather fast right now. And your cheeks are turning that pinkish color they usually get whenever you wanna jump me,” he smirked.

“Either go and sit down or stay quiet. Cause I don’t need these random people in this bar to know about our sex life,” you whispered yelled.

“Where’s your sense of adventure Sweetheart?” He smirked again, starting to tug on your empty belt loop on your jeans.

“Ben,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

“What?” He asked, whispering in your ear. “It’s not like anyone’s paying attention to us. This bar is fucking crowded.” He pulled you close, and kissed your neck; which caused you to let you a tiny moan. “There she is,” he smirked against your skin.

“Okay. I need you to go sit down,” you said, Ben still very much kissing your neck.

“You really want me to go and do that when we can go into the bathroom and have a good and quick fuck?” He whispered.

His offer was tempting, more tempting than you would have liked to admit. But you had to restrain yourself, at least right now — because you didn’t want to get fucked in a dirty bar bathroom. “Ben,” your voice stern.

He knew that voice all too well, and he immediately stopped what he was doing. “Fine,” his voice annoyed. “Gonna go sit by your friends.”

“Ben, you can still stand here. Just keep your hands to yourself,” you told him, but he was already half way across the room. “Fucking child,” you whispered, full well knowing that he would still be able to hear you.

“Pain in my fucking ass,” he mumbled to himself.

“They’re been over there a long time,” Hughie said, trying to see over the sea of people. “Oh wait! Here they come.” But instead of you and Ben coming back toward the table, it was just Ben; and everyone looked at him with slight confusion. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Getting her rum and coke. Weren’t you paying attention?” Ben slightly snapped.

“Jesus,” Hughie mumbled.

“I think what he means is, I thought you were getting one with her,” Annie said.

“Trouble in paradise?” Butcher asked slightly smirking; holding up a shot of vodka for Ben to take. Ben just rolled his eyes and took the shot. “That’s what I thought.”

“Can someone fucking move so I can sit the fuck down?” Ben asked, his voice full of annoyance.

As you waited at the bar for yours and Ben’s drinks, you tapped your fingers along to the music that was playing even though it was very muffled sounding due to the immense crowd in the bar tonight. “Hey little lady,” you heard a male voice say, but you ignored it, thinking that he was probably talking to the girl next to you. But then you felt an aggressive tapping on your shoulders. For a split second you thought that maybe it was Ben, but you knew he would never do something like that to you.

When you turned around, a man about a few inches taller than you stood in front of you. “You talking to me?” You asked.

He scoffed. “Yeah, who else would I be talking to pretty lady?” His words made you shudder. “Cold?”

“Uh yeah…I uh…I run a little cold,” you lied. Fuck, he noticed the shuddering, you thought.

“You can borrow my jacket,” he said, starting to take off a leather jacket that reeked of menthol and cheap whiskey.

“No I’m good, thanks though,” you said, trying your best to be nice. “Besides, I’d never see you again, so you would never get your jacket back.”

“See, I fully intend on seeing you Sweetheart,” he said. “In more ways than one,” he winked. Again, you felt your body shudder. “Are you sure you don’t want my jacket? It’s honestly really fucking hot. Kinda like you.”

Oh sweet baby Jesus, you thought. “I’m good honestly. And plus, I’m sure my friends have a jacket I can borrow.”

“Your friends uh?” He cocked a brow. “They as hot as you?” You honestly didn’t know how to answer that, so you just stood there a little dumbfounded. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you my number and we can meet up later for a little party.”

“I don’t thin—” you started to answer.

“And before you say no. I’m sure you would love it, it’s a sex party. Like uh, that Herogasm. Ever been to Herogasm?” He asked.

Of course you’ve been to Herogasm; but it wasn’t for pleasure on any account (as that kind of thing wasn’t remotely your thing). You were strictly there to make sure things didn’t go more south than they already did. “That’s not really my —”

“I really think you’d enjoy it,” he said. “The guy who created it must of been such a freak.” You have no idea, you wanted to say.

“Soldier Boy,” you said, and the man looked at you with slight confusion, furrowing his brow. “Created it…Hero…gasm…”

“Oh shit he did! Man, that guy is a fucking legend,” the man said. “Hey, you think he would still be going to those if he didn’t get killed in that nuclear thing in Ohio back in the eighties?”

“I honestly wouldn’t know,” you said, starting to actually get embarrassed.

“Anyway, enough about that guy. Have you ever had a threesome?” He asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“Hey Sugar,” you heard Ben say from behind you.

“Get in line pal,” the guy said. “She’s with me.”

Ben raised a brow out of amusement. “Oh she is, is she?”

“Yeah and—hey, has anyone ever told you that you kinda look like Soldier Boy? Man, he was my favorite,” the man said. If Ben’s ego couldn’t get any higher…

“He gets that a lot,” you chimed in.

“Shit, you two know each other?” The man said, looking back and forth between you and Ben.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “We’re real familiar with each other. So why don’t you scam before I break your nose for hitting on my girlfriend here?”

The man couldn’t help himself but scoff. “Girlfriend? Dude, you wish.” Oh no.

“Excuse me?” Ben asked. “I don’t think I heard you quite right.”

“Of course you didn’t, cause you’re an old, fucking —”

Ben’s hands went into fists, and you felt him start to push past you, but you stopped him by pressing a firm hand on his chest, which was starting to get unbelievably hot. “Let’s go sit down. Annie just texted me asking me where we are.”

The drinks that the bartender made you and Ben got slid toward you, and you picked them up, attempting to hand a glass for him to hold to replace one of his fists. “Don’t wanna worry her now would we?” Ben said, his voice still full of anger, but it was attempting to sound calm.

“You’re pissed at me aren’t you?” Ben asked, as the two of you started making your way toward the table.

“Why do you think I’m pissed at you?” You questioned.

“Because I didn’t let you handle that yourself,” he answered. “I know you’re all about feminism or whatever, but I didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”

“I admit what you did was slightly more alpha than I would have liked but, I’m not remotely pissed at you,” you told him. “It was kinda…hot actually,” you confessed. “I’m just more intrigued by the choice of words you used.”

“What words?” He raised a brow, the two of you stopping in your tracks mere feet away from the table.

“The fact that you called me your girlfriend,” you said. “You could have just said friend, but you choose to use the word girlfriend.”

“Jesus Christ,” he rolled his eyes. “We are not having this conversation now.”

“But you can grope me in a crowded bar?” You asked, cocking your head.

“That’s different,” he said.

“H-okay, I’m not gonna touch that. But seriously? I think we should really talk about this at some point because you’ve been doing that a lot lately,” you said.

“Doing what?” It was his turn to cock his head, and look at you with slight confusion.

“Calling me your girlfriend,” you stated.

He rolled his eyes again. “Tell me one time before this time that I called you my girlfriend.”

“Literally yesterday,” you responded all too quickly.

“Because some creep was hitting on you. To be fair, you call me your boyfriend,” he said, trying to turn this conversation in his favor somehow.

“I have never once called you my boyfriend,” you stated.

“You did. Yesterday when you were on the phone with your mom,” he told you.

“A conversation that I told you not to listen in on might I add,” you retorted.

“Okay, that’s besides the point. Point is —”

“Look, I’m gonna make this simple. Do you want me to be your actual girlfriend or not?” You asked bluntly, cutting him off.

“What?” He asked, for some reason acting like he was confused.

"I'm tired of beating around the bush okay? We like fucking, we already live together, and we genuinely like spending time with each other. So, why not just make things official?" Ben knew that you had a point. "So, do you want to be my boyfriend or not?"

"Yes," he replied, sounding slightly annoyed.

"What?" You asked, sighing.

"I wanted to be the one to ask," he mumbled.

"Fucking Christ," you mumbled.

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[burntheedges]

Is this a date? 💜

Frankie Morales x f!reader | 9k words 18+ (rated E) | my fic list | ao3

a/n: Happy Valentine’s Day, Jenn! @jennaispunk I hope you enjoy my gift for you for the #SpaceSistersSecretValentine. it got a bit long (lol). I loved your prompts – this is the one I chose:

prompt/summary: Everyone is going to the Valentine’s Day party as a couple and it would look stupid if you both went alone, so you and Frankie go as a couple (of course that’s when you're forced to confront your feelings for each other).

tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, banter, food and drink mention, best-friends-to-lovers, kissing, smut, p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), creampie (use a condom, folks), pet names (hermosa, querida, bebita, preciosa, amor, baby, babe), dirty talk (in English and Spanish, translated in parentheses), no use of y/n, reader has no description other than having a vagina, being on birth control, and using she/her pronouns, AU (either no Colombia trip or better outcomes from the trip, you decide), no mention of breasts or bra

Thank you to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta (as always) and to @urmomsgnocchi for looking over and helping with the Spanish dialogue! (check out ali’s tips for sexy talk in Spanish, too)

Is this a date?

Frankie grimaces as he drops out of the driver’s seat of his truck onto his driveway. He takes a moment to stretch his back, knowing it won’t actually help. The tightness he feels isn’t in his back, anyway.

He groans through the stretch and turns to grab his work bag from the backseat before locking his truck and heading inside, where he drops it by the front door. Toeing off his shoes, he shakes his head. He still feels it. He tries to ignore it and heads to his bedroom to change out of his work clothes, which are stained with engine grease from a long afternoon of repairs. It isn’t anywhere near as good as flying the helicopters or planes himself, but at least this way he still gets to work with them. (At least, that’s what he tells Pope whenever he asks.)

A few minutes later, Frankie is flopping onto his couch, beer in hand, no longer able to hide from the worry and the way he can feel it in his body. The way he has felt it, for weeks now.

Two weeks, to be exact.

He’s had the same pit in his stomach ever since Benny told him about the party. The Valentine’s Day party. Frankie sighs, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch, and feels his hat fall off his head. He sighs again.

He doesn’t know what to do. For the first time in years, all of the guys are with someone. All of them, except for him. And all of the women he knows are dating someone. 

Except for you. 

Frankie presses his palms to his eyes and tries not to sigh again. He’s developing a habit and he knows the guys will call him on it. But he can’t help it. Not with his feelings about this, about you. 

You’ll be the only two at the party without a date. And somehow Frankie had agreed that that meant the two of you should go together. As friends. On a friend date. And now the party is only one day away and Frankie feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. Maybe he should just fake sick, try to get out of it. But he doesn’t want to leave you hanging, even if he knows it’s going to be absolutely excruciating to be your fake date. Just for one night. Fuck.

(Pope, the absolute asshole, had been the one to suggest it while you were all out at the bar. Right after Benny invited everyone to the party.

“Well maybe the two of you should just go together, then!” Pope had been grinning as he said it, knowing he was getting under Frankie’s skin. 

Frankie figured most of the guys knew he liked you, had probably noticed the way he couldn’t look away from you whenever you were in the room. But Pope was the only one who knew for sure, who had heard it straight from Frankie himself. He was using that knowledge for evil. “It’ll be fun! Give you a reason to get dressed up, Fish, stop looking so scruffy for once.”

Frankie had wanted the floor to swallow him up, or maybe just to run away. He wanted to look at you to see your reaction to all of this but also couldn’t bear to do it. He’d just stared at his beer, tense. He’d felt like he was one word away from bursting into action, with no idea what that action might be. Maybe strangling Pope with his bare hands. 

But then you’d responded. “Give it a rest, Santi, we all know you just wish you could rock a mustache like Frankie.”

Everyone at your end of the bar had laughed and the conversation had mercifully moved on. Frankie had finally looked up and found you looking at him, too. You were smiling but he could tell you were nervous. He couldn’t think why you would be. 

You both started talking at the same time.

“Sorry about Pope—“

“It’s not a bad idea—“

You both trailed off, and it took him a second to register your words. 

“You don’t have to apologize for Santiago, Frankie, I have met him before. Once or twice.” You were smiling now, but he was stuck on what you’d just said.

“Wait, what isn’t a bad idea?” He reached for his beer. 

“Oh! Um,” you looked nervous again. He tried not to do the same. “We could go to the party together. Since everyone else is paired up. You know, make it more fun.”

Frankie froze with his drink halfway to his mouth. He hadn’t been expecting that. You just meant as friends, right? You had to. In all the years he’d known you, he’d never thought for even a second that you might feel about him the way he feels about you. 

He’d been quiet for too long. Your smile dropped and you started again. “I mean, we don’t have to—“

“No! Wait,” Frankie hastily put his beer down, barely noticing the way it spilled onto his hand when he almost missed the bar top. 

“It was just an idea, I mean—“

“Hold on,” he slid his dry hand closer to yours on the bar but didn’t touch you. “I didn’t say it was a bad idea. It probably would be more fun.” He was trying not to hope you’d mean to suggest a date. No way.

You nodded, still looking nervous. “Yeah, we could, um–” he watched as you took a deep breath. “Maybe do the whole thing, you know? Get dressed up. Make it fun.”

The whole thing. Frankie felt his hope rising and tried to shove it back down. “You mean, um. Do you mean as—”

Your eyes widened and you sat up straight on your barstool. “No!” Your voice was loud and Frankie was a bit surprised. “I mean, not like that.” You laughed but you looked uncomfortable doing it, and he didn’t know how to take it. “Just as friends, right? A friend date. Or something.”

Frankie had felt his heart drop into his shoes. A friend date. The last thing he wanted, and probably the best he would ever get. He’d agreed, trying not to notice your relief when he did. 

And he’d been trying not to think about it ever since.)

You’d barely talked to him since that night and Frankie was trying not to read into it. You’d agreed, before you’d parted ways that night – a friend date. He’ll pick you up at 6, you’ll both dress up a bit. Try to have some fun.

Fun. He scoffs to himself, thinking of it. More like, try not to think too much about how he wishes it was a real date. Try not to make it weird.

Usually you text him daily. Not always for long conversations, but you would share funny or annoying things about your day, and Frankie would do the same. But not since that night. The radio silence is killing him, but he doesn’t want to push and find out that you’ve gone quiet for exactly the reason he’s afraid of.

Sometime in the last two weeks Frankie has allowed himself to face the reality of the situation. Sure, he’s admitted to Pope in the past that he likes you. But the distance between you has given him the space he apparently needed to face up to the truth, something he’s secretly known all along – he’s in love with you. Absolutely head over heels, fully lost, one hundred percent in love. He’s been lying to himself, afraid to acknowledge it. But he is, and now he’s afraid he’s lost you before he can even do anything about it. 

You’re his best friend. You have been for a while now. And you deserve a good date, even if it kills Frankie to give it to you. So he’ll do it. And he’ll try not to hope too much for more.

Frankie doesn’t sleep much that night.

…

On the day of the party, you wake up at 6am. You’re lying in bed, asleep, and then suddenly you’re awake and staring at the ceiling and your first thought is, it’s today. Your friend date is today, and you press your hands to your face to hide from yourself.

You can’t believe you got yourself into this situation. You’d been so close, breaths away from suggesting an actual date with Frankie. And you’d chickened out at the last minute. Like you did every time. You’d wanted to kick yourself the moment the words “friend date” came out of your mouth, but there was nothing you could do about it now.

Not without admitting the truth.

(After Frankie had left, Santiago had made his way over to you and leaned against the bar next to you with a serious look on his face. 

“So I guess you heard that,” you said, groaning.

He nodded. “You should ask him out for real.”

You shook your head in response. “If he wanted that, he would have said so.”

Santiago rolled his eyes at you. “You and I both know Fish isn’t going to do that. He’s all in his head about this.”

You sighed. “I just–” you swallowed and closed your eyes. “What if you’re wrong, Santi? I can’t lose what we have now.”

He’d looked at you, and as always you appreciated that Santiago took your feelings so seriously. He was a good friend. 

“Well, then, you have a couple of weeks to think about it. About what you want. And then at the party you can see. Flirt a bit. You’ll have his full attention, and you know it. And you’re his best friend, you know that, too. You won’t lose him. Either way.”)

It reassured you at the time, but it turns out that something had changed that night. You feel like you’ve forgotten how to be friends with Frankie all of a sudden and it hurts. What if you’ve already lost him? Because of this stupid friend date?

By the morning of the date, you’re in knots. You can barely focus and you have no idea where the day goes – the time flies by and suddenly it’s 5pm and you’re rushing into your bedroom to get ready.

You know what you’re going to wear. You’d pictured it in your mind, the same night you’d gotten yourself into this mess. There’s an outfit you’ve been saving for a special date (a date with Frankie, you try not to think) and it’s time to bring it out. You’re hoping, and trying not to hope too much, that Frankie will be blown away by it. That something will happen tonight. That things will change, but not so much that you lose your best friend.

You look at yourself in the mirror and you know you look good. This is how you were hoping you’d look for a first date with Frankie, and you try to let that be a good sign. You take a deep breath and close your eyes.

Here we go.

Frankie, always punctual, rings your doorbell right at 5:59pm. It makes you smile and you feel some of your nerves fade away.

They all come rushing back when you open the door and see him.

Frankie is wearing dark jeans and a deep purple button up dress shirt, both of which fit him perfectly. His beard is neatly trimmed and he’s not wearing a hat. His curls are loose and styled and your breath catches in your throat. He’s holding flowers. You barely notice the way his eyes have widened as he looks at your outfit, too.

“Your hair!”

“You look amazing–”

You speak at the same time, and then you both smile. It relaxes you a little bit.

“Your hair looks great, Frankie, I can’t believe you’re not wearing a hat!”

He grins a little. “I wouldn’t wear a hat on a first date, come on.” The words send a shiver up your spine and you try not to read into them. But you want to. “Um, or a friend date, I guess.”

“Um,” you reply, and then mentally kick yourself. “Well, it looks really nice.”

He blushes. “Thanks. I mean it, you look amazing. I’ve never seen this number before.” He gestures at your outfit, and you smile wider. “And these are for you.” He hands you the flowers, and you look down at them, overwhelmed. You step inside to find a vase and Frankie lingers near the door behind you. 

“I’ve been saving it,” you say over your shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“The outfit.” You smooth your hands down your sides and try not to look nervous as you turn back around to face him.

“Oh yeah? For what?”

“Oh, um. For a first date.” You can’t believe you just said that. But he said it first, and that means you can say it too, right? You keep talking before either of you can dwell on that thought. “Should we go? Don’t want to be late.”

Frankie steps back to let you move past him and nods. “Sure. Don’t want Benny to give us crap for missing any of his party.” You laugh.

You feel better in the car. This feels easy, as easy as it always does with Frankie. Whatever weirdness has arisen between you hasn’t broken what you already have. It’s a comforting realization.

As Frankie pulls over to park outside Benny’s house, he asks, “so, how do you want to play this?”

You tilt your head at him. “What do you mean?”

He gestures at the house. “They’re going to tease us for this, you know that. About how we’re on a date. How do you want to play it?” 

You consider him, and wonder if this is your chance to test the waters. You turn your upper body to face him and lean against the door of his truck. With a teasing smile of your own, you reply, “well, they’re expecting us to be awkward, right? They’ll tease us, we’ll be weird about it, they laugh. What if we beat them to it?”

Frankie turns towards you and rests his left arm on the steering wheel. He looks confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if we go in there and act like we’re on a date? Not like two friends who are expecting to be given hell for it. Like we’re on a real date. It’ll confuse the hell out of them, they won’t know what to do with it.” You hold your breath while you wait for Frankie’s answer. You have no idea what it will be.

His brow is furrowed as he looks between you at the gear shift. “But…” he trails off and you reach over to nudge his hand to encourage him. He slips his hand over yours slowly and squeezes. It isn’t the first time in your years of being friends that he’s held your hand to reassure you like this but you badly want to read more into it now. “I see what you’re saying. It would probably be pretty funny to see their faces.” You nod. “But what about… after? Since it’s not a real date.”

You meet his eyes and gather your courage. “Who said it isn’t?” And before he can reply, before you can even see his reaction, you open the door behind you and slip out of the car.

“Wait!” You hear Frankie call for you and try not to grin too widely. He comes jogging around the back of his truck and meets you halfway across the lawn of Benny’s house. “Wait, hey, hold on. What do you mean?”

You focus on walking, and he falls into step next to you. You can feel his eyes on you as you step up to the front door. Before you knock you look at him and meet his familiar warm gaze. “I meant what I said, Frankie. Who said it’s not a real date? Maybe it could be.” 

You turn away and knock without letting him reply. You’re vibrating with nerves, surprised at your audacity. You’re certain he can see the tension in your body, the nerves. But maybe this is what you need, to see if you can have what you want. 

Out of the corner of your eye you see Frankie straighten up and shake his head. He goes to run his fingers through his hair but stops himself. Suddenly, he steps closer and slips an arm around your waist to pull you close to him. You gasp at the feeling of his body, warm and solid along your right side. “If you wanted this to be a date, hermosa, you only had to ask.” His voice is deeper, suddenly, and he’s so close to your ear you can feel his breath.

You start to turn your head towards him to respond, but before you can, the door flies open in front of you. You both turn towards it, startled.

“Hey, you two! You’re late!” Benny smiles widely when he sees you waiting on his porch. He’s wearing a bright red dress shirt and holding a pink cocktail. He starts to gesture you inside when his eyes fall to Frankie’s arm, which is still snug around your waist. You can see his surprise and decide it’s now or never.

“Hi Benny,” you reply, leaning into Frankie and smiling. “Where’s the party at?”

His eyes dart between you. “Go straight through to the kitchen. Hey, I thought–” 

You cut him off. “Thanks! Let’s grab something to drink, Frankie, I’m thirsty.” You step forward and reach back to catch Frankie’s hand as he lets it fall from your waist. As you pass by Benny, you know he’s staring at your hands, which are laced together and holding tight. Frankie squeezes your hand and it reassures you.

When you arrive at the kitchen, Frankie crowds behind you, much closer than he ever has before. His hands land lightly on your hips. You have no idea what your face is doing.

You need to focus. This was your big idea and clearly Frankie is shifting into some first-date mode that you’ve never seen before. Get it together. Flirting is clearly on the table, now, and you need to step it up.

As you move into the room, with Frankie close behind, the others yell greetings and welcome you in. You notice that Benny and Steph have gone all out with the decorations – the kitchen looks like you’re inside a Valentine’s card. And most of the food and drinks are red or pink (or made of chocolate). Soon enough you have a drink in your hand and you’re deep in conversation with Santiago’s girlfriend, Yovanna. Frankie stands behind you, left hand on your left hip, drink in his right. You can feel his body heat and you’re trying not to let how flustered you are show on your face. 

After a few minutes, Santiago comes over to pull Frankie into another of the boys’ longstanding arguments about something or other. Before he goes, Frankie suddenly shifts his grip on your hip and squeezes. He leans close to murmur in your ear, “I’ll be back soon, hermosa.” His words send warmth spiraling down your spine and you shiver. You blink and meet Yovanna’s eyes.

She has one eyebrow raised as she takes a long sip of her drink. “So, what’s going on here, hmm?”

You feel your cheeks heat and throw back the rest of your own drink. “A real date, I think.”

“You think?”

You shake your head. “We just said it, or I did, outside. ‘Who said it’s not a real date? Maybe it could be.’ And then it was like he flipped a switch and now Frankie is flirting and I’m still catching up. Even though it was my idea. I guess.” 

She laughs a little, but kindly. “He’s head over heels for you, you know. Of course he’s flirting. You gave him the go ahead and now he’s going all in. He knows what he wants.” She nudges you with her shoulder. “You should get him back. Raise the stakes.”

You tilt your head, considering her words. “You think so? I’m still worried I’m going to mess this up.” 

Yovanna looks around the room before stepping closer to you. She lowers her voice. “You’re in love with that man. You gave him an opening, and he leapt through it. Go get him.”

You knew that, of course. But something about the way she says it to you flips the switch for you, this time. You look over at Frankie, who has his back to you, and you smirk. She nods. “That’s right. He wants you. And I can’t wait to see the look on his face when you show him you want him, too.”

You grin at her and give her a hug. “I think I need to go save my date from your boyfriend.” She laughs and waves you onward.

As you approach, you see Santiago notice you and you wink at him. He grins but doesn’t let Frankie see his distraction. He’s still got his back turned when you step up behind him and slide your right arm around his waist, ducking under his left. “Hey, babe. You want something to eat?” You can feel the way his body responds to yours – he turns towards you immediately, like it’s second nature, and his left arm wraps snugly around your shoulders. He looks surprised, but he meets your gaze with a delighted smile. 

“I could eat.” He runs his fingers down your arm lightly, and you bite your lip. You turn to Santiago, and realize Will and Benny are there, too.

“I’m stealing him, boys.” 

Santiago is grinning, hugely, while Will and Benny both look like someone just hit them over the head with something heavy. They look shocked and you smile innocently at them in response. 

“Come on, Frankie.” He follows easily as you tug him away and you realize how attuned to you he is, like always. 

“Was about to come find you, hermosa.” He leans closer to murmur into your ear and you shiver. “Would much rather talk to you than those idiots.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm, of course.” You feel Frankie’s nose brush against the top of your ear and your breath catches. But you’ve arrived at the table laden with food and he stands up straight. “Seems like we have a lot to talk about.” You meet his eyes again and for a moment you both just stare at each other, knowing somehow that you’re both recognizing the huge shift in your relationship that just happened as you arrived at this party. You start to reach out towards him when Steph comes flying into the room. 

“It’s game time! Everyone in the living room, stat!” She taps you both on the shoulders as she passes, and you sigh.

“I guess it’s game time.” You laugh ruefully as you say it, reaching out to grab Frankie’s hand as you move towards the living room. 

But he uses his grip on your hand to pull you back in and ducks forward to press a fleeting kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be ready to talk whenever you are.” You feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you smile at him helplessly. 

“Smooth moves, Morales.” 

He grins as you tease him. “Only for you, baby.” 

In the living room you find that the group has split, with the boys on one side and the significant others on the other. Steph claps her hands together when you arrive and gestures for you to split up, too. “To your sides, you two! It’s us versus them!”

It turns out Steph has planned a series of games that pit the two halves of each couple against each other. It’s fun – the whole room is laughing, everyone is having a good time.

But it also means that you and Frankie are separated for most of the evening, watching each other from across the room. You know it’s obvious – your friends have elbowed you more than once, and Yovanna waggles her eyebrows at you after you watch (and admire) Frankie drawing so carefully and precisely for Pictionary. You roll your eyes back at her. 

You feel his eyes on you, too. Watching as you read off a clue, tracing down your back as you draw for Pictionary. He’s looking at you, only at you, and it’s washing over you like the tide, pulling you to move back to his side.

It’s a long while before the games are exhausted, and therefore a long while before you find yourself next to Frankie again. The group has dispersed, filled the room, and Benny puts on some music for dancing before pulling Steph into his arms over by the fireplace. You’re smiling and watching them when Frankie steps up beside you. He leans in and you turn towards his warmth like a flower turning towards the sun.

“Dance with me, hermosa?” He wraps his arms around your waist from behind as he says it, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the base of your throat. You shiver as you lean back against him and nod. 

“Yes, Frankie. Anytime.” He grins into your neck and you close your eyes, wondering how you got here so quickly. It feels amazing but you’re also reeling at the change. Frankie just kissed you.

He steps back and grabs your hand to lead you down the hallway to the backyard. “I thought we were going to dance?” You look back and notice all of the other couples are still in the living room.

“We are,” he agrees. “But I want you all to myself, for a minute.” You smile and follow him out the backdoor. Benny and Steph clearly decorated out here, too, and there are twinkling lights everywhere. You can hear the music piping through the speakers on the back porch.

Frankie leads you down the steps and into the yard, and you feel the anticipation building inside of you. He turns to the right to step into the shadow of a tree. You realize you’re now out of sight of the back door and you raise an eyebrow at him when he pulls you back into his arms.

“All to yourself, huh?” Not that you’d rather be anywhere else but here.

He smiles at you as you start to sway back and forth to the music. “Come on, baby, can you blame me? I just found out a couple of hours ago that I’m on a real first date with the woman of my dreams, and I’ve barely had a minute alone with her since.” You feel your cheeks heat as you grin at him and tighten your right arm around his neck. 

“The woman of your dreams, huh?” The idea of it makes you feel breathless, almost dizzy. Of his dreams. 

His gaze softens and he nods. “Yeah, querida. You have to know that by now.” He pulls you closer. “I wanted this, so much. You’re my best friend, and you’re more than that. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I just never thought you’d feel the same.”

You run your fingers through his hair at the back of his neck and watch as he shivers. “I do, Frankie. For a long time, now.” 

He tilts his head, considering your answer. “How long?”

“Well…”

He grins. “Come on, baby, bet I’ve got you beat.” 

You frown at him. “I think…” He squeezes your waist to encourage you and you laugh. “Well, definitely since you helped me build that bookshelf.”

His eyes widen. “The bookshelf? The one in your bedroom?” You nod. “That was years ago. You mean we could have been together all this time?” For a moment he looks crestfallen, but shakes his head. “No, wait, I’m sorry. I did hope for that. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy right now.” You smile at him. That’s Frankie, for you – always so worried about how everyone around him is feeling. 

“It’s ok, Frankie. I know what you mean. But I also love being your best friend. And that took us a while.” 

“... also?” His eyes were locked on yours, intent. You felt your heart rate pick up.

“What?” 

“You said you also love being my best friend. What do you mean, also?”

Shit. You bite your lip, unsure of how to reply. It’s too early, right? Even if you have known for years. You can’t confess your love on a first date. 

Can you?

His gaze drops to your mouth and he smirks. “Hey, baby, it’s ok, I’ll go first. Te amo.”

Your mouth drops open and he grins. “Frankie?” You’re sure you look absolutely shocked. 

“Te amo sin freno, preciosa. Ever since that day you pushed Pope in the lake.” (I love you no matter what (a lot).)

You’re gawking at him now. That was only a month after you met. “Frankie! That was–”

“I know,” he lifts his left hand to cup your face gently. “And I didn’t know it then. But I recognize it now. I was head over heels from the beginning.”

You throw yourself at him before he even finishes speaking, and he laughs as he wraps his arms around you. You press your face into his neck and let him hold you close. You feel like your whole body is tingling, head to toe. Frankie loves you. 

You take a deep breath and say, voice steady and full of emotion, “I love you, too, Francisco Morales.” You feel his breath catch and you grin. “I’m in love with you.”

Frankie suddenly lets you go, and you almost stumble before he grabs your face in his hands to pull you in for a kiss.

It’s not what you imagined kissing Frankie would be like. 

It’s better. 

His hands are large and warm as he cradles your face gently between them. His lips are soft and firm as he presses his mouth to yours. You can feel the heat of his body against your own and you sigh as you let your weight rest against him, wrapping your arms around his waist. His thumb brushes your cheek as his tongue teases your bottom lip, and you start to open for him, eager. You feel more than hear the small moan that escapes you. Frankie smiles against your lips and wraps one of his hands around the back of your neck. 

That’s when you’re interrupted.

“I’ll get it going!” Benny comes barreling out of the back door, shouting about the firepit. Frankie doesn’t step away from you but he breaks your kiss, looking up to watch as Benny jogs past the two of you. He doesn’t seem to notice you standing by the tree.

“Fuck,” Frankie releases a breath and rests his forehead against yours. “Fuckin’ Benny.” You can’t help but laugh, and Frankie joins you. Your laughter seems to finally attract his attention.

“Well, hello, lovebirds.” You look over and find Benny grinning at you, hands on his hips, firepit forgotten. “What are you two up to back here, hiding behind that tree? Hmm?”

You roll your eyes at him as Frankie buries his face in your shoulder. “Well, we were having a pretty good dance, until someone interrupted.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he laughs before tilting his head at you, seeming to consider something.

“So this is a real date, then?”

You nod, and Frankie finally picks his head up to look at Benny. “Our first date.”

“Well, shit.” Benny winks at you. “You know, Fish, if you leave right now you can probably sneak around the side of the house before anyone realizes. Maybe take your date somewhere more romantic. And private.”

Frankie looks startled, and then smiles down at you. “Need anything from inside, querida?”

You bite your lip. “My bag and my coat are in there.” Frankie starts to frown, but Benny moves closer and interjects.

“Oh I can handle a little op like that, no problem.” He claps his hand on Frankie’s shoulder, grinning again. “You two go around the side and I’ll meet you out front. No one’ll notice. They’re all still in the living room.”

You both nod, and you can see the way Frankie relaxes. “Thanks, Benny.”

“Don’t mention it, man. Just go somewhere more romantic. Don’t hang out with us losers on your first date.” You laugh as Frankie takes you by the hand to lead you down the path that circles the house. Benny actually salutes before heading inside to take care of his part of the plan.

It must go off without a hitch, because he hands you your things by the front door and waves you onward, smiling. You and Frankie are both giggling as you sneak around the corner and run across the lawn. You practically leap into the passenger seat of his truck, grinning as you watch Frankie start it up and throw it into drive. He peels away from the curb so fast the tires squeal.

He reaches over to grab your hand once you’re on your way, lifting it to press a soft kiss to your knuckles that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Where to, hermosa? Want to go get a drink? Maybe some dessert?”

You turn and let your temple rest against your headrest as you consider it. Consider him. You’d love to go out with him on a real date, but right now there’s only one thing on your mind. 

“Come home with me, Frankie?” 

He grins at the road and squeezes your hand. “You sure you don’t want to go out for real, first?”

You lean forward and rest your elbows on the center console. Your joined hands fall into his lap and you smile as your hand comes to rest on his thigh. “I do want that. But we have all the time in the world to go out. I know what I want, Francisco.” You pause and he turns to look at you as he pulls to a stop at a red light. “You.” You watch as his eyes darken and you smile. “Take me home.”

Frankie nods eagerly and turns right when the light turns green, in the direction of your house. Only minutes later he’s pulling into your driveway and you’re out of the truck almost before he pulls the key out of the ignition. 

He meets you as you round the front, arms snaking around your waist as he backs you up against the side of your garage. 

“Hey, baby.” He leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips. You run your hands into his hair. “Shit, it feels so good to hold you like this.” He kisses you again, and this time you both get swept away in it. Until a car passes by on the street and you remember you’re still outside. 

“Frankie,” you breathe his name as he presses soft kisses down the side of your neck. “Frankie, let’s go inside.”

“Mmm, in a minute.” He nibbles at a spot just below your ear and you whine, so quiet you can barely hear it. 

“Francisco.” You try to sound stern, but you miss it by a mile. He laughs.

“Alright, alright.” He steps back and grabs your hands as they fall from his hair. “Let’s get inside, querida, I got plans for you tonight.”

You follow him towards your door with a grin. “Oh yeah? What plans are those?”

He tugs the keys from your fingers and opens the door for you, ushering you inside. “Well, the first item on the agenda tonight is licking your pussy until you come for me.”

You stumble, bracing yourself on the wall as you slip your shoes off, almost face-planting on the floor. You turn to look at him, incredulous. “Frankie!”

He’s looking at you with a cocky half smile and you feel the arousal pooling in your underwear. “Please, baby? I’ve been dreaming about it. For so long.” His words are a plea but his tone is something else entirely. He sounds so sure of himself. Your head spins and you turn to let your back fall to rest against the wall. Frankie is only this cocky when he knows, without a single doubt, how good he is at something. You know that, and you’ve heard the guys tease him for how much he likes doing it. The promise that underlies his words makes your legs feel like they might give out.

“Y-yes, Frankie,” you breathe and he steps forward to wrap you up securely in his arms. “Yes.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He kisses your cheek and starts to walk with you towards your bedroom. Before you can even catch your breath he’s easing you down onto the edge of your bed and kneeling in front of you. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on you, hermosa. Lo necesito.” (I need it.)

Sitting in front of him, you reach for your clothes and smile as you tease him. “Lo necesitas? Really?” (You need it?)

“Sí, querida,” he helps you remove your clothes until only your underwear is left. “Estoy desesperado.” (I’m desperate for it.) He winks and then leans forward to press a kiss over your underwear. “Por favor? (Please?) Let me make you feel good. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good. Lo prometo.” (I promise it.)

You shiver at his words and move to slip your underwear off. As you do he leans forward and pushes your thighs apart. His gaze is locked on your pussy as you reveal yourself to him.

“Baby, you are so fucking beautiful. Every bit of you.” His eyes raise to meet yours and your breath catches at the look on his face. “Relax, let me take care of you.”

You fall backwards onto the bed at his urging. Frankie leans forward again and presses a soft kiss to your slit. Your fingers tangle in his hair without you even realizing you were going to do it. He slides one hand upwards from your thigh and gently opens up your pussy under his gaze.

“Hermosa,” he breathes, and you feel it on your clit. You squirm. “Lo sabía. Estás tan mojada, bebita. Es todo para mí?” (I knew it. You’re so wet, baby. Is this all for me?)

You lift up on your elbows to meet his gaze and nod, grinning. “Always for you, Frankie.”

“Mm,” he hums and moves forward to lick a devastating stripe from your entrance up to your clit. “Que cosita tan linda. Tan deliciosa.” (What a pretty little thing. So delicious.) And then he stops talking, focusing fully on eating you out with devastating precision.

His tongue teases at your clit before pressing down firmly, sending a spike of pleasure shooting up your spine. His fingers tease at your entrance while he finds a rhythm with his tongue that has you clutching at this hair. “Yes, Frankie–”

He presses forward lightly with one finger, slipping inside of you, and you moan. You’ve caught yourself staring at his hands so many times and the stretch is better than you ever imagined. He curls it and presses inside of you at the same time as his tongue circles your clit, and you shiver. His tongue and his fingers work together to push you higher and higher as you struggle to keep from closing your thighs around his head. 

Fuck, he really is good at this. He slips another finger inside of you and you gasp, arching your back.

Frankie reads you like a book – he learns from every moan, every breath, and soon you’re almost there. You feel it, just out of reach as he holds you on the edge.

“Frankie, I’m– I’m gonna–” Your voice is breathy as you thrust your hips towards his mouth. He hold you down with one hand while he fucks you with the other.

He leans back for just a moment, moving his thumb up to replace his tongue, drawing gentle circles around your clit. “I know, querida. I can feel it. Dámelo.” (Give it to me.) He dives back in and opens his mouth against your pussy, and you cry out.

He hums, and you feel it through his tongue and his lips. He thrusts his fingers inside at the same moment and you feel yourself start to fall over the edge.

“Frankie–” You arch your back and tug at his hair. He suddenly moves his mouth downwards as his fingers take over teasing your clit, and your breath comes out like a sob when he pushes his tongue inside of you. “Yes, please–”

One more thrust of his tongue and a clever movement of his fingers and you’re gone. You rocket over the edge into an orgasm that feels years in the making, like Frankie has been stoking the fire and then set it ablaze for you now. You think you say his name, but you can’t be sure. Your entire body is trembling as it washes over you.

You take a great, heaving breath, and lift your head up to look for Frankie again. He has his chin resting on your pelvis, clearly waiting for you to come down. He’s smiling, eyes half open. His hair is a wild mess. His face glistens with evidence of where’s been.

He looks so fucking smug. You look at him and you feel something tug at your heart. 

“You’re fucking beautiful when you come, querida.” His lips are quirked in a half smile but his voice is deep, almost gravely. He dips down swiftly to press a gentle kiss against your clit, and your legs twitch. “Better than I ever imagined. Never seen anything so pretty in my life.”

You cup his face in your hand and smile. “Shit, you really are good at that.”

He tilts his head. “At what?”

You roll your eyes but indulge him. “At using your mouth.”

Frankie grins, clearly delighted. “Well, when you’re properly motivated, it’s easy to practice until you get it right.” He winks at you. 

You laugh and shake your head. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmm,” he hums as he pushes himself up, crawling over you on the bed. “Of course. And you know I have to keep my skills up. Keep practicing.”

“Is that an offer, Francisco?”

You feel him press his grin to your neck and you smile at the ceiling. “I’ll eat your pussy any time you like, querida. Just say the word.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Best thing I ever tasted. Only thing I want to do from now on, put my mouth all over you.”

You squirm a little, overwhelmed by his praise. “How are you still fully dressed?”

He laughs and sits back, straddling your hips. “Want me to strip for you baby?”

You nod and push at him lightly until he stands up. “Give me a show, Frankie.”

Frankie stands back and smiles, a little shy as he raises his hands to his buttons. “Am I supposed to dance?”

You tilt your head to one side and smile at him. “Frankie, you know I love the way you look. You could just pull your shirt off normally and I’ll be staring, totally distracted. It’s what happens every single time anyway.”

He furrows his brow. “How have we never noticed?” He’s deftly undoing his buttons now and you’re watching intently as each one reveals more of his chest to you.

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

He smirks as he shrugs his shirt off, and you bite your lip but keep staring at his arms anyway. 

“I mean, querida, how did we never notice we’ve been looking all this time? I mean, I know I was looking at you. Shit, the way you look in your bathing suit? Those little shorts you wear around the house on your days off?” He sighs, closing his eyes like he’s picturing it, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. You laugh at yourself, just a little, because you’re sitting naked in front of this man and you still react to his teasing like this. “You’ve been killing me, hermosa. And you’re saying you’ve been looking at me, too?”

You reach for him as he undoes his belt and help him with the button and zipper of his jeans. “Maybe we were both too scared of getting caught. To see what was right in front of us.”

Frankie strips off his jeans and the sight of him in just his black briefs stops your breath. You reach out and run your hands down his broad chest and hips, sliding around the back to squeeze his ass in both hands. You grin up at him. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

He smiles back and steps closer. You can see how hard he is in his briefs and you move to tug at the bottom hem, hand on his thigh. “One last act in your show, Frankie.” You start to pull and he lets you, moving his legs apart to make it easier as you slide his briefs down his legs. His cock springs lightly from the waistband and your eyes widen.

You knew Frankie was big. You’ve been swimming together, after all, many times. His body isn’t a total mystery to you. You’ve also heard the guys teasing him for it. But you’ve never seen him hard.

He’s big. His cock is beautiful – long, yes, but really what’s blowing your mind is how wide it is. How much girth it has.

“Shit,” you breathe, and without your conscious input your hand moves from his briefs to his cock. You lightly brush your fingers down his length and smile as it sends a shiver up his spine. When you look up and meet his eyes they’re dark, and hungry. “Frankie, you’re huge.” You punctuate your statement with a firm grip of his cock, and his hips thrust forward as you slide your hand up and down, once. You watch as his eyes flutter closed and his mouth drops open.

“Fuck,” his voice is deep, deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Yeah? Big enough for you, baby?” You can hear it in his voice again – he knows. He knows how big his cock is and you feel your arousal growing as you think about how he probably knows exactly what to do with it.

“Francisco.” He looks down to meet your gaze. He’s breathing hard already, cheeks tinged pink and mouth wide. “Fuck me.” You say it firmly, steady, no hesitation. A slow, cocky grin takes over Frankie’s face and your eyes widen.

“Querida, I will give you everything you want.” He crowds you back onto the bed, shifting so you’re lying in the middle with him hovering over you. You brush your hands across his shoulders and marvel at how beautiful he looks like this, holding himself up, surrounding you. The head of his cock brushes against your stomach and you both moan. “That’s all I want. All I’ve ever wanted. To give you what you want. Always.” He murmurs the last word into your throat as he runs his right hand down your side, fingers seeking out your pussy again. When he finds how wet you are, even more than before, he nips lightly at your jaw with a smile. “Shit. You think you can take it, hermosa?”

You nod, eyes falling closed. Frankie presses inside you again with two fingers and you sigh. “Let me open you up a bit, first. Get you ready.”

“Frankie–” you try to protest, hands tangling in his hair to urge him onward, and he chuckles, darkly. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby. Not ever. Let me take care of you.” You nod and let him work you open on his fingers, gasping every time he brushes against that spot inside of you that makes you see sparks. After a few minutes he’s thrusting three fingers in and out and the sounds of how soaked you are fill the room.

The feeling of him above you and around you is overwhelming. You run your hands up and down his arms and chest and marvel that you can, that you’re allowed to reach out and touch. Finally. After so long. 

It feels so good, you can’t wait any longer. “Now, Frankie, please–”

He nips at your shoulder again and curls his fingers inside of you. “Now, hermosa? Quieres algo?” (You want something?)

You poke him in the side and he laughs. You feel the love you have for his man start to well up inside of you.  “You know what I want, Frankie.”

“Mmm,” he hums and presses a line of soft kisses down your neck. “Quiero oírte decirlo, bebita.” (I want to hear you say it, baby.)

You nod and pull him into a short kiss. You hold him there, lips brushing yours, as you say, “I want you to fuck me, Frankie. I want your cock. I want you to stretch me open. I want to feel you, everywhere.” He shudders and you can’t tear your eyes away from the effect your words have on him. His arms tremble and his shoulders hitch up by his ears. His hips stutter forward and he presses quick kisses to your mouth and chin and neck and mouth again.

“Shit. I know you’re on birth control, baby, do you have a condom?” You both know how long it’s been since either of you had sex. He is your best friend, after all. 

You don’t hesitate. “Don’t need one.”

“You sure?”

“I just want you, Frankie. Always have.”

“Fuck,” he breathes the word into your mouth before pulling you into another kiss. “How’d I get so fucking lucky, huh?”

As he speaks, Frankie reaches down to spread open your pussy. He slides his cock against you, nudging your clit with the head. You pull him into another kiss. For a moment he just thrusts against you, and the slide of his length against you makes your head spin.

On the next thrust, he moves his mouth to your ear as he pulls his hips back. “You are so fucking beautiful, you know that? I can’t believe you’re here, with me. Can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

The head of his cock notches against your entrance and you both suck in a sharp breath. 

“Fuck, querida, if I’d have known? That you wanted this?” He begins to thrust forward and you feel the head of his cock stretch you open. Your next breath sounds like a sob. “All I want is to take you apart. To make you feel so fucking good you can’t think of anything but my cock inside of you, my tongue on your pussy.” He thrusts inside shallowly, and you wrap your arms around his neck. He presses a kiss to your neck under your ear and you whine, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

“Look, querida.” He lifts up and looks down your bodies, pulling his hips up until just the tip is still inside of you. You stare. “Mira como me toma.” (Look how she takes me.) He thrusts back inside and you moan as you watch. He fills you up completely, this time, and you’re so fucking full you can barely breathe. You can feel every inch of him and it’s everything you’ve wanted. 

“Yes, Frankie, yes—“

“Yeah?” He finds a rhythm and you feel it start to build inside you again, climbing up your spine. “Así no? Así te gusta?” (Like that yeah? You like that?)

You nod, and he kisses you. His hips keep up their devastating rhythm and you try to rise to meet him. You can feel yourself getting closer, and Frankie must sense it, somehow, because he slides his right hand down to gently circle your clit. You arch your back at the touch and he slams into you again, hard. 

“Yes, I—“

“I know. I can feel it. Come on, baby. Come for me. Just like that.” 

And you do. When Frankie tells you to, you do — you feel it like a lightning strike down your spine. It washes out your vision and steals your breath. You cry out, maybe his name, maybe something wordless, and you come back to yourself and realize he’s murmuring in your ear as his thrusts pick up speed.

“… no sé cómo es posible que tengo tanta suerte. Que eres mía. Ay, hermosa, mi preciosa, mi— fuck—“ (I don’t know how it’s possible that I got this lucky. That you’re mine. Oh, beautiful, my precious, my— fuck—)

You tangle your hands in his hair again as you feel his hips stutter forward. “Yes, Frankie. Come for me, baby.”

He moans and thrusts forward again. You tug at his hair to pull his gaze up to meet yours. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open, wrecked. 

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and murmur, “así amor así. Dámelo.” (Just like that, love. Give it to me.)

You watch as he thrusts forward one last time and his orgasm washes over him. It’s fucking beautiful. You’ve known him for so long and still you’ve seen so much of him tonight that you’ve never seen before. It’s overwhelming and you want more. You want everything. 

“Querida,” he breathes as he lets his head fall forward and gently rests his forehead against your own. “You are so fucking beautiful when you come.”

You laugh, poking him in the side. “You are too, baby.”

He smiles and kisses you softly. “I can’t believe how good that was. It’s gonna be hard to get out of bed, knowing what’s waiting for me.” 

You nod. You know exactly what he means. 

He lifts his hips to gently slide out of you and you gasp. “Sorry, querida, let me clean you up.”

“Hey, wait.” Before he can move too far away, you catch him and pull him so he’s leaning over you again on one elbow. You brush his sweaty curls off his forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Frankie.” 

He smiles so wide his eyes crinkle and you feel your heart skip a beat. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, querida. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

...

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you liked it, Jenn!!

taglist: @jupiter-soups @beardedjoel @morallyinept if you're on my taglist for maintenance request, let me know if you want to be tagged in general?

#frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fic #x reader #SpaceSistersSecretValentine