#frankie morales x reader x benny miller

[dameronscopilot]

Kinktober!! Thank you for blessing us... can i request Benny x reader x Frankie with praise kink and breeding with "You can do better than that." Thank you.

(Thank you for blessing my brain with a request that sent me spiralling to horny jail 🧡. Hope you enjoy!)

A Helping Hand

Benjamin "Benny" Miller x f!reader x Francisco "Catfish" Morales

Word Count: 2.2k+

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, this is filth!, oral sex (f!receiving, mention of m!receiving), handjob, unprotected (and protected) p in v, MFM dynamics, MM dynamics, praise kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, spit kink, benny’s in charge until he’s not, some soft!dom frankie vibes, established relationship benny x reader

Summary: You and Benny are no good at being quiet, not even when you're staying in Frankie's guest room.

MASTERLIST || MORE KINKTOBER

You didn’t show up at Frankie’s house after your apartment flooded with intentions of defiling the bed in his guest room with Benny. You really didn’t. But in retrospect, you should have known your boyfriend would be entirely incapable of keeping his dick in his pants for even one night. 

Honestly, you may have gotten away with it if it weren’t for the fact that the room Frankie so kindly let you and Benny stay in was directly beside his own. You thought you could be quick and quiet when he casually plucked the novel you were reading out of your hands, bringing your face to his to kiss you softly. But something slow and sensual clearly wasn’t in the cards, and you really couldn’t blame Benny—he was still keyed up and restless from his last match.

He eventually rolled on top of you, caging you in as your kisses grew more heated and desperate, and when his fingers trailed across your bottom lip, you couldn’t help the urge that bubbled up inside of you to begin sucking on them. Any remaining hopes of keeping the clamor of your activities down to a reasonable volume flew swiftly out the window the moment Benny eventually removed his spit-soaked fingers, a line of drool trailing past your lips as he slid his hand down to your throat.

You could feel the outline of his bulge pressing insistently against you as his eyes roved over your tousled state and swollen lips, and he quietly said, “Open that mouth for me, honey.”

So it was going to be one of those nights. 

Your lips fell open as Benny leaned down to spit in your mouth, and you held his gaze intently as you swallowed.

“Good girl,” he smiled.

That fucker knew the game he was playing. Knew that you’d instantly arch up into him at the praise, a needy moan leaving your mouth as your mound brushed against his hard shaft. Knew you’d be dripping the moment he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “You took my cock so fuckin’ good last night, baby. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about how deep you had me in your throat. Wanna repay the favor and fill that perfect pussy of yours up tonight. Maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you this time.”

“Benny,” you gasped, tugging at his hair as he pinched one of your nipples, “Frankie’s gonna fucking hear us.”

Unbothered, Benny leaned down to hook a finger in the waistband of your underwear, slipping them off in one fluid motion. His eyes found yours as he tossed them aside and shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to keep that pretty little mouth quiet while I do this, then.”

Fat fucking chance. Benny’s tongue began what could only be described as a tactical assault on your folds, and by the way he gripped your ass as he eagerly licked and prodded his way inside of your wet, quivering cunt, you swore he wanted Frankie to hear the debauched chorus of wanton moans that fell from your lips.

So really, it shouldn’t have come as even a goddamn modicum of a surprise to either of you when the judgemental voice of none other than Francisco Morales chided from across the room, “You can do better than that, Benjamin.”

Your heart leapt in your chest as you glanced over to see Frankie leaning against the frame of the now-ajar door, arms crossed and eyes calculating.

Before you could say anything yourself, your boyfriend smoothly retorted, “Oh yeah? Why don’t you come show us, Fish?”

Frankie’s eyes widened a fraction, just for a moment, before he let his gaze fall on you. A question lingered there: are you okay with this?

You and Benny had never had a threesome before, but one night not long ago with far too many beers had led both of your loosened lips to agree that Frankie looked like he could absolutely use a night in your bedroom. Neither of you were opposed to it. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Benny probably fucking planned all of this and flooded your apartment himself. 

What neither of you remembered was how loudly the two of you had been whispering to one another on your night of drunken revelations, which had taken place in Santiago’s backyard. Frankie had sputtered beer all over himself from where he stood leaning against the side of the house a few yards away, every single word floating over to his listening ears. 

Though he’d never brought it up, the thought had plagued him many a night since then, leaving him to begin mustering up his own fantasies about what exactly he’d do in the event of such a sultry invitation from the two of you.

And so when you nodded your consent at Frankie, that’s all it took for him to stride over in his boxers and a rumpled, faded t-shirt. He’d already made up his mind long before he heard your breathy moans as Benny began to take you apart a mere room away. 

“Take off your pants, Ben,” Frankie said tersely, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed. 

And just like that, your typical bedroom dynamics were sent flying into a tailspin by the steady hands of the most capable pilot in the room. 

Benny may have been in charge in your bedroom. But this? This was Frankie’s house. 

Benny turned back to look at him, raising an eyebrow, but the expression on Frankie’s face brokered no argument. You had to bite your lip at the nearly imperceptible shudder that you watched run through Benny as Frankie muttered, “Good boy,” once his boxers and sweatpants were tossed into a heap on the floor. Interesting.

Frankie calmly instructed you to get on your hands and knees, and his breath ghosted against the shell of Benny’s ear as he explained, “Now Ben, show me how you were planning on…what was it? ‘Filling that perfect pussy up’?”

Benny, for all his bravado and carefully practiced movements in the bedroom, fumbled for a moment as he crawled closer toward you, the precum from the head of his swollen shaft swiping across your ass. 

Frankie tsked, climbing up onto the bed behind him, and Benny nearly choked as he felt the other man’s hand wrap firmly around his cock. “Jesus fucking Christ, Fish,” he croaked out, unable to stop himself from weakly thrusting into his best friend’s fist. 

You glanced back to look at both of them, a trail of arousal sliding down your thighs at the sight of Benny dropping his head backward onto Frankie’s shoulder as he began to jerk him off. 

“Are you ready, princesa?” Frankie asked teasingly, not missing the way you subtly shifted backward toward them.

Benny reached out a hand, swiping it through the slick in your folds, and he held it out to Frankie as he asked, “I don’t know, Fish. You tell me.”

Frankie took Benny’s fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean, and then he leaned forward and kissed him slowly. Benny nipped at his bottom lip, and amusement rumbled in Frankie's chest. Your legs would have given out right then and there if Benny didn’t reach forward to grasp your hips and catch you. Before he could bring a hand down to line himself up with your cunt, Frankie grabbed Benny’s length and ran the head along your wet slit. Once he was notched at your entrance, Frankie laid his hands over Benny’s and began to slowly push him forward from behind, inching his cock into you. 

“Alright Ben, I think you should share Frankie now,” you groused, and you heard both of them chuckle. 

Frankie made his way over to you, climbing on the bed just as Benny pulled you backward so you were seated in his lap, his cock still shoved deep inside of you. Lifting you up slightly in his arms, he began to rock his hips upward, fucking up into you at a leisurely pace. Meanwhile, Frankie leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your lips, which you met in kind. You put your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and Frankie melted into you as he wrapped his arms around you. You whined into Frankie’s mouth as Benny’s cock continued to split you open while he left a hot trail of open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. 

Frankie licked into the seam of your mouth, and you let him deepen the kiss, reveling in the way his tongue deftly tangled with yours. And then his lips left yours as he fisted a hand in the back of Benny’s hair, pulling his head closer to claim his mouth in a bruising kiss. Benny’s hips snapped particularly hard up into you in response, and you ground down against him in return, enamored by the sight before you. When he pulled away slightly, a trail of saliva hung between their mouths, and then both of their lips sought out yours in a sloppy, desperate, three-way kiss. 

Frankie’s hands found their way to your breasts and he began to massage them at the same time that Benny brought a hand down to tease at your clit, both of them still messily kissing you and each other.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried out as a thrumming sensation of pleasure began to melt through your veins, turning to liquid fire as it reached your abdomen and exploded into a gushing orgasm. 

At the feeling of your juices soaking his cock and balls, Benny’s own climax hit him, and he drove his shaft into you to the hilt as he spilled inside of you. You slowly lifted yourself off of Benny once he had softened, and he kissed your cheek wetly before flopping down sideways onto the bed beside Frankie.

Frankie.

You turned to look at him, his shorts obscenely tented from his hard shaft. Biting your lip, you said, “Well, Frankie?” wiggling your hips for emphasis. 

“If you’re both okay with that.” He shot a look at his best friend, who was glancing back and forth between the two of you.

“Fuck yeah,” Benny grinned as you nodded eagerly, reaching his hands out to pull you over on top of him. 

Flourishing a square package that he’d slipped out of his pocket, Frankie ripped it open, sliding the condom onto his length as he dipped a finger into your hole and commented, “Look at you, cariño, your cunt is full of Ben’s cum. You want me to stuff my cock in there and make sure no more drips out?”

You moaned, and Benny kissed you languidly as Frankie slid inside of you. When your lips parted, Benny’s eyes danced in amusement as you dropped your head heavily onto his shoulder. Whereas Benny was thick, Frankie was slightly longer, and your pussy throbbed as you felt him push your boyfriend’s cum even deeper inside of you.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty on Frankie’s cock, baby. Look at you, you’re such a good girl, taking him so well,” Benny crooned, holding your face in his hands and kissing you again. 

“Harder, Frankie,” you whined against Benny’s lips.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Frankie slammed his cock into your fucked out hole repeatedly, so hard that you nearly saw stars, and he eventually folded his body over yours. He brought his face to where your lips were hovering over Benny’s and breathed out, “Gonna have to slow down before I fuck right through this condom. Don’t need both of us putting a baby in you, now do we?”

He didn’t miss the way your pussy clenched down on him as he said it, and Frankie raised both eyebrows as Benny chuckled, “She’s still on the pill right now, talking about it just…makes her really horny.”

You flicked Benny’s ear, and he added, “Okay, it makes both of us really fuckin’ horny.”

Frankie tilted his head to the side for a moment, considering, and then he nodded, seemingly catching on. He turned your head, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he murmured cooly against your mouth, “Filthy girl, huh? I bet you want me to fill you up, too, don’t you?”

A keening sound left your lips, and he continued, “Want that tight little cunt to be so fuckin’ full of my cum and Ben’s, you won’t even know whose baby it is.”

Without warning, the steady wave of pleasure that had been building up inside of you burst in an intense orgasm that left you boneless in Benny’s arms, and with a few more thrusts inside of you, Frankie’s cock began to pulsate with his release as well.

“Should let Frankie teach you some lessons in dirty talk,” you mumbled jokingly against Benny’s collarbone.

“You know I can do better than that, honey,” Benny said defiantly, a challenge flashing in his eyes. 

“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll fucking fill you up, too, Benjamin,” Frankie said in a clipped tone, and the way Benny’s cock had begun to stiffen once more underneath of you made it abundantly clear you were still in for a long night yet.

“Well in that case…” Benny began.

---

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» TRIPLE FRONTIER MASTERLIST

[wardenparker]

Together for Christmas

Frankie Morales x female Reader x Benny Miller A Part of the “Together” Universe Co-written with @absurdthirst

​Rating: Mature, for language. Though this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: This is a MMF relationship! If that doesn’t appeal to you, then just scroll away right now. Cursing, food/alcohol, flirting, pregnancy, pregnancy cravings, gender reveal. Pure, tooth rotting fluff. Summary: It’s the holiday season in the Miller-Morales household, and this Christmas contains a whole lot of joy. Notes: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, my lovelies! Please enjoy this little dollop of seasonal fluff from my covid-addled brain. The holiday season isn’t always joyful for everyone (myself included) so Keri and I have aimed to add a touch of brightness to the day with this humble little offering.

Together in Chronological Order: Waking Up Together Taking Care Together Better Together Celebrating Together  Together for Christmas

"Massage? Spa package?" Frankie looks up from his phone to look over at Benny. “I know she's been talking about it and everything can't be baby related.” He knows how excited Ben is for the birth of the first Miller-Morales baby, but Christmas is about everyone. "We could even get a thruples package but then that would also be for ourselves."

“Is there such a thing as a maternity massage package?” Benny hums at the thought, running his hand up and down Frankie’s arm as they lounge together on the sofa. Taking advantage of your girls’ day out with your friends to plan out your Christmas present is also an excuse to cuddle. “She’s on her feet all day at work and carrying our baby. I think pampering sounds appropriate.”

"Yeah." Frankie wholeheartedly agrees and his eyes narrow slightly as he reads the details. "Says that you just have to make sure the staff knows that it's a maternity package and they will take care of it." He tells Benny, leg tossed over his lover's thigh and hums. "It can be a theme for the other shit we get her. We can get a lot of those bath fizzy things you and she like. Plus a new robe for her to lounge in when she's complaining about being cold."

“So much for one person getting one gift for one other person.” Benny laughs. He knew when you proposed doing a Secret Santa-style Christmas after the expense of the wedding and honeymoon, that the guys would still team up to make sure that your gift was worthy of their wife. “What about lotion? You know, with the bath bombs? She can have pampering at a spa and pampering at home.”

"I will volunteer to rub it on her." Frankie smirks slightly, his wedding ring winking proudly on his hand in the lights from the Christmas tree that is already up and decorated. "Anytime she wants."

“Baths with me and a rub down from you.” Benny smirks, pressing a kiss to Frankie’s temple. “And we wonder how she ended up pregnant.”

"I never wondered." Frankie smirks back at the man who was his husband in all ways but legally. "See, I paid attention in our sex ed classes." He teases, sending Benny a wink when he pouts at him. "Do I need to give you a refresher lesson?"

“I mean, I’m never going to say no to that.” Nudging his nose to Frankie’s temple, he leaves another kiss at his hairline with a hum. “You can teach me a lesson anytime you want.”

"After we pick out her present." Frankie admonishes, trying to ignore the way that his cock twitches at the enticing tone of Benny's voice. "So a massage? And all the crap to make her feel good? Do we want to do one of those foot bath things?"

“Definitely.” Benny nods in agreement, knowing the two things you always say hurt most are your feet and your back. “And we should take a trip to the Lindt outlet to get her a giant bag of chocolate.”

"Chocolate and foot baths." Frankie nods and he looks at the spa packages that they offer. "How about this one? It seems like it's an all-day thing of pampering. She can do it before the baby comes and we can always give her another after the birth."

“Sounds perfect.” Benny’s arms tighten around Frankie in a squeezing hug of approval as he reads the description of the package on the spa’s website. “She deserves the world.”

That is something that both men could agree on. Their wife is perfect and you deserve everything that they could give you. There had already been a slight disagreement over your work schedule, insisting they could support you and having to give in and let you stand firm on your resolution to work as long as you safely could. "Good. That settles the 'big' present." Frankie decides.

“She’s going to give you shit for going overboard.” It doesn’t mean a thing, though, because Benny has already gone overboard buying Frankie’s gift as well.

Frankie snorts, giving a small shrug as he reaches for his wallet on the side table to input his credit card information. "It's my right to spoil her." He turns and presses his lips to Benny's softly. "Just like I spoil you."

“Love you too, handsome.” Chasing the kiss without shame, Benny catches Frankie right before he sits back again and lets this press of lips linger. “You’re gonna get spoiled too. Just you wait.”

Huffing slightly, Frankie rolls his eyes. He hates when the two of you gang up on him. Feeling like he shouldn't receive that kind of attention and have you spend your money on him. "I told you not to do anything for me." He complains.

“Since when do I listen to you?” The teasing in Benny’s tone is clear, and he peppers Frankie’s face with more kisses.

"Never." Frankie grumbles, even as his lips twist up into a small grin. "That's the problem." It's not really a problem, but Francisco Morales is more comfortable with giving than being given things.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.” The younger man’s grin is wicked, knowing that Frankie can’t say no to him to begin with. “It’s Christmas. I get to spoil my husband and my wife.”

There is just a small chuckle that Frankie gives Benny, knowing that the younger man is bursting with pride at having a husband and a wife. At being allowed to love the two of you completely with no reservations. "Wait until next year when we all spoil the baby." He warns him playfully, knowing that Benjamin Miller would want nothing more. If there was anyone who was made to be a father, it was him.

“I can’t wait.” It’s wistful - disbelieving - the sigh in Benny’s voice. He’s wanted to be a father for his entire life, so the last few months have been a dream come true for him. Batting his eyelashes at Frankie playfully, Benny tries for his best pout and juts out his lower lip completely. “Pleeeeease can I have a gender reveal for my Christmas present? I’m not even asking for a party anymore. I just want us to get a surprise somehow.”

Frankie chuckles and shakes his head at how enthusiastic he is about all of this. "We will have to talk to our wife about that." He murmurs, knowing that it will be a little more exciting than that. He has an idea for Ben's Christmas present that he wants to discuss with you. Something that Benjamin has wanted forever and now he thinks is the perfect time.

******

Christmas morning with three adults and only one family to visit in the afternoon should be a relaxed affair, but not with Ben Miller in the house. Excited as a schoolboy, he is up early and tenderly trying his best to wake you and Frankie up without getting either of you annoyed at him. Benny loves Christmas, and nothing in the world could stop him from being excited this year. His first Christmas with his husband and wife.

Frankie let Benny sleep in the middle of the bed last night, your pregnancy demanding you be on the outside due to the middle of the night needs of your bladder. Giving up his spot since it is closest to the door for you and knowing that Benjamin would want access to cuddle you, meant that he had taken to sleeping on the opposite side. "We don't have to get up so early, Miller." Frankie grunts, turning his head away from the light filtering into the room.

“But it’s Christmas!” Benny pouts, peppering Frankie’s shoulder and chest with little kisses before finding his lips in the early morning light.

Frankie had already been up several times, making sure that Ben’s present was ready for this morning, so he hadn’t gotten much sleep. “It’ll be Christmas in an hour too.” Frankie grumbles, kissing his husband back despite his eyes staying closed.

“He’s excited,” you hum indulgently, turning your head to face the boys before the rest of your body because movement is far more difficult than it used to be. “It’s cute, baby. Frankie’s just sleepy.”

“So what you’re saying is that you were excited too?” Benny grins, kissing Frankie again and turning back so he can slide his hand along your bump and cuddle to you. “Merry Christmas, wifey.”

“Merry Christmas, husband,” you giggle a little at how the happy glow of your marriage - though it isn’t legally between all three of you - is the pride of Benny’s life along with the baby. “And yes, I am definitely excited.”

"Hmmmm, see Fish?" Benny looks over his shoulder to shoot Frankie a grin. "This is how you should be at Christmas. We have a wonderful wife; you have an amazingly sexy husband and we have our baby on the way." He sighs happily and looks back at you. "It's the best Christmas ever."

“Frankie baby always needs more sleep than us, you know that.” You tut softly, but reach for Benny to silently ask for a kiss. “That’s not a bad thing.” Besides which, you know why he’s tired this morning - getting up to cheek in Benny’s gift a few times in the night so you didn’t have to.

Frankie grunts, shuffling closer in a rustle of sheets to press against Benny's back and his lips find the other man's shoulder. "I'm old, remember?" He teases, voice still raspy with sleep. "I need more sleep."

“And we love our old man.” Benny grins, reaching back to pull him closer with one arm while offering you a place against his other side at the same time.

"Hmph." Frankie wiggles closer and digs his fingers into Benny's hip slightly before he caresses the skin. "Love you." He hums quietly, his nose pressed against the other man's shoulder blade.

“I say we snuggle for ten more minutes before we get up.” There’s nothing you want more than to laze around in bed with the two most important men in your life, but there is a big reason to go downstairs early. “How does that sound, Francisco?”

He smiles against Ben’s back, always loving the way you say his complete name. His head pops up and he shoots you a small wink that Benny misses. “Should be good.”

“You guys excited to go to Will’s later?” The other Miller brother is hosting the big holiday supper this year and it’s sure to be an amazing meal, as always.

“Hmmm.” Christmas at the elder Miller’s house will be fun, and it will be the last time that it’s held there for a while. Frankie and Benny have strong ideas of the baby having Christmas at home while they are young. “It will be fun watching Benny whine at his brother.”

“Why am I gonna whine?” Benny asks, pouting at Frankie purely for effect.

“Because that’s what little brothers do.” Frankie smirks and leans in to kiss his cheek. “And you enjoy watching your brother fume.”

“He makes it so easy.” Benny chuckles and draws Frankie into a longer kiss. “How could I not?”

Frankie chuckles into the kiss and pulls away to move away to get out of the bed. He will go around to your side to kiss you. “Let’s get up then.”

“Yay!” Benny practically bounds from the bed, ready to be your twin anchor with Frankie because you started having trouble getting up from lying down a couple of weeks ago. “Christmas!”

“Well, it’s not a mystery who’s going to teach the baby to get up super early on Christmas morning,” you giggle, shaking your head at Benny while you gratefully take both of their hands to pull yourself up.

Frankie snorts and when you are on your feet, he pulls you close and leans in over your belly to kiss you. “You know it.” He murmurs and smirks slightly as he brushes his nose against yours. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas, Francisco.” Leaning into him is not as easy as it used to be, but it’s worth the effort.

“We should get out there before Benjamin implodes.” Frankie squeezes your hip and shares a small grin, excited to see his reaction to the gift the two of you had decided on.

“Gonna explode all over the both of you if you stand there and make out in front of me,” Benny teases, waggling his eyebrows at the both of you.

Frankie snorts and rolls his eyes at his husband. “Jesus, Ben…on his birthday?” He teases, sending him a wink.

“Wasn’t Jesus born in March? I’m sure I’ve heard that before.” Benny wrinkles his nose, grinning at Frankie and enjoying the tease as he gives it right back. He snags your cardigan off the back of the closet door and holds it out for you to slip into then leads the way downstairs. “Our last Christmas as a family of three,” he sighs wistfully.

“Do you need to pee first?” Frankie asks, his hand on your back as he slowly helps you down the stairs. It worries him the larger you get, not wanting you to fall.

“Always,” you laugh, knowing Frankie will go as far as actually escorting you to the downstairs bathroom to make sure you don’t lose your balance. “And then a cup of that really good orange herbal tea while we open presents?”

“Whatever you want.” Frankie promises, smiling at you. He knows he’s being a little extra, but he doesn’t want anything to happen to you or the baby. Especially since you are so top heavy now. Miller makes giants apparently.

“Whatever?” Even just a little tease is more than you can resist, and you grin at Frankie as he helps you down the stairs. “So I can have a spiked cup of coffee and some sushi later on?”

“Yes.” Frankie promises, turning you and kissing your nose. “Just as soon as this one is howling angrily at being evicted from your womb.” He teases, caressing your bump. “I’ll bring it on ice so you can have it as soon as you get cleaned up.”

“Three and a half more months.” You sigh dramatically, laying one hand over his on your belly. “Nearly there.”

“I’ll bring you two rolls.” He promises, smirking happily. “Go pee before Benny starts opening the presents without us. I’ll make your tea.”

“Thank you, cariño.” You bat your eyelashes at him before turning down the hallway, and Frankie heads into the kitchen to find Benny already sashaying around the room brewing a pot of coffee and getting out the bag of bagels he picked up for this morning.

There’s a giddy air of anticipation and Frankie smirks as he walks by his husband and reaches out to slap his ass affectionately. “She’s gonna get settled and then we can spoil her.” He promises, moving over to your kettle to heat the water.

“I got her a chocolate chip bagel, and it’s gonna have peanut butter and banana slices. Does she want tea?” It’s pretty much all you’ve been drinking lately, so he’s not at all surprised.

“Of course.” Frankie moves over to the cabinet that houses the growing tea collection. “The orange one is a favorite right now.”

“You want your coffee spiked, handsome?” Benny moves around the kitchen easily, grabbing the bottle of Bailey’s to add a shot to his own coffee mug. It is a holiday, after all.

“No.” Frankie shakes his head. “She’s grumpy about no alcohol so I’ll suffer with her.” He knows you won’t mind, but it’s alright with him. He wants to focus on what’s coming up today.

Benny stops for a second, considers the bottle in his hand, and puts it back in its place on the bar with a nod. “Solidarity,” he hums, leaning over to kiss Frankie’s cheek.

“Good boy.” Frankie murmurs, loving how thoughtful Ben is when he ponders on things. “Let’s get our Christmas started.” He’s eager to make sure that nothing spoils the surprise for Benny, having prepared for it as much as he possibly could.

Bagels and drinks are brought into the living room, and Frankie turns on the tv so you can pick a Christmas movie to have playing while the day begins. You turn on Jingle Jangle and pick up your tea, humming at the soothing scent of orange. “Who wants to go first?” You ask, glancing eagerly at the tree.

Frankie wants Benjamin to go last so he immediately pipes up. “You should go first, baby.” He nods towards his husband. “What do you think?”

“Absolutely.” As much as Benny does like to get presents, he likes to give them more. And he retrieves the trio of boxes with your name on them to set in front of you with pride.

“So much for small gifts this year,” you joke, looking at the multiple packages in front of you and the multiple packages for each of them under the tree.

“I think we all knew we were full of shit.” Frankie points out, moving your bagel and tea over to a tray closest to you so it doesn’t get in the way of your presents. “Just wait until the baby comes.”

“All baby gifts, all the time.” There will be gifts of other kinds, too, you’re sure of that. But you know none of you will be able to resist getting things for the baby. The first box in front of you is meticulously tied up in gold ribbon and you know Frankie must have been the one to tie it so well - Benny would have gone all out with the fanciest wrapping paper he could find and the biggest bows known to man. Inside seems to be an entire Lindt shop’s worth of chocolate and you groan deeply in appreciation. “It’s perrrrfect, baby. You spoil me.”

“You never have enough chocolate in the house it seems.” Frankie chuckles, remembering when he had accidentally eaten the last truffle without knowing and you had cried.

“There are much worse pregnancy cravings to have,” you defend with a sheepish grin. Unwrapping a dark chocolate and orange truffle immediately and popping it in your mouth, you groan happily and sigh. “Christmas is done,” you joke. “This is all I need.”

“Told you that we should have dipped orange slices in chocolate.” Frankie huffs at Benny with a grin. “She would have loved it.” Your obsession with oranges has been a vast source of amusement. Even asking for an orange vinaigrette on salads.

The way your eyes light up makes both men laugh, and you grin sheepishly to boot. “We can still do that,” you nod eagerly.

“Done.” Benny declares, knowing that whatever you want while you are pregnant - hell, while you are married to him and Frankie - you get. “We will make them, baby.”

Tearing the wrapping paper on the second box reveals a plethora of home spa items: a foot bath, bath robe, lotions, therapeutic salts, and bath bombs that will probably last you well past the last few months of your pregnancy. “You guuuyyysss…” There are grateful tears in your eyes when you look at your husbands, knowing Frankie didn’t do all of this alone. Fitting, since you didn’t do Benny’s gift all alone either. “Thank you so much.”

“That comes with foot rubs and lotion rubs anytime you want.” They had considered doing a coupon book, but abandoned the idea just with unlimited options being their go-to.

Reaching across the side table is difficult with your belly in the way, but both men lift out of their seats to exchange soft kisses with you, and you pick up the last, small box with a grin. “How is there more? My husbands absolutely spoil me.”

“Because you deserve everything.” Benny murmurs softly, his eyes slightly misty with joy.

“I love you, too.” The small box is the kind that you can buy to put a gift card into, but when you open it up there is a brochure for the day spa in the next town over - with an appointment card that lists no date but has a phone number to call to book and the words “Maternity Package” neatly printed on the bottom. “Guys…?” You look up at both of them, tears forming all over again as you hold up the appointment card in wonder. “This is—you—you booked me a spa day?”

“Oh shit, you hate it.” Benny worries, panicking over the tears, but Frankie jostles him and shakes his head.

“No she doesn’t.” He huffs before he reaches for your hand. “Yeah baby, we want you to go and get pampered, relax and just feel good. You can schedule it whenever you want.”

“This is so sweet of you.” Despite the conversations about wanting you to be off your feet for the last trimester of your pregnancy, both Frankie and Benny have been so supportive of you not wanting to give up working just yet.

"You deserve it." Benny insists. "You are growing our baby. It's a hard job and you're doing amazing." He's always been in awe of women and you just have blown him away with your strength.

“Thank you.” Pulling the robe out of the big box, you swap it out for your cardigan and sigh at its warmth and softness. “I love you guys so much.”

"Knew she would put it on immediately." Frankie grins at you, sending you a small wink. They had relaxed their hold on the thermostat in order to keep you comfortable but it was still colder than what you would probably like.

“It’s so soft.” And oversized. This is definitely the definition of a pregnancy robe. “You go next, Frankie,” you urge, knowing you both want Benny to go last.

There is a slight pout to his lips as he looks between the two of you. "I told you not to get me anything." He huffs, rolling his eyes at his husband and wife's refusal to listen to him.

“Benny pulled your name, baby. There was no chance of that happening.” Sitting back in your favorite armchair with a grin, you pick up your bagel to have breakfast while Benny eagerly slides several large boxes in front of Frankie to open.

“You did too much.” Frankie protests, looking at the size of the boxes and tries to figure out what he did for him. “You’re supposed to be saving your money Benjamin.”

“We’re doing fine, baby. More than fine. And you work so hard.” Benny shifts closer to Frankie on the couch, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You deserve to be spoiled, too.”

“You already spoil me.” Frankie turns and leans into the kiss for a moment, stealing another moment of affection. He’s spoiled just from being loved by the two of you so unconditionally.

“Go on,” Benny urges, grinning with that giddy excitement of a little kid on Christmas morning gleaming in his eyes.

Frankie grins at his husband’s enthusiasm and starts to tear into the paper, freezing for a moment before his eyes whip back around to Ben. “You—”

“I know you’re picky.” Benny couches, instantly worried that he’s gotten something wrong. “If it’s not the right model number or something we can exchange them.”

“Benjamin.” Frankie breathes out in awe, ripping off the rest of the paper to reveal the box for the new lathe that he had been drooling over. The joy of making the baby’s cradle had turned to frustration when the lathe he had kept breaking and yet he hadn’t been able to justify buying another one. “It’s—it’s great. Perfect.”

“Oh good.” The sigh of relief he breathes is palpable and Benny smiles. “Your workshop is gonna get a dad-level upgrade, baby.”

It takes him a moment but after a few blinks of his eyes, Frankie throws his head back and laughs before he reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of Ben’s neck so he can drag him close for a kiss.

“There’s more, baby. Keep going.” For as many years as they have been together, the joy in the two men’s relationship has never faded. Benny and Frankie have been at each other’s sides for years and being allowed to witness these moments of happiness between them makes your heart swell.

“Brat.” He huffs, shaking his head at his husband even as he looks back at the lathe. “Dad-level upgrade huh?” He asks, extremely grateful to have everything he wants and more this Christmas.

“Next.” The smile on Benny’s face when he puts the second box in front of Frankie is beaming.

"Okay." Frankie is excited, knowing that Benny is, and he quickly tears into the next present. "Ben." He chokes when he sees the toolbox that Frankie had been saving for. A rolling Snap On that makes his current toolbox look like a toy. "You—oh fuck, you messed up now." Frankie laughs. "The Snap On guy is going to get all my money when he rolls up."

“As long as you’re happy.” Benny is giddy with the success of his ideas, knowing that Frankie loves his workshop and the escape that it provides him. “We love you. So much.”

"It's too much." Frankie huffs, even with the wide grin on his face. "I love you too, more than you will ever know."

“Merry Christmas.” Benny opens his arms to the older man, letting Frankie snuggle into his side and holding him tight for a long moment together.

"You are ridiculous and spent too much, but I love you." Frankie kisses his lips one last time and he pulls away from him before he looks over to you. "Are we done with me? It's time for Benjamin?"

“Benny’s turn.” Your eyes flash excitement at Frankie as he hops up to retrieve the first part of the gift despite it technically being from you. There’s no way Frankie would let you bend and lift and shuffle anymore - he’s barely allowed it since the day you found out you were expecting.

It has been a lot of work, making sure that this goes off without a frankly, very nosy Benny, finding out. Frankie had thought about giving Ben two gifts in one, but only if you had wanted to. Luckily, you had thought it was perfect. The box is heavy and Frankie grunts as he picks it up. “Here we go.”

“Are those all for me?” Benny stares, pointing at the stack of boxes still under the tree when Frankie brings the first over to him.

“Yes and no.” Frankie grins when the box settles down in front of Ben without giving away what is inside. “You know how you wanted to do a gender reveal?” He asks him, reminding him of the conversation weeks ago.

“Yeah!” Benny sits up eagerly, looking between you with misty eyes. “You guys, is this a gender reveal?!”

Frankie looks over at you, knowing that you are going to tear up as well. “Yeah, Benjamin, it’s a gender reveal.” He murmurs softly.

Benny vibrates, eagerly ripping into the wrapping paper on the lid of the box and blissfully unaware of the holes on its other side. “Oh—oh my god!” The lid of the box pops off almost without his help, giving way to the sunny face of a happy, eager puppy with a pink paisley print collar and a handwritten tag hanging from it. I’m a girl! Just like the Bean!

You and Benny gasp almost in unison, but your hand flies to your belly as Ben lifts the wiggling puppy into his arms and coos at her. “They’re—” Benny is all but crying as he looks between you and Frankie and you don’t blame him. “They’re both girls?”

“Yeah.” Frankie reaches for your hand and covers your stomach gently. “You’ve been saying you wanted a puppy for Bean to grow up with, so…she will be her first friend.” He had hoped Ben would love the gender reveal and puppy being the same sex as the baby.

“She’s so sweet!” And licking his face all over, which has Benny giggling instantly. the little puppy fits in his arms effortlessly and he thumbs the tag with affection. “A little girl,” he breathes, turning his watery eyes to you.

“A little girl,” you nod, gripping Frankie’s hands tightly as you try to absorb the reality of the moment. You’re going to have a daughter.

Frankie had been proud when you had given him the envelope with the sex of the baby inside. Bawling like a baby himself when he opened it in order to pick out the right puppy from the couple who had been trying to find good homes for the litter. “Miller makes girls, apparently.”

“What kind of puppy is this little nugget?” Benny’s eyes are wide and full of love as he strokes her short fur. He looks like he’s never going to let her go ever again.

“She’s a mix. Golden retriever and bulldog.” Frankie had fallen in love with her sweet face and knew that you and Ben would love her. “They said she’ll be good around kids. Especially once she’s trained.”

“She’s gonna be the best little girl in the whole world.” Benny coos, burying his face in the puppy’s fur. “You need a name, little girl! Did Papí Frankie name you already?”

"No way." Frankie shakes his head, wanting to let Ben name the puppy. "That honor is yours. What do you want to name our sweet girl?"

“We’re gonna need two names.” You lean over to press a kiss to Frankie’s shoulder and beam at Benny. “But the puppy gets a name first.”

“What’s the battle cry from the movie you love?” Benny looks over at you with glee. “Towanda?”

“Towanda is an Amazon warrior alter ego. You might give that cute little pup a complex.” You nearly snort out your sip of tea and shake your head at him. “If you want to name the dog after a character from Fried Green Tomatoes, Idgie might be the way to go.”

Frankie grins as Benny looks at the puppy again, smothering her in kisses. “Idgie, huh?” He murmurs, actually liking the name for a pup. It’s unique.

“Is that your name, lil’ baby?” Benny is completely in love, cradling this wriggling puppy in his arms and letting her sniff and lick all over him. “Is that your name, Idgie?” He croons, giggling when she barks happily. “I guess that’s a yes.”

“Lord.” Frankie rolls his eyes and looks over at you with amusement. “He’s going to be sleeping with the puppy tonight.” He predicts, knowing how long he’s wanted a puppy.

“Obviously!” Benny rolls his eyes like he can’t believe Frankie ever doubted him.

Laughing, Frankie shakes his head and nods towards the other wrapped gifts. “Do you want us to open them or are we allowed to touch the puppy too?”

“Nooo, you can hold her.” Like it’s some kind of grand permission, he hands Idgie over to Frankie and dives for the other boxes under the tree, now certain that they contain all manner of puppy things within them.

Scratching behind her ears, Frankie leans over for you to love on the puppy. “What do you think?” He asks you quietly. He had handled getting the pup so you could be surprised too, while you had gotten the supplies.

“She’s absolutely precious.” The pup is loving and excitable, giddy to have so much attention this morning. Your eyes are still watery, though, and you look at Frankie in awe. “We’re…we’re really having a girl?”

“We are, baby.” Frankie nods and pulls out the picture of the ultrasound that had been in the envelope. The little girl parts circled for you to see. “We’re gonna have a little girl.”

Idgie seems immediately concerned when tears fall down your cheeks, and she licks them away with determination. “It’s okay, Idg,” you laugh at her response to your overwhelmed joy. “Mama’s just happy.”

Frankie chuckles and shakes his head. “Hope you know you’re on puppy training duty, Miller.” He teases Ben.

“Frankie’s gonna end up sleeping in the middle of the bed so I can get up when I need to pee, and Benny can get up with Idgie.” You predict, scratching the puppy’s head affectionately.

Benny pouts for a second, looking up from pulling the dog bed out of a box. “Hey.” He huffs. “I—you planned this, didn’t you? So you can sleep next to her.” It’s a joke, although he knows Frankie misses sleeping next to you and has been grateful that Ben needs to touch you in his sleep. A slight sense of propriety or possessiveness has emerged since that first ultrasound.

“Nobody’s taking away your cuddle time, Ben.” You would never. Benny is so proud of your pregnancy and slightly caveman about it, and you not-at-all secretly relish the attention from both of your husbands. “You can just as easily slither out from the middle of the bed. I have faith in you.”

Frankie rolls his eyes at his husband. “Pendejo.” He grumbles under his breath at how ridiculous he can be at times. “Open the rest of the presents.”

Toys, a leash, bowls, a bed, treats, food, and training aids are all inside the last remaining boxes, and the guys laugh at how wild you had gone in getting things for the new puppy while you were at the pet store. Idgie has everything she could possibly need and yet you’re sure you’ll end up back at the store within days to go nuts again. But together this time.

The puppy goes back to Benny and Frankie smirks as he literally lays down on the floor with the sweet girl as she jumps on him. "What do you think? Was it a good gender reveal? A sweet little girl for our little girl?"

“It’s perfect.” Benny giggles when the puppy licks a stripe up his cheek after climbing into his chest. He turns his head to look at both of you with a grin. “And now we can narrow down that name list for the baby.”

"Yes we can." Everyone had been throwing all kinds of names onto the lists. The lists are getting longer and longer as time goes on with every single one that any of you vaguely liked. Hell, Ben had added Wednesday to the list the other day after watching the new Addams family show.

“We can save the ‘boy’ name list for baby number two.” Shifting out of your armchair now that you’re done with your breakfast, you carefully shift to the living room floor and brace your back against your chair to help your back. Little Idgie comes bounding over, happily yapping and waggling her whole bum because her little tail is so tiny.

"She certainly likes you." Frankie hums happily, finding that the puppy is friendly with all of them. It bodes well although he knows that this dog is going to be Benny's until the baby is older.

“She’s such a little love bug.” You laugh when the puppy bounds over to Frankie after giving you sufficient kisses. “Hopefully she’ll love her sister just as much.”

"She will." Frankie predicts. "She is Benjamin in puppy form." He teases, sending a small wink towards the younger man. "She's gonna adore her and protect her, just like her daddy Benny."

Picking out what they wanted to be called as fathers had been a long-winded process, wanting to make sure they had distinct names so they could eventually teach the baby how to call for each of them individually. Deciding on daddy and papí had made both men so happy that they had cried telling you about it.

Benny beams, nodding eagerly. “You know it. No one’s gonna mess with our daughter. Between Idgie and me, she’ll be ruling the playground.”

“Kindergarten Crime Boss.” The joke makes all three of you laugh and Frankie shakes his head as he gives Idgie belly rubs.

“She’s a good girl, yes you are.” Frankie coos to the happy puppy as she yips and tries to chase his hand.

“I think I like the nature names the best.” You tell them out of nowhere, looking up from where your hands had been smoothing over your belly. A large portion of your baby girl name list were names from nature and you’ve been looking at those names secretly on your own for weeks now.

Frankie freezes, looking down at Idgie. “Which ones are speaking to you, sweetheart?” He asks, curious if you have any favorites out of the ones on the list.

“Maybe Autumn? Or Flora…or Daphne?” The way you shrug clearly shows how self-conscious you are about the topic even though it makes you unbelievably happy to think about. Naming your child is a huge decision.

“I like those.” Benny agrees and Frankie nods.

“I was along the lines of Sierra or Luna.” He admits, smiling softly. He reaches over to stroke your stomach. “I’m okay with any name as long as she is healthy and bears our last name.”

“That sounds like a nice top five.” The smile on Frankie’s lips makes it onto yours. “We don’t need to decide today. I just…knowing the baby is a girl, it made me think.”

“We are going to have to get started building her a dream play area.” Benny pipes up. “Not just a princess tower, but girls do cool shit too. Badass spaceship and teach her how to slay her own dragons.”

“A fighter like daddy and a pilot like papí.” The idea of such personal things made with love for the baby makes your heart swell, and you squeeze Frankie’s hand gently in your own. “I love you guys.”

“Baby, you have given us everything we’ve ever wanted.” Frankie assures you. “Every fucking thing. You—you’re completing our family. First with you and now with our little bean.”

“We all know she won’t be an only child.” At least, you have all expressed wanting more than one child, so as long as it isn’t a danger to your health, you’re planning on having one more.

“Of course not, but if she was it – hell, if you didn’t want kids – we would be complete with you.” That had been a conversation at one point because while Benjamin wanted to be a father, he had wanted you more.

“It’s a good thing we all wanted to be parents, then.” Nothing in the world has made you happier than this progression - the pregnancy and the guys’ proposal, the wedding and the honeymoon - all of it leading up to the arrival of your first little Bean. It’s the perfect dream that you never expected to get, and you’re so grateful to have found men who share it.

“Okay, no crying on Christmas.” Frankie declares before he rolls his eyes. “No more crying on Christmas, how about that?” He corrects, knowing tears have already happened. “Today is going to be perfect.”

“Today already is perfect.” Benny declares, burying his face in Idgie’s little pot belly when she trots back over to him and flops on her back at his side. “Isn’t it, good girl? Isn’t today perfect?”

Frankie grins at Benny, reaching over and caressing your stomach before he leans over and presses a kiss to your belly, receiving an enthusiastic kick for his attention. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Seems like the bean is enjoying herself, too.” Just something as simple as having a pronoun for the baby nearly has you blubbering again, but you exhale deeply and manage to keep the happy tears at bay.

“She’s going to enjoy every Christmas.” Frankie vows, watching as Benny fawns over the puppy. He doesn’t miss the happy tears and the way that he has tucked the little note into his pocket. Frankie winds his arm around your back and pulls you towards him. “We’re going to remember this for the rest of our lives.” He hums. “And next year, we’ll be holding our other sweet girl and watching the three of them play together.”

______

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[flightlessangelwings]

FlightlessAngelWings January Posting Schedule

So I wasn’t originally going to do a monthly posting schedule but I’m working on a couple events and this helps me stay organized and on top of things lol! And bonus for y’all you get to see what’s coming up for the month! �� This will be the last month I’m sticking to a strict posting schedule though, and instead I’ll have a coming soon post where I’ll update with the next few fics I have planned to post.

As always my blog and all my works are 18+ only! Minors please do not interact!

Follows, reblogs, comments and asks are loved and greatly appreciated 💖💖

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date!

All fics this month have smut. All tags and warnings are on each individual fic.

~

Jan 1- Eat Dessert First, Frank castle x fem!reader

Jan 8- Late Nights, neighbor!Steven grant x gn!reader (also for moon knight bingo)

Jan 15 -The Bet, Veracruz pegging x fem!reader (for Peg that Middle Aged Man Campaign)

Jan 22- My Boys- Frankie Morales pegging with Benny Miller x fem!reader (Messy Pile of Affection universe)

Jan 29- My Favorite Bartender- Bartender tasm!Peter Parker

[pedge-page]

Happy Hour

Part 1 to the Sharing is Caring series

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

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

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

18+ ONLY

- - - -

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

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

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

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

“I think you'll have some fun too." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- - - - 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Santi nods energetically. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 - - - - 

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

-

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@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse

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

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

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

Adrenaline.

oh baby... thank you for this.

warnings - smut. cursing.

Masterlist. Inbox.

"Ben? You in here?"

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

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

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

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

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

His palms find your hips, plastering your bodies together.

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

"I'm soaked," you whine.

"You will be."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've become his favourite solution.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better?"

"So much better," he chuckles.

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

"Benny! Champion! Where you at?"

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

"There you are!"

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

"You two are ridiculous," Frankie laughs.

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

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 3

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.  What happens if you can't make it to the motel on Friday evening?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey thank you for your help and beta reading, I fucking adore you so much it's downright obscene 🧡

Word count: 12.2k

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 3: The Man At The Frontier

Make us come, baby. Make us come together. 

These words are yours. 

Even if you never see him again. Even if you lose him before having had the time to map the freckles on his skin. To sleep in his arms. To hear him repeat them. They’re yours to keep. 

He mouthed them against your skin, sunk them into your bloodstream in bright mahogany before coming undone, wrapped around your body. 

They’re yours, right? 

Even if you don’t get to see him ever again. 

—

It starts with the cramps. That’s how it usually goes. A myriad of microscopic pliers nipping at your intercostal muscles. 

Your eyes shoot open at the familiar ache. The early morning hues redefine the room in blue shadows. You blink your sleep-heavy eyelids a few times, confused, before your vision adjusts and you recognize the room around you. It’s your bedroom. Your nightstand, your lamp, your books. Your pills. Your tube of scented hand cream. The chair in the corner, that ugly, Louis XV style, transparent polycarbonate monstrosity by that French designer. The large windows. Those damn floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light, too much heat, too much open view. Nowhere to hide, in here. 

It has to be sometime between 4 and 5 am, you assume, before another cramp seizes you. You curl up into a tight ball on the edge of the bed, pulling the comforter to your chin.

Not today. Please. Not today.

Friday. 

Inside your abdomen, nausea streams densely, like liquid lead, from your ribs to your stomach, as cold shivers run up your spine. Sweat breaks on your forehead. You know only too well what’s happening, but it can’t be, there’s been no warning signs. No headache, no stabbing sensation in your lower belly, no spinning head. 

Today is Friday. 

You reject the obvious.

Were you so engrossed in the memory of him to pay attention? His hand wrapped around your nape, his forearm molded along your spine, pressing you into his chest, making you two as one. Closer.

Nausea is already lapping at your esophagus. The pliers bite harder at your ribcage and you know you have to move now if you want to make it to the bathroom before it happens. Shuddering, you push away the comforter, then get up and run.

Kneeled on all fours on the cool bathroom tiles, you dive headfirst into the toilet’s porcelain bowl as everything inside you collapses on itself, emptying the content of your stomach, mostly liquid. You should have eaten something last night. 

You know you’re not pregnant. For an infinity of reasons. 

Because you haven’t let Adrian fuck you in weeks. Because, when he does, he always wears protection. That’s your mutual, very tacit agreement. A silent understanding that you’re never the only woman, at any given moment. An unspoken confession on his behalf, implicit permission on yours. 

Because your contraceptive pill is the only one you’ll never stop popping. 

Because you’ve suffered through more stomach bugs than you care to count.

And of course, because Frankie won’t come inside you. 

You stand up on fawn-like legs and flush the toilet. 

You splash water on your face and grab your toothbrush with a trembling hand, shaking from head to toe. You know this is only the beginning, but it’s coming in strong. This one is most likely going to be a bad one. At least for now the pain is gone.

Above the sink, the woman in the mirror stares at you with unsettling, disproportionate glassy eyes. Her skin looks waxy, she scares you, and you have to lower your eyes. You brush your teeth as quickly as you can. 

You haven’t made it back to the bedroom when the second wave of cramps squeezes your abdomen. The pain folds you in half, and you let out a low whine. 

It echoes like distant thunder along the glass walls of the empty corridor. 

—

On Fridays, you count. You break down hours and minutes and steps and heartbeats into small, bearable quantities, so that you can live through them without going crazy. Today, however, you’re counting trips to the bathroom, and the time between two attacks from the cramps, like you’re readying yourself to give birth to a terrible monster, feeding off you from the inside of your quivering body. 

You’ve managed to spend most of the day hiding in your office, with the window cracked open, and the AC cranked up to the max. The clothes you wear are the same as yesterday. Your expensive formal blouse sticks to your sweaty skin in clammy patches. You’re cold, cold and hot all at once. In fact, you’re burning up, and a chill sweat has you shivering in the non-existent breeze. 

You haven’t gotten any work done, to state the obvious. You’re just dozing in and out of consciousness between two crises, head like a rock sinking onto your arms on top of your shiny glass desk. Its surface fogs with every one of your short breaths. You’re running out of toothpaste. 

Being the boss’ daughter has never granted you any particular privilege over your coworkers, except on days like this. At the first signs of sickness, you go home, or call in sick. Stay in bed for a couple of days, sleep it off, sip water tentatively every time you throw up until you can finally keep it down. No one has ever thought to comment on the frequency or duration of your sick leaves. Not even your father.

Kaytee has probably noticed something’s wrong with you. Her office is right by the bathroom, and you've run there seven times since you’ve arrived this morning, an hour late, which is uncommon, to boot. You look like a walking corpse, your eyes eating up half of your face and your lips pinched in a tight line. And surely, she will find a way to use this against you in the near or distant future. She’s been dying to take your place ever since she was recruited nearly two years ago, champing at the bit, waiting for you to slip so she can bury you. 

If she only knew. How you are dying to let her have it all. That you are convinced she’d be so much better at the job than you’ll ever try to be. 

With your last shred of energy, you push down the thought, like you push down the nausea and the shivers. On Fridays, everything that’s not him is irrelevant. At 6pm sharp, you’ll count your steps down to the parking garage and hop in your car. You’ll sit in traffic until you reach the 589 and you can finally cruise towards the motel in the protective semi-darkness of the Tampa suburbia. 

You haven’t yet considered what will happen beyond this point. When he steps into the room and finds you sitting there, looking like an undead version of yourself, reeking of stale bile, rancid sweat and toothpaste. 

All you have to do is make it there. You won’t give up, simple as that. You’ll suck it down. 

Demonstrating resolve you never knew you possessed, you make it to sundown. You hold out through the pain, through the cramps, through the soreness on your knees and the abrasion in your throat and the stabbing sensation behind your eyes and the pulling of your gums. 

At 6pm, you turn off the alarm of your phone and put it away in your purse. The room swirls around you the first time you try to get up. You wince, falling heavy on the simile leather chair you sweated on all day. You wipe your damp forehead and neck with a tissue, and you stand up again. 

All the blood in your body rushes to your feet. There’s not a drop of it left in your brain. You swallow hard against the bitter taste clinging to your tongue and palate and start counting your steps toward the elevator, only to lose track somewhere after 18.

Dark, green circles flash in rapid succession across your pupils, narrowing your vision. You grip the strap of your purse harder, and register you can’t feel your fingers. Something is wrong with your balance, your whole body slants to the left. You try to correct its trajectory but you can’t feel anything below your calves either. What you can feel is your forehead and your nape, defined by pain, burning hot and somehow also freezing where beads of sweat run down your skin.

You’ve made it to the lobby when everything fades to black. 

—

In your early 20s, you had genuinely tried to shake off the melancholia. An honest, hopeful attempt. You were away at college, and even though you didn’t get to choose your major, different and various paths seemed possible, within reach. A couple of years after graduation, when you had met Adrian, you had tried again, with renewed vigor and motivation. 

You did want to get better. 

You cut back considerably on hard liquor. You smiled broadly, at everyone. You said “please,” and “sorry.” Applied lipstick daily, polished your nails weekly. You went out to dinners and parties, wore high heels and interacted with strangers, drank wine in stem glasses and in reasonable quantities. 

On your mother’s advice, you went to “see someone.” As your father prescribed, you read the news and followed sports results. 

But the sadness kept settling down inside you, like the white particles inside a snowball. The vomiting spells became more frequent. Despite your willingness and earnest efforts, you kept falling short, and each fall hit you with increased brutality. 

For your mother, you were too much. For your father, never enough. For Adrian, you would soon come to realize, you were a commodity.

Trying to please them in turn, learning your cues, anticipating their needs and wills and whims, torn up between their contradicting desires and expectations, smiling pretty and meek, you completely lost track of what you liked and who you were. 

Anxious, confused, perpetually dissatisfied and unsatisfying, you withdrew within yourself. Hid away between the folds, detached and ready to flee, wishing for nothing more than to disappear. 

As Ava grew up, her loud and unapologetic personality compelling everyone’s attention, she provided you with a reprieve and, most importantly, a purpose. But a diffuse sense of guilt soon arose, as your little sister’s struggles could hardly be instrumental to your self-fulfillment.

Inside of you, isolation and loneliness grew solid, like a second skeleton, keeping you upright.  

Apathy soon took over. You resorted to medication to control it all. 

And when it was no longer enough, you found your way to the Hole in the Wall.

—

The smell of rubbing alcohol floats around you in the chilled darkness, its rough acetone accents abrading your nostrils. There’s an undertone to it. Rotting perfume and decaying bodies. A faint beeping sound tugs at your consciousness, and as you begin to come to, pain strikes you in multiple places. 

Something sharp stings the thin skin on the back of your right hand. Each one of your intercostal muscles is sore. Your throat is parched, rougher than sandpaper; your tongue too big for your mouth, stuck to your palate. Every single joint in your body is sensitive, but the worst, by far, is the piercing ache in your forehead. It glues your eyes closed. 

Panic floods your brain with static when you stir, wincing against the shooting pain, and you don’t recognize the motel’s mattress. The one you’re lying on is too hard, the linen covering you too starchy, the darkness is closing in on you, you need to open your eyes, fence off the pain, find Frankie…

Frankie. 

You never made it to the motel. Where the hell are you? When the hell are you?

“Ah. At long last, she wakes. How are you feeling, babe?”

Adrian’s honeyed voice hauls you through the darkness. Your eyelids flutter against the light until you open your eyes to a square room with a single, large window, blazing sun darting through. 

Adrian is sitting in the corner by the foot of the bed. A hospital bed, apparently. A narrow, dark blue mattress, unusually high, encased with rails on each side and at your feet. You’ve never been hospitalized before. 

He’s looking at you with a Cheshire cat grin stretching his thin lips, like he was just let in on a juicy secret. He’s dressed in his golf apparel. 

The violent luminosity intensifies the splitting sensation in your forehead, it vibrates to the back of your skull, from within, from the sides.  

Squinting, you turn your head to the side to take in your surroundings. On top of a beige, melamine nightstand are a black phone with a long twisted cord, an oval device with a red and a white buttons and another cord, and a metal kidney dish. 

There’s a tray table over your legs, with a jug standing next to a hard glass already filled with water, and some paper napkins. There’s a needle in your hand. A drip. With a cord. You flinch a little at the sight. A white rectangle eats up the tip of your index, a red light flashing from inside it. Another cord. It’s linked to the source of the beeping sound, a square monitor to your right, displaying wobbly lines of green. Another two cords are plugged in, you follow their sinuous lines to your bed, where they disappear under the sheet, and you take in the two round patches taped to your chest.

So many cords. Too many sensors. 

“Where’s my phone?” you mumble. 

Your tongue feels like a piece of carpet. You’re not sure whether it’s even your voice anymore. 

“You scared us this time,” Adrian says. His tone is cold, practiced, policed. 

You reach for the plastic glass and bring it to your chapped lips. The liquid flows down your throat like a waterfall; you wince again.

“Can you pull down the blinds, please? The light hurts.”

He lets a moment pass before he gets up, then circles the bed, unhurried, pacing toward the window, but instead of shutting the Venetian blinds, he sits by your side. The mattress dips under his weight. You hold your breath, anticipating a new jolt of pain. Behind him, the daylight forms a halo, blurring the outline of his silhouette. Your eyes water against the brightness. 

“What day is it?” you try again. 

“One thing we don’t understand is why you didn’t go home. You got us all worried, you know?”

The beeping picks up pace, imperceptibly. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. The one with no cords linked to it. You know this dance, he won’t cooperate until you ask the right questions, the ones he wants you to listen to him answer. Better to give him what he wants, for now.

“What happened?” 

“We don’t know exactly, that’s the thing. Well, you were sick, this you know,” he punctuates his words with a knowing grin and a wink, “but instead of coming home, you stayed at work, for some reason. We think you lost consciousness on your way out, and you hit your head on the elevator’s frame in your fall. We couldn’t help you right away because most employees had already left the floor. Jerry found you. He called your dad.”

You close your eyes, blocking the image of Jerry, of all people, finding you sprawled out and unconscious on the floor. And why would he call your father? Why not 911? You resent that collective we. Who the hell is we? Right about now, you could swear it’s the entire world versus you. 

Besides, you’re fairly certain Kaytee was still in her office at the time. She never leaves before 8pm at the earliest and makes sure everyone knows about it. 

“You split your forehead open. Apparently, you were running a pretty high fever, too. Oh, and you were critically dehydrated, according to the doctor I saw this morning,” he frames the words critically dehydrated in air quotes. “He also said something about a light concussion, I think.” 

You lift a heavy hand to your forehead, the tip of your fingers gingerly testing what they find there, a gauze dressing, held in place by medical tape. 

Having the clinical explanation behind the multiple aches throbbing inside your body somehow eases some of the pain.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, unable to look him in the eyes with the harsh light behind him. “I need my phone. Can you give me my phone, please?”

“What do you need your phone for?” he asks casually, seemingly absorbed by something on his pants.

It’s a dare. You know that tone all too well. Today, however, you find that you don’t feel like playing. You want your goddamn phone.

Frankie cannot possibly have tried to reach you as you never exchanged numbers, but you want to call the motel. Find out if he came. What happened then. You want to know what time it is, what day, how much of him you’ve missed. You’re craving his touch, his skin between your parted lips, your heart pumping on empty, racing madly from the need for him, and of all the sensations making your body known to you, this one by far hurts the most. 

The beeping sound accelerates, drawing Adrian’s attention to the monitor, then to you. His cold blue gaze narrows on your face. You try to slow down your breathing, hoping it translates to your heart rate. 

“I need to call Ava. She must be worried.”

“Ah yes, your sister, of course,” he exclaims, feigning a bright mood, as if you’d just reminded him you’re traveling to Hawaii together next week. 

Getting up, he walks nonchalantly to the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall underneath the TV set, hands in his pockets. The black screen dwarfs his lean proportions. His red polo enhances his pallid complexion. You avert your gaze, lest the monitor picks up your disgust like it does your nervousness.  

“Yes, it’s true, she probably got very distressed, when you didn’t show up at all last night,” he agrees with affected concern.

There’s a foul taste in your mouth. Acid, rubbing alcohol, and something else. The glass is empty, but you don’t think you can lift that jug. Each one of your muscles is vibrating, waiting for the axe to fall. If only that fucking monitor could stop beeping. 

“Remember back in October, when Kenneth went to New York over the weekend for the symposium at NYU? Well you’ll never guess. He saw your sister there, in some uptown restaurant, making out with her…” his upper lip curls, “with this older woman, her girlfriend.”

So this is it. He knows. All this time, he’s known. Since October, practically since the beginning. And he let you believe you had him fooled, that you had the upper hand on the situation, that this part of your life was yours. He lured you into a false sense of safety, a deluded feeling of freedom. And all the while, he’s known. 

It’s really your fault, for forgetting that’s how things are with him. That nothing truly is what it seems. That he likes you scared, anxious. Perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

There’s no point in trying to control the beeping, now. In fact, given its cadence, you expect a nurse to barge in any minute. 

“Polly’s not old,” is your answer. 

“Yeah, whatever, they’re degenerates, both of them.”

“Where’s my goddamn phone, Adrian?”

“What do you want your phone for?” he barks.

The words are spat in your direction, and the sheer volume of his nasal voice startles you. Red blotches erupt on his cheeks and neck, his eyes are blazing with contempt. 

“You need to call your fucking dealer? Is that it? You think I haven’t noticed that you’re high half of the time?”

You remain perfectly still, holding your breath.You can feel your skin pulling at the medical tape in your hairline. 

He doesn’t know shit. In fact, he’s scared. He’s so, so small. 

“Listen, I don’t care what the fuck you do every Friday night, ok? But can you at least be fucking discreet about it?”

The poison in his tone and his words corrodes your confidence. 

“They will announce the senior partners in January, I cannot fucking lose your father’s business until it’s done, do you understand me? So whatever you do,” he points his index finger at you and stabs it through the air to accentuate each of his following words, “you be fucking discreet. More fucking discreet than that shitshow you pulled, do you get it? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Should you nod? Is he waiting for you to manifest your understanding of the situation? 

You hate yourself for thinking, ever so briefly, that he might have been jealous, that he might have cared. Held down on this bed with all these cords, you feel like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, on display in a cabinet of curiosities, a mere object amidst a multitude of other trophies covered in dust and mold. You’ve always hated butterflies. They gross you out. 

You allow yourself to breathe again when his posture relaxes. Looking down at his feet, with his hands on his waist, he shakes his head and huffs. The stance reminds you of Frankie, the difference in their proportions almost comical, like a circus monkey aping the brawny horseman, the one who gets top billing in the show. 

Frankie had you pinned on a bed repeatedly, without ever making you feel like a study in entomology. 

“Your dad is waiting for me, I’m already late,” Adrian says, coming toward you, “I’d love to stay a little longer, but you know how he is about golfing. Don’t want to keep him waiting!” 

He pecks a kiss on the crown of your head. The pain darts through your skull in all directions, all the way down to your spine. 

“Where’s my phone, Adrian?” you call one last time as he strides toward the door.

“You don’t need your phone, babe. What you need is to rest. Get those magical hospital electrolytes. Doctor’s orders,” he adds with a wink. 

And he’s gone.

Furious tears hang from your lashes. You focus on the plastic box on the tip of your index, and you begin to inhale and exhale, as deeply and slowly as you can. It’s shaky at first, but you’re encouraged by the decreasing cadence of the beeping. 

Adrian and your father go golfing at 2pm on Saturday afternoons. Meaning you’ve been out for over fifteen hours. Without your phone, you have no means to assert the time. Your watch is nowhere in sight, neither are your clothes, shoes, jewelry, purse. 

The room has a phone, but you have no idea if it’s connected. You don’t know the number to the motel. Hell, you don’t even know its name, only its location. 

Frankie’s silhouette invades your thoughts, the size of him, the shape of him. His broad back, his strong shoulders, the line of his neck. The sensation of his hands grasping your waist. Their precision, their roughness. Their intent.

Is this how it ends?

Fresh tears swell under your eyelids. You quickly clench them close. 

You did everything wrong. What an appalling idiot. You should have acknowledged you’d never make it there, not in the state you were in. You should have called the motel to leave a message, explain your absence, and promise you’d be there again the following Friday. 

Now you have no means to reach him. You probably have lost him forever. The warm touch of his skin. His unique scent. His taste.

The beeping grows frantic. Heavy wet sobs heap up inside your chest. Your hand flies to cover your eyes. You anchor yourself to the throbbing pain in your skull and the prickling needle in your hand. To the faint clasp of the pulse oximeter on your index finger. Pursing your lips, you exhale.

Whether the phone is connected or not is just a detail. You can always signal someone with that little remote on the nightstand and have the option charged to the room. Ava’s phone number is the one you have memorized, she can come and get you, and when you manage to get out of here and get your phone back, you’ll replace Adrian’s contact info with hers as your ICE. 

The point is: you’re not trapped. You’re not a dead butterfly in a glass case. 

Your heart rate slows down. 

Between the cords and the hospital sheets, you look up at the white ceiling, and do what you do best: you check out, slip back between the cracks, disconnect.

—

The pain from your head injury is overwhelming. You’d ask for painkillers, but that collective we still haunts you. 

You expect Adrian to come back on Sunday. He doesn’t. Throughout the day, you fall in and out of sleep, a restless, feverish slumber crowded with violent dreams of flesh-eating monsters licking your bones clean.

On Monday morning, the doctor comes in to see you. A man in his early 60s with a thick mane of gray hair and a carefully trimmed beard, he calls you “sweetheart,” and when he raises his eyes from his tablet, he flashes you a perfunctory smile with blinding white veneers. He introduces himself as the head of the gastroenterology department. And a friend of Richard. He makes sure that you understand that his name on your chart is a favor to your father. His demeanor commands your respect, preferably by way of intimidation. 

Whatever he tells you, you’ve already learned from the nurses who waltzed in and out of your room in a brisk and constant ballet throughout the weekend, to check with skilled, professional movements the multiple cords and tubes pinning you to your bed. 

You suffered bacterial gastroenteritis, with severe dehydration, necessitating an antibiotic treatment, and, from your fainting spell, a minor concussion and a head injury. A thin split, on the right side of your forehead, perpendicular to your hairline.

You got sick. You fainted. You hurt your head.

After the doctor’s gone, you’re finally allowed to get up. Under the fluorescent ceiling light of the adjacent bathroom, you spend several minutes observing the seven stitches adorning your forehead. The thick black thread tied in neat little knots that look like dollhouse barbed wire. The visible indentation in your flesh underneath them. The kaleidoscopic and psychedelic coloration of your skin, spreading from your brow to your scalp.  

One of the nurses assures you the scar will quickly fade and disappear. Just like you. 

You find your belongings inside the narrow closet by the bathroom door. The slit of your pencil skirt is torn nearly up to the waist, and the blouse is bloodied. Your jewels are tucked inside your purse. You stand in front of the shelves, staring blankly at the black leather rectangle with the two gold C’s entwined on the front. One of the very first gifts you received from Adrian. You can’t remember if it was for Christmas, or your 30th birthday. Every Friday evening for the past three months, you’ve shoved it unceremoniously under your car seat. You hate that thing. It’s soulless, tacky, it begs for attention, it screams money.    

Later in the afternoon, your mother comes to visit. She brings you magazines, In Style, Elle, Southern Homes, Vogue … At first, she doesn’t look at your face, and when she does, she crumbles into tears. You comfort her. You watch her pad the corner of her fake lashes with a tissue she pulls out of her Birkin purse, and reapply lipstick.

Adrian comes back on Tuesday, with a large bouquet of roses, a box of imported Belgian chocolates you’re not allowed to eat, and your phone. He doesn’t stay long. Before he leaves, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your lips. You wait until he’s passed the door to spit into the kidney dish.

Your father calls within minutes of his departure, with an apology for not visiting. Work, he says, the magic word that justifies everything, from the clothes on your back to his shitty behavior. You tell him the doctor has advised to rest for the remainder of the week. 

In the evening, you finally text Ava. She calls you back immediately, which, beyond her audible concern, puts a lump in your throat. When she asks you how you’re feeling, it’s a minute before you can even speak. 

You’re discharged on Wednesday, with a tube of antibiotics, a short list of food to favor and a much longer one to avoid. 

Ava comes to pick you up. She brings you a change of clothes, a pair of baggy, distressed jeans and a white t-shirt that spells PRIDE in rainbow letters. You smile at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and when you come out, she laughs like a child at her own joke. You laugh with her. It hurts a little, but the pain is worth it.

You’re still smiling when you ask her if you can keep the t-shirt, and her face drops. She hugs you, a bone-crushing hug with closed fists compressing your back, her face slotted into the crook of your neck. Her voice quivers when she answers that everything that is hers, is also yours. 

You stuff the pockets of your jeans full of your things and leave your purse in the closet. With a little bit of luck, the person who will find it can get a good price for it. 

On Friday morning, you drive back to the hospital to honor a 10:30 am appointment to remove your stitches. You’re led through a sprawling maze of corridors into a windowless room with baby blue walls, and instructed to undress to your underwear, which you don’t. Sitting on the examination couch, legs dangling in the air, palms rubbing on your jeans, you wait for the nurse to come in. 

She doesn’t remark on your defiance. In fact, she makes a point of soothing your nervousness, introducing herself as Diane, complimenting the color of your sneakers. She promises that you won’t feel a thing, and you believe her. When she smiles, her irises nearly entirely disappear, and a wide-spanning arch of wrinkles appears at the corner of her eyes, like sunbeams drawn by a happy child. 

While she prepares her utensils, she engages you in small talk, skillfully stirring the conversation toward the matter of your mental health and physical well-being. You’re well-trained too. You divert without shame or remorse. 

True to her word, she makes quick work of it, and when she’s done, she hands you a mirror framed in a blue, rubbery material. 

At first, you refuse to look, but she kindly insists. Her voice is gentle, angelical, her hands are warm when she lays them on your shoulders. She never once pronounces the word “scar.” She calls you “a beautiful and brave young woman.”

So you let her guide your hand upward until you’re faced with your image. 

“See? Barely visible. Once the ecchymosis has faded, you won’t even be able to notice it. Just something that happened.”

As she stands behind you, her warmth radiates through your cold bones, and she smiles broadly at your reflection. You blink back your tears. You want to commit her words to memory, uncorrupted by emotions. Just something that happened.

Out in the street, a strong wind blows in gusts from the east, in an overcast sky. The damp smell scrunches up your nose. Even without the sun, the air is too warm for the season. When you get into your car, the first thing you do is crank up the AC. 

That rotten hospital smell is still clinging to your skin and hair, you keep having these drops in blood sugar that leave you trembling like a willow tree and drenched in cold sweat. The whiplash from this morning’s anxiety does nothing to level your mood. 

You glance at your watch. 11:30. You let your head roll back on the headrest. You can’t remember a time in your life when you were not exhausted. 

You consider heading straight to the motel. Originally, you intended to go home first, change your clothes and apply some makeup. Cover up the giant bruise on your forehead, and do your best to look alive. It would be smart to put some food in you, too, and of course, to hydrate.

“Fuck it.”

You start the ignition, and merge into the midday traffic. 

The drive is excruciatingly long. A week from Christmas, the traffic is terrible. Getting out of Tampa takes over an hour. 

It’s the afternoon when you pull into the motel’s parking lot. Your eyesight’s unfocused, your nerves are raw, your shoulders pulled taut. 

Of the three other cars parked in the lot, none look like the one you’ve always assumed to be Raul’s, an ancient white Jeep Wagoneer with a rusty back bumper. 

As you try to ponder what to do next, the prickling of your healing tissues riles you up, convoking intrusive thoughts of your scarred reflection. The antibiotics drill a hole into your stomach, the discomfort creases your brow into a constant frown. Your right leg bounces continuously on the car floor. 

You’re running on empty. Pure, solid stress is what’s holding you up.

Once again trapped, this time inside the carbon fiber box of your car, while the outside world is defined in movements. The course of the overcast sun across the pearly gray sky, and the ever-changing shades of the clouds chased by the eastern winds. The occasional vehicle driving past the motel on the secondary road. The trembling of tree leaves, birds flying over, lonesome or in flocks. 

That decaying smell is everywhere in you, around you, but it might be your festering thoughts.

You’re too much, not enough, a disposable commodity. 

Is this how it ends?

Sometimes before 7pm, the white Wagoneer pulls into the parking lot, followed a few minutes later by a red sedan. Raul’s short, bespectacled figure is recognizable through the windshield of his Jeep. Then, it’s the familiar sight of his blue overall as he climbs the flight of stairs to the reception. You slide down on your seat, you don’t need him to see you already stationed here. 

Shortly after, a curvy young woman with a straight, blonde ponytail that goes down to her waist comes out and jogs to the red sedan. She gets in on the passenger side, and you wait until the car disappears on the horizon to exit yours. 

The short walk from your car to the office should be muscle memory. Only today, the gravel feels steady under the flat soles of your Van’s, and your jeans allow you to take actual, proper strides. Carried by the momentum, you march into the room, opening the door so wide it bangs on the door stopper with an ominous sound of shaking glass panes. 

Behind the desk, Raul lifts his head. It’s easy to tell by his puzzled expression that he doesn’t place you. And why would he? You look nothing like you usually do on every other Friday evening. Your clothes are casual, your face is bare, your features pulled taut by mental and physical exhaustion and an array of soreness and pains, your forehead shines in Technicolor, set off by a fresh, inch-long scar. 

“Good evening,” you start with a tight smile. “I—“

A whole week. Seven days, and you haven’t thought this through. The liability that is your impractical brain appalls you, exasperation heating your temples. In the silence that ensues, the droning of the AC unit seems to grow louder. You smile again. 

“I come in every week?” 

Jesus. 

“Oh yes,” he nods, his boot-button eyes boring into yours, “Friday nights, room number 2.”

“Yes,” you answer with a strained, cringy little chuckle, “room number 2. Is it–”

You wipe your sweaty palms on the sides of your jeans.  

“I was wondering if the room was booked last week?”

“Yes, last week room 2 was booked. But you didn’t come, last week.”

“Yes, no, I was held back,” you hear yourself say. You wince before you add, “And, the— the tall man— the tall man who joins me, did he come, last week?”

“Yes. He came. He waited, two, maybe three hours. You didn’t come, so he left. No refund.  Reservations paid in advance are not refundable unless canceled at least 48h—“

“Oh no, that’s fine,” you cut in, relieved he might have thought this embarrassing interaction was about money. “And is the room booked for tonight?”

Raul’s boot-button eyes linger on you for a beat before he lowers them to the computer screen on his left. The mouse clicks a few times, loud and suspenseful, as he operates the thing. You try to catch the reflection of something, anything in his round glasses. There are seven rooms, two cars beside his and yours in that parking, what can possibly take him so long? 

If the bacteria hasn't killed you, the wait surely will. 

“No,” he eventually declares, looking up at you, “it’s not booked for tonight.”

The answer falls on you like a guillotine. It rings out in your ears and you sway on your feet from the violence of the blow. You don’t know how to breathe. 

“Do you want to book it?”

You shake your head slowly.

“No. Thank you.”

Back outside, in the muggy semi-darkness, your wobbling legs find the way to your car on autopilot. 

He made no plans to come back. This time, he didn’t leave any note. This is how it ends. Between your lungs, the wild creature is bleeding. 

You should turn around, ask if they have his full name, bribe Raul into giving you his contact info. You never thought of memorizing his plates, but you could always drive back to the Hole in the Wall, see if he’s been there, if he came looking for you. 

You don’t. You won’t. You’re not entitled to any of it. He was never yours. Never yours to want, to long for, to miss, to hold.

All that’s left now is the abyss and the fear. You’re terrified. Of what lies ahead, the choices you’ll have to make, the answers you’ll have to give. The hollowness in your chest. The gap in your existence. The fracture in your years. 

The before and the after him. 

He has changed you. You changed yourself. You’ll never know if you changed him. 

Stunned, you stand still by your car, cloaked in the velvety night, frozen in space and time. Your hand petrified on the door handle. Unable and unwilling to leave. Eyes riveted to the brass number on the door, glinting with a blurry glow in the soft yellow hues of the porch lights. Moths flutter fuzzy and silent into the light beam, oblivious to the drama of your story. 

The rectangular window stands guard over your secret life. Behind the yellow curtains, your lonely silhouette awaits to come to life, poised and silent, seated on the edge of the bed. 

That woman, young and brave . Want has made her bold and determined. In just a few moments, her trained ears will pick up the sound of an old truck engine drawing near on the empty road. Her existence will come into focus with thrilled anticipation. She will bloom out of her restraints at the sound of tires on the gravel. 

“Oh god,” you whisper, whipping your head around, your grip on the handle white-knuckled as the red truck parks behind your sedan. 

His massive silhouette comes out, and you clasp your hand to your mouth to muffle a dry sob. 

It’s a trick of your overwrought brain. He’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and a suede jacket over a dark t-shirt. The brim of his hat casts a long shadow over his face, but he’s moving fast, and in a couple of strides, he’s standing before you, hands on his hips. He’s smiling, a broad and bright smile. You catch a glimpse of a dimple you’ve never seen. A trick of the mind. 

Oh but he’s here, in the flesh, your body knows before your brain comprehends his presence. The instant pull, the humming purr of the creature inside you, the blood level instinct.  

“Hey!” he calls. He sounds out of breath. Like he’s been running. Running to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out through your clenched fingers. 

“What?”

His smile drops when you take a step back. 

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t make it, I thought I could, but I couldn’t make it, and then I couldn’t—“ 

Your throat closes around the memory and you swallow hard, eyelids weighed by stubborn tears that refuse to fall. 

He takes a step forward, tilting down his head. That scowl. That scowl, you know. You’re only too familiar with it.

“Then it was too late and I couldn’t reach you,” you finish.

“What happened to you?”

The low timbre of his voice reverberates inside your chest. His eyes flicker up to your forehead. Before you can think of anything to say, he cups your face with both hands and turns it to the side, towards the light. The whole sequence happens so fast that you trip on your feet and catch yourself on his forearms. 

“Who the fuck did that to you?” he grits, leaning so close his breath fans your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whisper. 

“Did he do that to you?”

“What?”

“Your husband. Did he do that to you?” he asks again, louder, this time. Separating each syllable.

“Oh no! No, I fell.” You bring the tip of your fingers to the sensitive mark. “The nurse said it will fade.”

“How did you fall?” he presses. 

He doesn’t believe you. Like you could lie to him if you wanted to. 

The tension from his frame resonates through yours, where a week’s worth of suppressed emotions and tears are piled up, waiting for a detonator that will bring down the dam. You push away his hands, your frown mirroring his own. 

“I fell, ok? I’m here now, so let’s go inside.”

“I’m not– no,” he huffs, hands back on his hips, shaking his head. His boots scuff over the gravel, the grating sound loud in the empty lot, in the stifling night, and despite the dimness you can make out that scowl, ever present, splitting his gaze. 

“You can barely stand.”

However relevant, his rejection burns your cheeks. You raise your chin, leaning against the hood of the car for countenance. For balance.

“I’m fine. The room is free. Let’s go.” 

“I said no. I’m not fucking you. Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re clearly not well enough–”

“You don’t fucking tell me what I’m well enough to do,” you snarl with your heartbeat in your throat, pushing away from the car, sustained by your last shred of strength. “Don’t assume you know what I’m capable of.”

He stands in front of you, seemingly unmoved, impossibly tall, infuriatingly silent. Stoic, and you’re thrumming with frustration, standing stubborn and brittle in front of him. He gives you none of the myriad of micro-expressions that usually play across his face, that you read instinctually. You feel ugly, exposed, but you withhold his gaze, jaw clenched, breathing heavy through your nose. You might faint again.

The silence drags on. It’s a minute before he moves again, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice is calm, when he speaks next, low and quiet, almost soothing. You don’t want it to be soothing. You don’t want to be soothed, you’re not done with your anger. He didn’t book the room, and now he doesn’t want to go in. You are a swappable vessel, after all. 

“I don’t. I don’t assume anything,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”

“I told you already, you cannot hurt me,” you snap, impatient.

“Wanna bet?”

You don’t need to. You know he could. Just not in the way he thinks he would. He’s already marked you permanently, deeper than any injury, any wound ever could. 

“Listen,” he begins with a sigh. 

“No, I get it, I look like shit and you don’t want to fuck me—“

“Alright, that’s enough!” he silences you with his index finger pointed at you. His voice booms in the dim parking lot, and you avert your eyes. Weariness washes over you, you fall back against the hood of your car.

His shoulders sink just a bit, the slightest drop in the tension pulling them taut. He steps closer to you, leans down, seeking your gaze, searching your face in the semi-darkness. 

“Hey, why don’t we go for a drive?” he offers. “We can talk. Or not. We can listen to the radio. Or just drive in silence, if you want. Clear our minds. What do you think?”

Our minds. 

He’s so close you can smell the clean scent of his t-shirt and the musk of him underneath it; you can feel your skin reaching out for him in feverish little tendrils you cannot control. 

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yes, ok.”

He smiles, a cautious, appraising smile. The light catches at the mahogany depth of his eyes. He reaches for you, placing a large hand in the small of your back, and whispers, “Alright, let’s go.”

— 

The cab of the truck feels almost sacred. For months, it’s been your favorite daydream. Picturing him alone in the only private space of his you’ve ever seen, driving to you. 

What are his thoughts, then? Are they of you? Are they happy? Are they hopeful?

On any other occasion, you’d relish the opportunity to be in here with him. You’d catalog and store up every tiny detail for future use in your fantasies of him. Instead, you’re sitting tight and rigid on the wide bench seat, pressed against the door, face turned toward the window, seeing absolutely nothing. 

You hate yourself for that, too. 

After a while, you risk a glance at the dashboard. 

Judging by the analog dials, the truck has some mileage, but it’s visibly been well maintained. There’s no visible spots, no dust, no dents, only the patina of time. The vinyl bench seat is upholstered with a soft fabric whose colors have fainted after too many years under the Florida sun. There’s a cassette player and a cigarette lighter. The windows are manual. 

The one on Frankie’s side is cracked open. The night air carries his scent over to your side of the cab. Leather, laundry, musk. You can’t escape it. 

“Hey. You ok there?”

In the moonless night, you can only make out the sharp lines of his profile against the outside darkness of the country road. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

He looks at you, brow pinched, but his expression is soft. Compassionate. 

“C’mere.”

The truck slows down to a snail pace, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. You scoot over near him. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches to your right and rolls out the middle seat belt across your lap, fastening it between your hip and his. 

The truck accelerates to a cruising speed, and he wraps his arm over your shoulders, drawing you closer. 

You let him, allow your body to slump against his, embrace his warmth, your cheek pressed against his chest. It’s solid and strong, a match for your skeleton of loneliness. The suede fabric of his jacket is smooth, worn in. You inhale him there. You rest a hand on his thigh, and slide the other under his jacket, to rest on his chest. It rises and falls with his breathing. If you lie real still, you can feel the steady thumping of his heart. 

“I’m not married.”

“Ok.”

The word is felt through your cheek as much as you hear it. 

“The man I live with. He’s not my husband.”

“Ok.”

The nodding motion of his head nudges you a bit. 

“And I really fell.”

He remains silent, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. The leather lining creaks inside his fist. 

“I got sick, last Friday. I get these stomach bugs all the time, but this was a mean one. I tried to make it through the workday, but eventually I passed out. Like a corporate rendition of a Victorian damsel, or something.”

You chuckle, diverting the humiliating memory. Just something that happened. 

He tightens his embrace. 

“That when you hurt your head?”

“Yes. On the edge of the elevator’s frame. At work”

“Fuck. Did it hurt a lot?”

“Actually it didn’t? I was out. It hurt when I woke up later, in the hospital, though. I had this terrible headache. I didn’t know where I was, or when I was.”

You feel him shake his head as he asks, “Were you scared?”

How to put into words, that the only fear you’ve ever had, is to never see him again? 

“I survived,” you answer with a shrug and a little, empty laugh.

If you were brave enough, if you had some strength left, you’d ask. How did he feel, when he got to the motel and found the door to the room closed. Why he didn’t book the room again. Why he still came tonight. 

“Does it still hurt?” he asks. 

“No,” you lie. 

“Mmh. And for real?”

You rub your cheek against the smooth suede, imprinting your soft smile into it. And maybe some of your scent for him to keep. In case, just in case he does care.

“A little. I’ll be fine.”

The truck cruises over the black asphalt, between the straight, stretching yellow lines. 

Your next words come in quiet, but not hesitant.

“He wouldn’t hit me.”

“Ok.”

“That’s not what he does.”

He exhales slowly through his nose. 

“What does he do?”

You bite your cheeks, already regretting this moment of weakness. The treason. 

“He makes me doubt.”

“Him?”

“Myself. And him too.”

Your eyes clench shut. His chest flexes under your cheek as he hardens his grip on the wheel. 

The truck drives past a gas station, through a small town. Neatly delimited square lawns, white houses with flags hanging on their porches, Christmas lights blinking through square windows, and you tilt up your head to look at him in the streetlights. 

His outlined profile, his steady expression, everything about him feels safe and grounding. The beauty that radiates from him, from within him, sinks to your heart. It races madly, awakening the soreness in your bruised ribcage, and perhaps he can feel it, with the way you’re curled up into his side. Leaning down, he brushes a kiss to your forehead. You bunch up his T-shirt in your fist. 

Soon, the yellow lines unwinding endlessly in the truck’s headlights weigh down your eyelids. In the safety of Frankie’s hold, your mind and body slowly drift into a peaceful slumber. 

“You ok? Want me to close the window?”

His voice is a distant whisper skirting the edges of your consciousness. 

“No, ’m good,” you mumble. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

Under your palm, Frankie's heart thumps loud and heavy. 

—

When you wake up, the truck is still and silent. Engine cooled off, windows rolled up. The night is pitch dark. Frankie’s scent, heady, familiar, everywhere around you. Your cheek is resting on his lap, and his hand lies heavy on your waist. His breathing comes in even and slow. Both your seatbelts are unbuckled. Your feet are bare. 

Aside from your legs, sore from being crammed into the length of the seat bench, you feel better than you have in a week, with your headache finally gone. 

You sit up, take in your surroundings and his sleeping form, seated behind the wheel. He stirs, lifting an eyelid and glancing in your direction, the corner of his mouth tugged up into something that resembles a drowsy grin. 

At some point while you were asleep, he drove back to the motel. Parked the truck so that the cabin faces away from the only source of light. 

You stretch side by side, sleep-heavy limbs, comfortable silence. You watch him lift his hat and comb his fingers through his hair, a tender smile lifting the corner of your lips. You know the curls he hides there. 

Of course, it cannot last forever. Nothing ever does. In a couple of hours, it’ll be daybreak. He’s always gone, by then. 

You won’t make this uncomfortable or difficult for him. You slip your socks and shoes back on. You’re reaching for the handle when he stops you with a hand on your thigh. 

“Wait. I need to talk to you.”

His voice is low and husky from sleep. You realize you have never woken up next to him. Never slept with him through the night. Probably never will. 

You hum quietly, pivoting on the seat bench to face him. 

“I can’t come, next week,” he says, searching your eyes. 

Emotionless. That’s how you have to be. You know how to do this. Not when it comes to him, but you can try. You try your best, your very hardest. 

“I understand.”

“I imagine you can’t be here either.”

No, you can’t. Thanksgiving at your parents’, Christmas with Adrian’s family. Always. 

“No, I can’t.”

The following week, either. But you don’t share that.

This is when the two of you should discuss a practical means of communication. The awareness hangs between you, loud and unspoken. The consequences it would have on whatever it is that the two of you share. The shockwave, the shift in nature and intention. The names that exist to describe your situation, crass, overused, sordid. Tainted with lies and deception, secret texting, hushed phone calls, disgusting, undeniable guilt.

Frankie moves first, getting out of the truck and going round the hood to open the door for you. You slide out of the high cab into his arms, and when your feet touch the gravel, you wonder if this could be the last time he will ever hold you.

In the feeble porch lights, his face is a landscape of diffuse shadows. The dip in his collarbone draws you in, a beacon in a dark ocean. You nuzzle into it, inhaling his scent, taking in his fragrant warmth. You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, graze your cheek along his pebbled skin. What if you stayed there? Tucked away forever. Disappeared to the rest of the world. Would it matter? Would he let you? 

Your fists bunch the sides of his jacket. 

“Kiss me, Frankie, please.” 

“Yes.”

His first kiss is tentative, the plush cushion of his lips a soft press over yours, but they return immediately, hungry for a taste, for more, the tip of his tongue brushing against your parted lips. 

All that you crave, all that you need is here, in his embrace, between his arms and his hands tugging at your waist, beckoning your body closer to his. 

Your arms circle his neck, the tips of your fingers seeking his curls. His hand spans your back, finds your nape. He molds you into his chest, and with the way he’s pressing you against him, firm and commanding, you know this will be one of these moments that feed into your hopes. The delusion you’ve been nurturing since the first time you’ve faced him. The dream that he wants you to be his above anyone else. 

His third kiss opens you up, tongue swirling around yours, and you keen, rising to your tiptoes, angling your head to take more, more, more and he gives. Hands gripping, tongue licking, crushed lips and guttural moans, he gives you all that you need like he needs it too. 

You’re floating above the gravel, there’s no time, there’s no space, his body has no end and there’s no beginning to yours as he kisses away your fears, your doubts, your darkness. 

Together, you stand entwined between night and morning, linked by chance, need and hurt, bonded by will and desire. 

There’s no urgent hunger in the spanning of his splayed hands across your body, no rage in his kneading of the soft of your hips, or the swell of your breast. His grip is strong, but studious and thorough. He takes you in, your curves, your dips, the slopes and slants of your figure. Like he’s storing up the feelings and memories of you for when there will be no more, when you’re far and gone, away with your husband who is not your husband. There’s despair in his touch, but most of all, there’s foresight, and intent. 

He’s untucked your t-shirt, calloused hand skimming up to cup your breast, thumbing the hardening peak of your nipple.

Once again, you find yourself pressed against the hard, cool metal of the truck, and like the first time, you’re frantic in his hold, but he’s in control. His thick thigh parts your legs, offering friction to the coiling need between your hips, that fire pooling liquid down your core. You squirm against the firm muscles. 

“Want me to make you come, baby?”

He’s breathing into your mouth, and you whine in frustration. 

“No, I want you inside me.” 

“Shit, you sure?”

“I’m not made of glass, you’re not going to break me.” 

You push away to look at him, a demonstration of strength. All talk, but you’re that desperate. He pulls you back into him for another kiss, chuckling into your mouth. 

“You think I don’t know that?”

So many simple things you had never done with him before tonight, after months of lying bare and naked, to his gaze and his touch, inside and out. Driving, falling asleep, walking, his steadying hand nestled in the small of your back. 

Behind the reception desk, Raul seems unfazed by this new development. The drawing pad blackened in charcoal is back.

“Room number 2,” Frankie asks, “for the night.” 

It’s so wild to consider that the two men have never interacted, when Raul plays such an important part of your Friday ritual. You’d try to get Frankie’s full name, real name, perhaps, but Raul doesn’t ask. This is not that kind of place. 

“I can pay,” you whisper into Frankie’s shoulder, tucking your t-shirt back into your jeans. 

“I know you can.”

When he flips open his wallet, a small color picture pops out, next to his driver's license. The photo booth format is easily identifiable. In the snapshot, a bare-headed Frankie is holding a very young child. The picture is that of a moment, seized through movement, the kid holding the Standard Heating Oil hat in her chubby hands, likely mere seconds after having snatched it from Frankie’s head, who’s looking down at her, with a bemused grin, tousled hair. 

It’s him, his distinctive, sharp features unmistakable, only he hardly looks like the man you know. There’s no trace of the grief he carries like a cloak when he meets with you. No crease splitting his brow like when he looks at you. Instead, his eyes glint with pride, creasing with a smile that dimples his cheeks, large and genuine. And the child’s round, plump face is brightened by the same irresistible dimpled grin, the same head full of wild curls, the same mahogany eyes.   

You quickly avert your gaze, but you’ve seen enough. The guilt is physical, visceral, it squeezes your ribcage harder than the pliers. The pain has you wincing and you grip the reception desk for balance, but Frankie’s arm is already wrapped around your waist and he’s leading you outside. 

In a trance, you walk beside him to room number 2. Your room. That picture-perfect image of fatherly love dancing before your eyes. 

He’ll never be yours. The wild creature shivers between your lungs. The certitude shatters your heart. 

Stepping inside, you’re rooted to the floor. Limbs too heavy to lift. Your blood has turned into lead. The fire in your core is a pile of ashes. You can taste it on the back of your tongue. 

Frankie flicks up the toggle switch, and the room lights up in amber hues. It feels too big, the satin quilt, the brown carpet, the yellow curtains, everything is foreign and distant.

Behind you, he sets his hat on the desk, drapes his jacket on the back of the chair.

“You ok?”

His voice jolts you up. You turn around to face him, unshed tears hanging round and heavy from your lashes. After a beat, he takes a step towards you, and you feel that absolute pull tugging from behind your midriff. 

His gaze drifts up to your fresh scar, where your flesh is tender, swollen and bruised. Yours travel down along the pebbled skin of neck, to the dip between his collarbone. A firework of freckles springs from the V-shaped collar of his faded blue t-shirt.  

Carefully, he slides your t-shirt out of your jeans again. You lift your arms like a docile child, let him undress you. He places a hand, warm and calloused, beneath your sternum. His palm heats your skin, warmth seeping into you. It untangles something, there. Something you didn’t know was still bruised. You lean into it. 

He stays like that for a while. 

Then his hand skates up to the base of your throat. His cold hard stare finds your soft sad eyes. 

“Do you get wet, thinking I could hurt you?”  

“I trust you,” you answer, a nod contradicting your words. His gaze hardens.

“Why did you think I wouldn’t come tonight, then?”

You shake your head, blinking fast. You never mentioned that. How would he know your thoughts? 

“Don’t you know I would fuck you on my deathbed?” he grits.

But you don’t know. Of course you don’t know, and how could you? Nothing in your life has ever prepared you for him, for this, for the strength of that pull, inescapable, for this obsession that has uprooted your life, your body, your instincts. Nothing has prepared you for the magnetism of his skin, the things you’d do to be in his presence, to breathe the same air, what you’d risk for his touch, what you’d give up for his attention, what you’d destroy for his affection . Your comfort, your safety, your future, your health. Your family and his, nothing fucking matters compared to the insatiable hunger of this wild thing inside your chest and its incessant chant of him, him, him. 

Your chest heaves, but his grip is firm. He leans down, lowering his lips to your ear, where he whispers, “What’s your name?”

You close your eyes, the wild creature is gnawing at your chest, eating you raw from within. 

“I want you.”

His hand lingers, travelling higher, fingers splayed across the width of your throat in a loose grip. You hope he tightens it. Like he does sometimes when he’s inside you. Tune out your mind, toss you into white-hot pleasure. Into oblivion. 

He doesn’t. 

He’s never truly been gentle with you before. Tonight, his kisses are languid, his touch soft and slow along your ribs. Delicate, when he reaches the swell of your breasts and slides down the cup of your bra, replacing the fabric with the palms of his hands. When he leans down into you, wrapping his plush lips around your nipple, sucking in the peaked bud ever so lightly, flicking the flat of his hot wet tongue around it, lips pursed, suckling. 

Against your belly, you feel him harden. You shiver with arousal and anticipation, with exhaustion. With the weight of this week and the burden of your life. With pain, ache and soreness. With your empty body, and your empty cunt. With that creature in your chest that can’t be tamed or satisfied. Can’t even be named. 

You shiver in his hold, for fear that this’ll be the last time. For fear that he’ll never be yours, that he’ll never want you the way you want him, with determination, with madness, without a choice. 

“I want you inside me, Frankie please," you breathe out, and he backs you into the bed to lay you down on the quilt. 

The fabric is cold under your burning skin, you shudder at the contact. He takes off your shoes, rolls off your socks. He slides your jeans down and off your legs, then your panties. 

You sit up to watch him undress, his eyes of mahogany brown never once leaving your face. 

He stands before you, naked, erect, filling your vision with this breadth, and you want to rip your beating heart out of your aching chest. 

The bed dips and he’s crawling over you. Leaning down, he drags the crown of his head up along your belly, along the valley of your breasts, his hair a soft caress on your quivering skin. Your fingers twine in his curls, you get lost in the sensation. For weeks he has barely let you touch it, kept it out of your reach. Now the abundance feels decadent, your head sinks back into the mattress with a faint exhale. 

Cautiously, he parts your folds with two knuckles. You bite down a gasp, tensing up. You can’t shake off that chilling dread, the one that trickles inside you, cold and piercing, when you think you’re losing him. But your body knows better, that sticky wet slick pooled between your hips, the coiling heat at the center of you. 

“Stop me,” he breathes into the crook of your neck, “don’t let me hurt you.”

He inches the tip of his length inside you with a strained groan, hooking your legs around his waist. He tries to work you open with a few shallow thrusts, panting against your temple.

“Fuck you’re tight.”

“Please, Frankie–”

His frame tenses up under your palms.

“I’m trying, you’re too— fuck, you’re too tight. Let me eat you open.”

“No!”

That’s not what you want, not tonight when you have no strength to spare, no time to lose, no patience left out. 

“I can—“ You trip over your words. 

“What?”

“I can sit on it.”

Heat creeps up your neck, setting your cheeks ablaze. He gives you a quiet chuckles. 

“Yea. Yea you can.”

He grabs your wrists and lifts you with easy strength. A few swift movements and he’s lying on the bed underneath you, your folded knees a straddle across his lap. You feel dizzy, like your blood can’t course along your veins fast enough, like it’s no match for his strength, for your arousal. 

“Spit on it,” he says. 

You circle his cock, smooth, heavy. It throbs into your hand. You take it all in, with a trance-like gaze, the coarse curls at his base brushing your skin, the round head, an angry shade of red, the ridges and pumped up veins along the length, the tip of your fingers that don’t meet around it.  

“Come on, don’t be shy, spit on it.”

Bending down, you lick a broad stripe along the thick ridge of his underside, from his balls to the fat round tip, where the skin is smooth and his taste heady, and he hisses something you can’t make out. It shoots through you, his sound, his burning skin, his taste. The curled tip of your tongue slides inside the small leaking slit, collecting the pearly drops he gives you. Your eyes flutter shut. His hands grip your thighs above the knees as you take him into your mouth, his fingers digging, a bruising furrow, something desperate. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your lips slide along him, up and down, tongue wrapped around his girth. With hollowed cheeks, you take him deeper with each stroke until your head is spinning and you slip him out, rueful, glassy-eyed. 

His breathing comes in almost as heavy as yours. 

“Sit on it, now.”

His voice sounds wrecked, like you must look. 

“Yes,” you pant. 

Hands braced on Frankie’s chest, you’re not that flimsy, empty shell. You’re that fierce creature inside your chest, the one that claws and purrs and spits and demands. You tap into the bottomless pit of its life force, tap into the rumbling of Frankie’s ragged breathing under your palms, and you take.  

Eyes strained on the solid breadth of his chest, on the expanse of his amber skin and the darker circles of his nipples, on the constellation of soft brown freckles that turn your insides into a sticky leaking mess, you slide up his lap, part your folds with his hard cock, rub your clit over it.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs, not for you, not really. To himself. Like the memory comes back crushing. 

The bobbing of his throat, the low rasp of his voice, the wet sound of your slick smearing over his cock, it all builds up hot and prickly right under your navel. 

Sweat breaks on your forehead, along your spine, down in the bow shape of your arched back. 

You push away from the cradle of his hips, knees sinking into the creaking mattress. Raise yourself from his heat just enough to line him up, with his hands curled around your thighs, a steadying help. 

You’re tight, but wanton-wet. He’s a gliding stretch along your walls as you sink down on him with all your weight, your cunt ready to collapse, fluttering frantically. 

His thrashes back into the mattress, corded neck, strained muscles. Thick fingers bruising the tender flesh of your legs. 

“Fuck wait, don’t move, don’t move. Stop moving, shit!”

You still, not like you can move anyway, the pleasure-pain has you numbed out, limp, blinded. Your head lolls back, your eyes roll shut. Your lower lip twitches with the tension and the stretch. He’s so big you forget how to breathe but this is what you wanted, for him to annihilate all the other pains.

A sound comes out of your parted lips. A grating against your vocal cords, a primitive vibration of the air that’s punched out of your lungs. It’s not you, it’s the creature mewling.  

You can feel his cock pulsating hard and angry inside your belly. It’s a tidal ripple that travels up your chest. Your heart skips several beats. 

His hands cup roughly around your breasts. You lean forward into his hold, hips swaying, slack mouthed. You keep him inside you, a deep roll, hipbones to hipbones. The coarse black hair at his base a harsh scrape against your swollen clit. 

And suddenly, he fucks up into you. A hard shove, filling, merciless, into your cervix. You cry, nearly toppling backward and he sits up with a cinch, arms wrapping around your waist, catching you before you can fall. 

“Too much?”

“Oh god yes.”

You’re crying, at last. Big, hot beady tears of salt rolling down your cheeks. Full, fucked out, filled to the brim. Everything that’s not him obliterated. Thoughts, emotions, sensations.

“That’s what you wanted, right? You want too much, baby?”

His voice is quiet and soft like silk, teeth raking along your throat. It’s almost a bite but not quite, tongue tasting your sweat, lips wrapping around your pulse point, barely sucking in. You can’t speak, your nails dig into his arms, forming little pink crescents you’re not allowed to leave behind. 

You nod, you breathe out, “Yes, I want too much.” 

He straightens up, your breasts are pressed to his chest, sweats mingling. His scent is overwhelming. That musk he exudes, a leathery spice, whenever you’re fucking. The scent of his desire. 

His hand tangles in your hair. He makes sure you’re looking at him.

“Take it. Take what you want. Fuck, you’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful, you believe it, right?” 

You try to tilt your face down, hide your tears, hide your scar. He doesn’t let you. So you give in. Because, what if you are? 

“Say it again, please.” 

“Look what you do to me, baby. Can you feel what you do to me?”

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and he grinds you onto his cock, a slow, thorough grind, splitting you deeper onto him. It’s coiling fast, hot and heavy, right at the center of you. 

“I’m gonna come, Frankie.”

“Do it. Come. Use me, make yourself come on my cock. Make yourself feel good. Take everything you need.” 

He talks you through your orgasm as you tremble and crumble in his hold. It’s a high that feels like a free-fall, like you’re unraveling, like you’re never landing. Like your skin’s burning and your mind is the horizon. 

You’re sobbing quietly when he carefully eases out of you, still hard. He carries you in his arms and you think you’re floating. You’re drained, boneless, falling asleep already. 

He lies you down under the covers, tucks you in. Places a glass of water on the nightstand. Folds your clothes on the desk. 

You don’t hear him dress up. You don’t hear him leave. 

And in a few hours, when room service wakes you up, barging into the room, you won’t remember his forehead kiss. 

****

[pimosworld]

Read it again- part I

I wanted to start a list of recs that I find myself going back to when I’m happy or sad or just in need of something to distract me from the crazy world we live in. This will be multiple parts so consider this the first installment. These will be old/new/current wips and fics.

Please head the warnings in each fic or series.

Triple Frontier

The devils backbone- @ezrasbirdie

Feed your ego- @whatthefishh

War makes thieves and peace hangs them- @brandyllyn

Messy Pile of Affection Series- @flightlessangelwings

The homecoming series- @astroboots

Awakening Series- @romanarose

Switch to channel 2- @autumnleaves1991-blog

My best friends girl- @tropes-and-tales

Moon Knight

Prized possession- @melodygatesauthor

Third ones the charm-(part I, part II) @missdictatorme

Egg Fried Rice- @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

The Jake problem- (part I, part II) @bensolosbluesaber

For science- @projectionistwrites

Joel Miller

Pink- @netherfeildren

The checklist- @thetriumphantpanda

Trick or Treat- @morallyinept

Meet me in the back- @atticrissfinch

Honey do- @kiwisbell

Take care of you- @theidiotwhowritesthings

Javier Peña

It’s never too late- @javierpena-inatacvest

Paranoid heart- @goodwithcheese

Late night texts- @undercoverpena

D.I.Y.- @swiftispunk

Please comment and reblog the authors works that they pour their time, heart and soul into.

Feel free to leave a comment with your favorite re-read or message me directly to include in future installments.

[theanothersherlockian]

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

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

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

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

idk love the detail jeje.

[wysteria-clad]

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

a/n: aka them being your baby™

genre: fluff

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

------

Santi

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

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

"Who?"

"You"

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

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

"No"

"Can I have some coffee now?"

"No"

"What do you mean 'no'?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?" he shakes his head.

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

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

"I love you!"

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

"Babe!"

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

Frankie

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

"Am I in trouble?"

"Why would you be, Francisco?"

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

Did he forget an errand or any important event?

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

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

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

"Te amo."

Benny

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

"Benjamin, don't forget the chees-"

"What'd you just call me?"

"Benjamin"

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

"It's your name."

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

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

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

You stifle a laugh, "Baby?"

"Yes, darlin'?"

"Baby, get off me," you giggle.

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

"Ben!"

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

Will

"Hey, William. How was work?"

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

"Are you mad at me or something?"

"No, William."

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

"Nothing."

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

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

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch.

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

[wardenparker]

Full Moon Fury

Frankie Morales x female Reader x Benny Miller A Sequel to Moonlight Madness Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit, my friends. 18+ (just like the rest of my blog) Word Count: 14k Warnings: **Writers are choosing not to disclose all warnings to avoid spoilers for the ending!** This is a MMF relationship! If that doesn’t appeal to you, then just scroll away right now. Cursing, food/alcohol. Fluff/flirting, dirty talk, MM sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), masturbation (m and f), anal play, anal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, group sex (MMF), sex toys, slight voyeurism, monster fucking, anal sex, FEELINGS. Summary: On the one-year anniversary of the night Benny found out that Frankie is a werewolf, Frankie thinks that there is something wicked in the air. But you and Benny just think Frankie is being paranoid. Notes: Happy Halloween! For the last day of Spooktober we are indulging in a little monster fucking. Enjoy! 🐺🧡🎃

Three days before the change is when Frankie starts to worry. Of course, worrying is something that he always does. For him, there are still too many risks involved with what he has become not to worry. Especially now that there is more than one person he needs to worry about. His sense of smell is more acute right now, eyes opening through the fog of sleep and the musky smell of sleep and slight tinge of sweat makes him curl closer to the body that is in front of him. Both of you are still asleep, Benny wrapped around you from the other side, making you the burrito that you had wanted, and your leg is kicked out from the covers for it. With a werewolf and a Benny in bed with you, the joke was you didn't need covers. He reaches out and caresses your face, then Benny's shoulder - his head is tucked against the back of your neck - with a soft smile that slips into a frown. Wondering if he should maybe ask you two to stay upstairs tonight for the millionth time in the last two days.

The dip and sway of the bed when one of the guys moves always jostles you out of your dreams a little. You've always been a bit of a light sleeper and with two men beside you in bed the difference between being snuggled up warm and safe, and missing some of that comforting presence beside you, is very pronounced. One eye cracks open in time to see Frankie slip out from under the blanket with his back to you and you pout. "Frankieeee..." Even quietly, you whine his name, reaching out to get him to turn around. It's Saturday and it's going to be a full moon tonight. There's no need to get out of bed so early.

“Hey baby.” Frankie can’t help but smile as he twists around to look at you. Still gorgeous even tousled with sleep and barely awake. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. Snuggle into Ben.”

"Come back to bed, baby." Weekends are for being greedy, at least in your opinion. Both of your boys in bed beside you, cuddles for everyone and plenty of lazing around in each other's arms. As much as you all joke about needing coffee to function, it's obvious that waking up together helps the day start more perfectly than anything else. Even caffeine.

He can’t resist when you turn those eyes on him, swinging his feet back under the covers, he’s greedy and immediately wraps his arms around you. His hands curl against Benny’s stomach and makes him grunt, shifting closer to his touch.

Benny is significantly harder to wake than either you or Frankie, but it's like he knows subconsciously that he's missing out on cuddles because the second you sink into Frankie for that first kiss of the morning, you feel Benny's hand grip your hip lightly. He squeezes slightly before reaching past you and finding Frankie's thigh with his long fingers.

Frankie chuckles against your mouth, feeling slightly less anxious as he kisses you. His free hand covering Benny’s so he is connected to both of you, grounding himself in you.

"Morning," Benny croaks, clearing the sleep from his throat and pressing a blind kiss to your shoulder before peeling his eyes open to see you and Frankie tangled up in each other already. "No fair," he grumbles good-naturedly, suddenly much more awake. "You started without me."

“Accidentally woke her up, Benjamin.” Frankie explains playfully. “If you didn’t sleep like the dead, you could have been in on the hot good morning kiss.”

"Cranky wolf." The younger man teases, knowing full well what day it is. He smiles though, a lopsided, dopey-looking thing full of love, and leans over you to kiss Frankie good morning before tugging you into his arms to give you the same.

"You know it's the full moon when Benny wakes up ready to go," you tease right back, as though Ben Miller isn't always ready to show both you and Frankie how much he loves you.

“I swear he looks forward to the full moon.” Frankie rolls his eyes but there’s a grin on his face as he watches you kiss your lover.

Benny huffs indignantly, pressing one more kiss to your lips before looking between the two of you. He knows you haven't forgotten. You have plans to go out for lunch before Frankie has to worry about turning, and even called in the big monthly order to the butcher yesterday to be picked up on your way home. There are flowers in the bedroom and downstairs in the kitchen, and gifts tucked away that he isn't supposed to know about even though he does. "It's...it's more than that this month," he admits sheepishly.

One year. It’s been one year since Benny had shown up on yours and Frankie’s doorstep, heartbroken over his girlfriend. One year since his discovery of Frankie’s alter ego that makes an appearance once a month. And most importantly, one year since he had crawled into your bed, never crawling out if it again. Frankie softens and reaches for the other man, dragging him across you so that he can give him the kiss that he should have given him before he ever changed that night a year ago. Slowly and passionately licking into his mouth until Benny whimpers and Frankie pulls away with a smile. “Happy were-versary.” He teases, a rare moment of levity before he grows more serious. “Happy one year, Benjamin.”

"Happy anniversary, Benny." You wait until the boys have separated to give him another kiss. A lot has happened since that night a year ago, and all of it for the better. The three of you are solid partners now, sharing everything and keeping each other's confidences as tightly as a vault. "I love you, baby."

He hums, holding both of you close and grinning like a madman. "I love you guys so much."

“We put up with you.” Frankie huffs, smirking at the pout on his lover’s face.

"Cranky wolf." Benny repeats, frowning animatedly because he knows it will only take about thirty seconds for Frankie to break and kiss him if he keeps pouting.

It doesn’t take him long, hating the slightly unhappy look to Benny’s face. He huffs and leans in to kiss him again.

This is how it will be all day, you're sure of it. Benny will take absolutely every opportunity possible to drag affection out of both of you, Frankie will pretend to resist but not be able to, and you'll just grin and give them both every second of your attention without any pretense. It is a privilege to love these men and you never squander an opportunity to show them that.

“We should eat.” Frankie tells both of you reluctantly. “Since we’re awake and I can hear Ben’s stomach starting to gurgle.”

"I'll go." You give them both a squeeze and move to slip out from under the covers. "You guys linger as long as you want. Just make sure you come downstairs by the time you smell coffee and bacon."

Both men pout when you slide out of bed between them, but they move to occupy your space. “How are you feeling?” Frankie asks seriously, wanting to make sure that Benny has zero regrets.

"Like I'm pretty glad you put up with me," Benny grins, wrapping his arm around Frankie's waist. The sunlight bounces off the ring on his hand - the one he's been wearing for six months now, ever since the three of you had your backyard commitment ceremony with only your closest friends and family on hand to celebrate - and his smile spreads even wider. "I love you, Frank. And I love that amazing girl downstairs. The last year has been..." He shrugs in an effort not to get emotional first thing in the morning. "It's been pretty perfect."

“It has been pretty perfect.” Frankie reaches up and brushes Benny’s hair back from where its falling in his eyes. “We love you too.” It’s simple to say it, easier to live it now that Ben is completely comfortable with his sexuality and secure in his relationship.

"Still can't believe it's real sometimes." Ducking his head a little, Benny tucks his much taller frame against Frankie's body and sighs contentedly. "And before you say it again, we're not staying upstairs tonight. I know you're thinking of suggesting it at breakfast."

“How did you know?” Frankie grumbles, slightly put out that he’s so predictable that Ben knows what he was going to suggest before he even voiced his concerns. “I just— I have a bad feeling?”

"You always have a bad feeling." Benny presses a kiss to his lover's chest before looking up again. "Everything's going to be okay, baby. We'll feed you and we'll all fuck until we pass out, and then tomorrow we'll rest. Just like we do every month, and every month we love it."

He sighs, even though he knows it will be better that the two of you are with him while he is the monster. “Are we settling into a boring routine?” He asks, raising a brow in amusement at being bored with a werewolf.

The younger of the two men smirks. "I could always wear an edible G-string for you guys or something if you want to make it sexy," he suggests, waggling his eyebrows.

Frankie snorts and gives a chuckle. “I think you just want that long tongue on you cock.” He growls playfully.

"Yeah." Ben rolls his eyes heavily at Frankie, both to punctuate his point and to make the man he loves laugh. "Obviously. And I'm also gonna be walking around the house with a plug in my ass all afternoon so I can take that huge were-cock. " He grins, pecking a kiss on Frankie's lips. "I love every part of you. Wolf included."

Frankie winks at Ben and reaches around him, slapping his ass. “I’m surprised you don’t want to fuck me tonight.” He hums, his cock twitching at the idea of making his lover scream later tonight.

"Since when don't you have enough energy for both?" He hasn't fully passed out since that first night together a year ago, but it took a little while for him to build up the stamina to go a more than just one round with the wolf. Now you're the one who gets tired first, but getting to sit back and watch your boys enjoy each other is never a bad thing. "Does that mean you want me to fuck you tonight?"

“Baby, I want you to enjoy tonight.” Above all else, Frankie is going to make sure that you and Ben are happy. “I wouldn’t mind if you fucked me now.” He admits.

"Yeah?" Benny smirks, that familiar pride swelling in his chest as he pulls Frankie closer. Being able to make you and Frankie happy is something that he takes extremely seriously and gets so much joy from. "You want to start the day off with my cock in your ass?" His own morning wood had waned a little since waking, but that thought has it coming back with a vengeance.

“You don’t have to.” Frankie can be a little shit when he wants to be and his smirk is very much along those veins. “Since you don’t want me to moan your name.”

"No." The challenge makes Benny nearly growl, and he bowls Frankie over almost immediately. With his knees on either side of his lover's hips, Frankie can feel the obvious weight of Benny's hard on in his boxers. "I want you to scream it."

Frankie bites his lip and shoots Benny a smug look. “Are you sure you can do that? Make me scream?” He loves to see the fire in Ben’s eyes when he gets like this, reaching down and giving his lover’s cock a rough squeeze.

"Francisco..." Benny clicks his tongue, tsking as he shakes his head and pushes his erection more firmly into Frankie's grip. "Don't you remember the camping trip? You had my name echoing off those hills for days."

“Remind me?” He teases, fingers slipping through the small opening so he can stroke the heated skin of his cock. “Old man, remember? Can’t remember shit.”

“It’s gonna be all you can think about for the rest of the day, baby.” Benny shivers noticeably at the touch but doesn’t shy away from it at all. He leans into it, hips pushing forward to seek out a firmer grip and more attention, and he groans happily when he gets exactly what he was looking for. His own hand easily finds Frankie’s hard cock against his belly, a bead of precum already formed on the tip and making his mouth water.

“Sure it’s not how I’m going to make you choke on my cock tonight?” Frankie’s lashes flutter and he gives a low groan. “Or stretch that tight little hole out and fill it up with a hot load of cum?”

“Fuck.” Frankie’s dirty talk is just completely honest, Benny has found over the last year, and he gives that groan back full force as his cock twitches in his lover’s strong hand. “Get the fucking lube, Frankie, I don’t even care if she eats that entire breakfast without us.”

Frankie chuckles wickedly and reaches over to grope at the nightstand, not letting go of Benny’s cock. “You want to fuck my mouth first?” He asks, smirking at him. “Let me taste that precum?”

The moan Benny lets out is a definite yes, as low and rumbling as it is, and he hates the five seconds he has to pull himself away to strip off his boxers before leaning over to kiss Frankie eagerly. There’s something about the fact that he can switch with Ben that Frankie finds gloriously freeing. Not stuck in one particular role, both of them traded dominance equally and were happier for it. Right now, Frankie shuffles lower on the bed and pats his chest for Benny to get on top of him.

It’s something they’ve done countless times by now, but Benny is still always careful to make sure he’s not putting too much pressure on Frankie’s chest when he situates himself there. He leans forward to brace one hand on the headboard and looks down, not taking this beautiful sight for granted even for a second. Frankie Morales is the only man he’s ever been with and the only man he ever wants to be with, and no matter how filthy the sex ever gets, there’s always so much love in it.

Frankie’s mouth waters at the sight of Benny’s long, beautifully cut cock. Wanting to hear those sounds he makes as he tries to keep his composure just makes him lunge forward to lap at the tip, greedy for him.

"Shiiiit." Benny moans from deep in his chest, shivering a little even from just a small taste. Frankie's tongue is talented no matter what form he's in and both you and Benny are wonderfully grateful for it. His hips stutter forward, searching for more and proving that all it takes to fully wake him up is morning sex.

Worries pushed aside for the moment, all Frankie can focus on is making sure Benny feels good. Twirling his tongue around the beautiful head, he sucks on him lightly, rewarded with another salty spurt of precum.

Everything else slides from Benny's mind as Frankie's mouth envelopes him, stealing all of his focus with those tantalizing hums and moans from the other man that make Benny groan even louder in response. The sturdy bed barely creeks beneath them, but once Frankie is on his hands and knees that will change dramatically.

Frankie’s hands hold Ben’s hips, urging him forward. He knows what he can take and wants Benny to press forward. To take what he wants just like the wolf will tonight. Dark eyes fluttering up at the piercing blue of his lover’s eyes, Frankie sends him a wink.

Frankie can be cheeky and even though Benny has always known that in a lowkey way, since the three of you got together he's realized that those little teases do more to drive him crazy than he ever thought. That little wink is enough to make him shuffle forward, inching closer to Frankie and forcing his lover to take his cock just that much deeper down his throat.

Frankie groans around him, eyes fluttering closed, and his jaw opens wider, loving the thick press of him. Blunt fingers dig into Benny’s hip, more for encouragement than to stay the roll forward. Enjoying the way he pulses in his throat.

Shallow thrusts work Benny's length deeper and deeper, both men dissolving into a symphony of primal noises that get louder and louder the longer they go on. Nothing could pull them from their trance now, and neither man notices your footsteps on their stairs or you standing in the doorway with a filthy smirk on your face. There are few things more pleasurable than watching the men you love indulging in each other, and you aren't about to interrupt them for the world.

Frankie can’t help himself. Not when Benny is so beautifully on top, his hands sliding from his hips as the two of them work in unison. One set of fingers wrapping around his throbbing cock and the others sliding between Benny’s cheeks, massaging the puckered flesh and pressing in slightly.

Benny keens, his hips jolting forward instantly as his cock throbs on Frankie's tongue only to pull back again to eagerly search out the pressure from his fingers. The dual sensations have him nearly spitting swears as his head falls back and his eyes shut in bliss.

Frankie squeezes his cock, roughly starting to stroke himself as he continues to work Benny over. Loving how eagerly Benny seeks out his pleasure. He had been hesitant at first, after that first night, needing reassurances that it was alright to want more or need something from Frankie. This is what he loves to see.

"Nuh-uh." From the doorway you tsk just loud enough for both men to hear, grinning when their heads whip in your direction. "When have one rule in this house, Francisco," you remind him, stepping toward the bed in the same fluid motion where you pull your nightgown over your head. "Nobody takes care of themselves unless they want to." Beside the bed you can see that both men's eyes have blown black with lust and it makes you shiver deliciously. Their eyes are wandering over your naked form with unabashed want and it is glorious. "Do you want to stroke your own cock while Benny fucks your throat, or do you want me to ride you, baby?"

Frankie groans and presses his head back, Benny taking his queue and rocking his hips back so he can speak. “Fuck, ride me baby.” Frankie begs, unable to think of anything better that having both of you on top of him.

That plea is music to your ears, and you quickly lean over to kiss your husband before giving the same sweet gesture to your lover and clamoring onto the bed behind Benny. The head of Frankie's cock is purple and leaking precum, and you lap up the tantalizing beads of sticky liquid before straddling his waist.

“Shit.” Frankie hisses before he takes Benny back into his mouth, completely blissed out by the fact that both of you are weighing him down.

"Already got both of us on him and we've barely been up half an hour." The hum in your voice is so pleased as you sink down on Frankie's long cock, and Benny twists in place to swallow your moans in a kiss.

"Half an hour is too long to wait," he contends, letting the fingers of one hand dance over your clit before turning back to watch his own cock disappear down Frankie's throat.

Frankie groans in agreement, sucking around Benny’s cock and reaching around him to grip your hip.

"Fuck, Frankie." Each time you bottom out you roll your hips, grinding figure eights in his lap and reveling in the way he twitches inside you. It won't take any of you long to cum like this, but you're not about to let Benny miss out on any ounce of pleasure that he was getting before you came upstairs, so you reach for the bottle of lube a few inches away on the mattress and slick two of your fingers in the cool substance to press between his cheeks. Your fingers are smaller than Frankie's, but that doesn't mean you can't give Benny an extra jolt as you start to slowly work him open.

“Ohhh fuuuuuuuck.” Benny’s head drops down to his chest and Frankie lunges forward to take him deeper. Trapping him between the two of you and loving the way that he moans.

“Our boy loves being wrecked.” You can’t help but coo, greedily pulling more moans out of Benny at the same time your tight, wet cunt makes Frankie growl from somewhere deep in his chest. Working together to make your lover cum is one of your favourite things in the world. “Gotta work you open and get a plug in that ass early today, don’t we, Benny? Gotta get you ready for tonight.”

Benny moans, nodding as he pushes back against your fingers. “Gotta— gotta get ready for that fucking fat cock.” He moans, looking down at Frankie and reaching down to caress his face.

“Yeah you do.” Once you have two fingers buried in Benny’s tight hole down to the knuckle, you work in the long, deep strokes you know he likes to pull him apart along with Frankie’s mouth. “You’re gonna let the wolf fuck you as hard as he wants, aren’t you, Ben?”

The whine he lets out is low and needy, submissive because he knows he will. He will do anything the wolf wants him to.

“I know you will, baby. I will too. Anything for our wolf.” Your practiced fingers know just the angle to press on his prostate and Benny bucks against you fiercely. “You gotta cum for us now, though, baby. Can you do that, Benny? Can you pour all that delicious cum down Frankie’s throat?”

He keens, rucking his hips forward so he can bury his cock in Frankie’s throat. He chokes for a fraction of a second before he catches himself by swallowing, wanting him to cum. Your cunt clenches around his dick and his hips buck up to drive deeper into you.

Benny is the first to fall over the edge. The stimulation takes him over entirely and he tenses through his whole body, spurting hot jets of sticky salty cum down Frankie's throat at the same time he draws your fingers tight against that pleasure spot deep inside him. You have to slow your needy bounce on Frankie's cock because of it, desperately gripping Benny's sweaty skin and drawing figures in your husband's lap while Benny rides out his orgasm.

Moaning, Frankie gulps down the spurts of cum as best he can, eyes on Benny as his lover’s face twists with pleasure and his hand grips the headboard for support. Some dribbles of his cum escapes from the corners of his mouth, making him smirk at how much he is cumming.

When he can breathe again, Benny carefully draws back from Frankie and lifts off of your fingers, moving to the side of the bed where he can see and kiss you both.

You’re greedy when Benny moves away from Frankie, lunging forward to lick at the remnants of his cum and slide your tongue into his mouth to taste him off Frankie’s tongue. Not that he minds at all. He wraps his arm around your back and kisses you back eagerly, reaching for Benny to drag him close.

With one hand anchoring you to him, Frankie takes control of the pace. He plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts up into you, not harshly but with strength and purpose, determined to give you that perfect feeling of fullness at a pace that will leave you breathless.

He groans, loving how you move with him, your hips rolling down to meet his thrusts. He turns and looks at Benny. "Love, suck on her nipples." He orders the younger Miller brother. "Drive her crazy while I fill her up."

Benny doesn’t hesitate, already in a mind to take orders from Frankie early in the day. He cups both of your tits in his large hands and lowers his mouth to them greedily, flicking his tongue over both buds before latching on to one and nipping at the sensitive flesh with so much fervor anyone else would think he was starved for physical affection.

He loves watching Ben with you, how eager and happy that he gets to touch you. The reverence in his touch and the way that he gets to be involved with the two people he loves, no having to choose. “Feel good baby?” He coos to you. “Benny’s mouth is so good, isn’t it?”

“So fucking good.” You can barely keep your eyes open, the twisting and tightening in your core heralding an intense orgasm that you barely have time to warn them both in time for.

Frankie hisses, feeling how you grip him like a vice while you try to bounce on his cock. “Good girl, good fucking girl.” He can’t vocalize beyond growls when he’s the wolf, so he makes sure he heaps praise on you and Benny while he can. “Oh fuck, soak me baby.”

Honestly, you’d do anything he asks as long as he uses that voice of absolute authority laced with unyielding adoration, but right now you can’t do anything but cum anyway. It’s like a flood, coating his cock and pushing out of your tight hole with every grind of his hips – only intensifying when he cries out a moment later and follows you into bliss.

He loves the way you collapse on top of him, chuckling slightly when Benny immediately curls up with you and kisses you tenderly. “Thought – thought you were gonna fuck me?” Frankie huffs teasingly.

“I was,” Benny pouts, nuzzling into you like you’ll defend him. “But then our girl needed fucking, too.”

“Very true.” His hand slides down your back lovingly and he pats your ass. “So there’s no convincing the two of you to stay upstairs tonight?” He asks quietly after a few moments of blissfully panted silence.

“Frankie,” you shake your head and stretch to kiss him softly. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’ve been doing this for years, love. It’s always okay.” Whatever has made him worry this time, he’s nearly verging on paranoid this month.

He can’t articulate why this month is so worrisome, but it is. And because he can’t exactly pinpoint a cause, neither you or Benny would believe him. Huffing, he looks back and forth between the two of you. “Use the chains tonight.” He begs softly. “At least that.”

“If there’s an issue, we’ll use them.” That much you can promise him. “But baby, we haven’t needed them in ages. Everything’s going to be fine just like always.”

He closes his eyes, grounding himself in the touch of the two of you. “I love you both so much.”

“We love you too, baby.” Benny hums, pressing kisses to Frankie’s shoulder and then his cheek and lips. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

That’s not what he’s worried about, but he doesn’t argue. There’s something about tonight’s moon that has him restless, uneasy. Instead of voicing it again, he smiles at you and Benny. “Why don’t we have breakfast and get the day started?” He asks softly. “It’s going to be a long day.”

“There’s ham heating in the oven and I put the waffle mix in the fridge.” You shrug a little when Benny smirks. “When you didn’t come down right away I figured you might be up here a while…and then I got curious.”

“You are always curious.” Frankie can’t help but smirk, sending Benny a wink. “She’s kind of a voyeur, isn’t she?”

“Little bit.” Benny agrees, playfully biting your shoulder before he starts picking up discarded pieces of clothing and distributing them to their owners. “I think we’re just too sexy for her to resist.”

Chuckling, he watches you pout slightly as you lift yourself off his cock. “Bet she wants to be sandwiched between us tonight.”

“That should not surprise either of you.” Quite frankly, it’s your favourite place to be. Caught between them and held fast, only able to hold on tight while they give just as much pleasure as they take. It’s heaven. Your own personal bliss.

Benny smirks at winks at you. “You want to be stuffed full tonight?” He teases. “Werewolf and human cock inside you?”

“Fuck yes.” Full moon days really are just all sex and eating - gluttony and lust in the very best possible ways as you and Benny make sure Frankie always feels safe and loved no matter what form he’s in. “I’m thoroughly looking forward to being sore tomorrow.”

“Then I will have to make sure the two of you don’t lift a finger.” Frankie hums, sitting up and watching the two of you get dressed.

“You never let us.” Rolling your eyes at Frankie as though it were some kind of dramatic point of contention, you just end up grinning. “Remember the second moon after Benny moved in and he tried to go get the newspaper? You wouldn’t even let him off the couch.”

“He had taken a hell of a fucking the night before.” Frankie huffs, rolling his eyes. “The wolf took him twice.”

“Oh yeah.” Benny chuckles, bordering on a naughty giggle. “Fuck, that was a good night.”

There’s of course a sense of pride that makes Frankie puff up slightly. Giving him the edge to crawl out of the bed and get dressed. “Every moon is good with you two.” He murmurs as he starts to pull on his boxers.

“Exactly.” Pulling your t-shirt over your head, you offer the most reassuring smile to Frankie you can summon, willing him to relax with all your might. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

He bites he lip but he doesn’t argue, his stomach jittery and he doesn’t know what he would do if something happened to either of you. The last year has been the best of his entire life and he doesn’t want to ruin it with the gloomy shadow of his self-doubt. “You’re right.” He huffs, shaking his head. “Let’s go eat.”

******

It really is a nice day. They celebrate Benny’s anniversary with a leisurely late lunch and stop at the butcher’s on the way home to pick up supplies for the night. At this point the local specialty butcher just thinks the Morales-Miller household is extremely into grilling and smoking, and he passes along a dry rub recipe this month that you pretend to be extremely excited about. The wolf doesn’t go for seasonings or any kind of cooking whatsoever, but this very kind and very normal man never needs to know that.

Frankie wrinkles his nose when the three of you get into the truck. “It’s spicy.” He huffs, smirking slightly. “It might be good for some other time.”

“The last thing we need is all the pepper in that making the wolf get snot all over us,” Benny jokes, tucking the little canister of spices into the pocket of his jacket for safety.

Frankie barks out a laugh and shakes his head while he turns the engine over. “No we can’t have that. But you like it when the wolf licks you.”

“Yeah, obviously.” Benny laughs along with him. “But having a two-foot-long tongue lick my dick and getting wolf snot on me are two very different things.”

“You have a point.” Frankie’s hand reaches back into the backseat and he squeezes your knee. Even though it’s a quad cab, you insist that Benny would be scrunched in the backseat.

Giving Frankie’s hand a gentle squeeze before he takes it back to put the truck in gear and head home, you lean forward in your seat and rub Benny’s shoulders a little. “Everything’s all set for tonight, now. We’re just waiting on sunset.”

“Sorry.” Frankie grimaces. “Having to plan every full moon around my furry problem. Instead of going out and just having fun.”

“Hey, you guys drop everything once a month to take care of me when the bloody flood takes over,” you remind him, also reaching over to rub Frankie’s shoulder. “I don’t really see how this is different. We even both crave red meat.”

Benny snickers and nods. “I think he craves a little more than just one steak though babe.” He teases, reaching over hold onto Frankie’s thigh.

“Well yeah.” You shrug and sit back again. “But my point stands.”

“Yeah. I know.” Frankie appreciates the support, it’s one of the reasons why he’s so insistent on taking care of you after the full moon. God only knows what would happen if he didn’t have you and now Benny there to distract him. “It’s a good damn thing you didn’t shoot me the first time you saw me, Ben.” He chuckles, recalling the other man’s shock.

“I think my reaction was fairly calm, all things considered.” He squeezes Frankie’s thigh in apology all the same, trying to make it seem much more lighthearted than the whole thing had been. “How could I have known it was you? All I knew was that the woman I love was in danger.”

“I love that you would protect her.” Frankie can’t help but pick up Benny’s hand and kiss it.

“I’d do anything for you guys,” Benny murmurs, kissing Frankie’s hand gently, the same way Frankie had his. “I love you both so much.”

“We love you too.” Frankie assures him, smiling softly. “So goddamn lucky that you love us, Ben.”

The next few hours are relatively calm. Getting things ready for Frankie’s transformation is like a dance between the three of you now, and with Benny’s help you’re sitting in the basement in a cuddle pile well before the first strains of muscle pain and bone growth ever hit Frankie’s body.

Frankie holds you in an iron grip, the urge to rush outside, away from you, nearly overwhelming. He can’t though. He doesn’t want to hurt someone and it could happen out there. Here was safer, you both know how to manage him. “I love you.” He whispers desperately.

“I love you too, baby.” You give him a kiss before you have to let him go, letting him linger there as long as he needs to for comfort before the wolf begins to take over. Frankie has one hand on you and one hand on Benny - the same words and gestures for both of you as he takes this second to ground himself in being safe and unconditionally loved. It’s always like this, every month is the same, but you can tell he hasn’t let go of his anxiety when he keeps dragging you and Benny back for more short kisses, filling the time that he is still completely himself with nothing but affection.

Frankie hisses, the familiar burn of pain searing through his gut. His hands pull away from you as if burned, not wanting to claw at either of you while he’s changing. “Get— get back.”

“We’re okay, baby.” Benny soothes, just as much for you as for Frankie. His arms circle you protectively and he holds you to his chest. Not because Frankie has ever lashed out but because it makes him feel safer to know you’re protected in case something ever did go wrong. From opposite ends of the basement you watch each other - you and Benny ready to jump forward at the first sign that Frankie is in more or different pain than usual, and Frankie ready to flee at the first sign of trouble.

The sickening crunch of bones comes first. Making him grit his teeth and hiss in agony. Fists clench and then his hands shooting open as the fingers are the first to start transforming.

It doesn’t get easier no matter how many times he has to go through it - to feel it happening or to watch. It’s straight out of a horror movie, and to know that it’s Frankie suffering makes it that much worse. But at the end of everything he’s still your Francisco - husband and lover and amazing life partner - so you and Benny stand by to support him. You find things to celebrate about this transformation that would otherwise be horrific without any silver lining. The part that’s hardest though, is this face. Watching Frankie’s handsome, soft face take on hard angles and elongate until the only part of him that you can easily recognize as Frankie is his eyes.

The way his spine elongates is probably the most painful part. When he’s human, he’s about four inches shorter than Ben. During the full moon? He’s easily a foot to a foot and a half taller than his lover. It wasn’t as if they had taken out a measuring tape to see.

“Hey….” A soothing voice helps him most right after the change, and you step forward to offer him a soft smile. No matter what, that’s still your Frankie in there. You and Benny would never let him feel like anything but himself if you can help it. “You okay, baby?”

A growl rumbles out of his chest, eyes turning towards the two of you and he sniffs the air. His towering height diminishes as he drops down to all fours and prowls towards the two of you.

"Hey, there's our man." Benny smiles, reaching out to let Frankie sniff him and decide how fast he wants the night to progress.

Frankie snorts, huffs at him and there is the tiniest lick of his tongue against Benny’s palm.

"You can do better than that, big boy." When Benny laughs it's more than a chuckle - it's deep in his belly as he sees the amusement register in Frankie's eyes. "Take your time, Frank. You know that. We have all night."

Now that he’s changed, instinct takes over. His head butts against the hand again before he turns to you. Piercing eyes watching you before he shoves his nose into your crotch.

"You wanna fuck before you eat tonight, Frankie?" It's your turn to laugh, shaking your head a little as you pull your dress over your head. He determines how these nights start, and tonight you're starting with nudity right off the bat.

Frankie growls again, pressing his nose against your panties and then dragging his cold nose up over the skin of your stomach. Stopping for a moment before coming up and flicking his tongue against your nipple.

It makes you whine the first time - it always does - because even though you know that the wolf's tongue is a different texture than you're used to, it still always takes you just a little bit off guard the first time every month. "I'm all yours, baby," you remind him, running a gentle hand through the fur on his cheek before looking up at Benny. "Both of you."

Satisfied with that, Frankie turns as he catches the scent of the meat. The growling of his stomach audible as he moves towards the table.

You grin when Frankie is distracted by the meat from the butcher, stepping out of your panties and snuggling into Benny’s arms as your wolfish husband starts to eat. “Food and sex,” you joke to Ben. “All species are the same.”

“I’m sure we would be hungry too after that kind of work out.” Benny jokes. “Growing nearly two feet is hard work!”

"I'm not begrudging him." In Benny's arms, you let Frankie take things in whatever order and whatever time he needs. Though usually eating an entire SUV's worth of meat only takes him a few minutes anyway. "Lord knows I'm the same way around my period."

“Our grocery bill is insane.” He snickers as he watches Frankie stare to tear into the meat.

"We can afford it." The three of you might not be living in the lap of luxury, but you're more than able to feed and shelter yourselves and provide occasional treats for each other - Frankie's monthly meat bill might be expensive but it's a small price to pay for knowing that he's safe and cared for in wolf form. If he had to hunt? Who knows what terrible thing might have happened to him by now.

Benny hums his agreement, wrapping his arms around you and he can’t help but cup a breast. “We could always distract ourselves.” He murmurs into your ear. “Until he’s ready to play.”

"Food and sex," you laugh softly, but you're already wrapping your arms around Benny's neck to keep him close. "You wanna play a little, Ben? Get ourselves all riled up until Frankie can smell the arousal on us?"

“You read my mind.” He smirks and tweaks your nipple gently. “I could always bend you over and eat you out.” His lips press against your pulse. “Make sure you’re nice and wet for that big cock.”

"Mmm..." Just the little pinch is enough to wake your body up, flesh starting to pebble in the chilly basement with just the barest contrast of Benny's habitual warmth. "You could definitely do that."

He smirks and kisses right behind your ear. “Go bend over right in front of our wolf, baby. He should have dinner and a show.”

There’s only so many pieces of furniture in the basement considering you really do need the open space for Frankie’s lumbering bulk, but the boys’ suggestion of installing both a sturdy swing and a sort of balance beam in the back third of the room by the large table have saved a lot of knees over the last few months. Right now it means that you don’t have to get on your hands and knees on the cement floor, it means you can bend over the balance bar and let Frankie watch with hungry eyes as Benny lowers himself to your cunt.

There’s nothing prime about the way Benny eats you out. He’s voracious with his. Hands gripping your ass cheeks and pulling them apart so he can bury his tongue in your walls and push his nose up against the toy in the pulsing little hole of your ass.

Frankie, however, slows in his voracious eating, watching the way you shudder and quake for Benny with undisguised hunger of his own. There’s no reason for him to get between the two of you until he’s finished his own meal, but he growls in approval when you moan Ben’s name in the vast, echoing room.

Benny huffs, chuckling into you while his tongue plunges deep. His eyes cut over to where Frankie is watching and he sends the wolf a tiny wink, egging him on before he lets go of your ass with one hand so he can palm his cock through his basketball shorts.

The boys like to play games with each other, you had found out quickly. Especially when the wolf takes over and Benny knows he can play with Frankie’s baser instincts without any of the negativity of actually having someone else touch you. It’s simply that the wolf wants what he wants when he wants it, and you and Benny love it when the wolf wants you.

Growling, Frankie’s head lifts up, licking his chops and the meat isn’t even completely gone yet. Eyes narrowing as Benny continues to rub his cock and moan into your folds while he licks you.

“You like what you see, Frankie?” The wolf never leaves his meal unfinished unless he is intent on having one or both of you right away, and right now it’s looking that way. Like Benny’s teasing is completely paying off in the best way.

The sound he makes rumbles through his chest, the clicking of the claws hitting the concrete echoes as he moves from around the table.

Benny doubles down, pulling his cock out of his shorts to squeeze the base in full view of the wolf while he sucks your clit harshly into his mouth to make you scream as he pushes you toward the first orgasm of the night. Both of you having been wearing plugs all day to prepare for whatever kind of play you want and it’s going to be a very happy anniversary for Benny. You’ll make sure of it.

Frankie drops down to his front forearms, growls as he sniffs along his lover’s neck, his tongue coming out to rasp against his pulse. Tasting the sweat, the day from his skin. He tastes bits of himself, from earlier in his human for and you. He growls again, licking harder as he replaces it with his own.

Benny shivers a little at first, always a little extra excited to have the wolf’s attention because of the extremely positive associations he has from that first night a year ago. It’s a little indulgent, a little hedonistic, and completely wrapped up in love. “You want me to smell like you, huh baby?” He grins, knowing exactly what Frankie is doing.

Making a rumbling sound of agreement, his tongue rubs over his skin again and again. The tiny barbs on his tongue dragging over the sensitive flesh.

Benny has joked on multiple occasions that you can never get a dog because he’ll get a hard on anytime the pup licks him, and right now is complete proof. He had already been hard from eating you out but now he’s bordering on becoming his own marble statue - tense and aching everywhere except for the weeping head of his cock.

There is a definite edge to the way that Frankie pushes Benny, moving him away and isolating him, his broad back turns to you as he crowds over the younger man.

It’s impossible to look over Frankie’s shoulder in this form, but Benny peaks around his arm to make sure you’re okay with this development only to find you perched on a cushion watching intently, and he grins at your voyeuristic tendencies before giving the wolf his full attention. He steps out of his shorts so Frankie doesn’t have to tear them, kicking the fabric away to leave himself bear and vulnerable, knowing that no one in this room has anything but pleasure on their minds.

As the wolf, Frankie has to be conscious of his claws, aware that they are razor sharp and could easily shred through flesh and sinew. His paw hits Benny’s shoulder and hand presses down.

He can take a hint, and Benny smirks as he sinks to his knees in front of Frankie and settles himself on one of the many soft matts they now keep strewn around the basement for times like these. There's no disguising how eager both men are at this moment, not that Benny would ever hide from Frankie how much he wants him - not anymore.

It’s fitting that Benny is in his knees in front of Frankie tonight. Especially since he had been there the very first night. The large cock twitches and he shuffles forward, eager to feel the pleasure of Ben’s mouth.

Benny groans when Frankie tilts his hips forward again, hands holding onto the strong frame looming over him as he licks and mouths at the enormous length in front of him. Frankie’s indignant snuffles make him grin, and Benny kitten licks the tip of his lover’s cock again before diving forward to take as much of it into his mouth as he possibly can at once. He’s learned a hell of a lot about how to give Frankie the perfect kind of pleasure he craves, and he puts it to use as often as possible - and the full moon usually means using every trick in the book.

The howl he lets out is soft, not nearly as loud as it would be if he had just changed. His claws dig into the beam above his eyes, his elongated snout tilted down to watch the very human lips wrap around his cock.

Swallowing around the thick head of Frankie's transformed hard on is one of Benny's favourite ways to pull reactions from the wolf, the extra tightness and heat always making Frankie react so gorgeously every time. Benny's become an expert in this - in giving pleasure the way he never had before - but on nights like tonight he's more eager than he is calculated. He gets messy quickly, not caring about the pornographic visuals but only about making Frankie feel as good as he possibly can.

The rough snap of the wolf’s hips is greedy, animalistic. Baser in need and pleasure that the human lover he deals with. Frankie chases the warmth found at the back of Ben’s throat. The moans that vibrate up his shaft. Sharp eyes watch the way the other man’s cock leaks and bobs eagerly. There’s only been a few times where the wolf has submitted to the human, but tonight is about his control.

It's demanding, and Benny recognizes this tempo from a few times before - the dominant pace of the wolf showing him who he belongs to and who will protect him, taking pleasure before he gives it. Benny would never have considered himself submissive in any way before being in a position like this, but these days he will readily admit that it has its moments of being incredibly worthwhile. He loves the give and take of it, knowing that after the wolf has taken everything he wants Benny will be rewarded with just as much in return.

There is something about the wetness of his mouth that the wolf craves. As much as he loves your mouth, Benny is obsessed with taking all of him. A feat that hadn’t been accomplished but he tries. Frankie growls and one hand comes down to cup the back of Benny’s head as he thrusts his cock down the younger man’s throat.

If it is a teasing payback for the morning, Benny will gladly take it. Frankie fucks his mouth and throat like he owns them, and in this moment he absolutely does. His whole world has narrowed down to just the way Frankie’s cock feels throbbing in this mouth, and his own dribbles another spurt of precum onto the concrete floor as he tries one more time to take every inch of the wolf. He doesn’t even register the soft sounds of your muffled moans as you touch yourself while watching them.

Looking over his shoulder, Frankie growls, smelling your arousal. Seeing the wetness on your fingers as you sink them into your cunt. The wolf is very aware that he cannot push his own claws into your cunt. It’s one of the things the beast laments.

“I’m just enjoying the view,” you grin at Frankie, letting the timber of his growl roll through you. That sound combined with the way you curl your own fingers inside you is delicious.

He huffs, shaking his head before he turns his attention back to Benny, focusing on him.

"Been wanting to do this since this morning, haven't you?" Benny grins up at him, both hands working up and down the wolf's hard length in long strokes. "Pumping cum down my throat just like I did to you in bed."

Grunting, he thrusts his cock into Benny’s grip, throbbing insistently and close to cumming for the first of many times tonight. Lips curl back and he shows his teeth, hisses loudly.

"That's a yes." The younger man's grin becomes a cocky smirk. "Cum for me, Frankie." Benny hums, leaning forward on his knees to swallow his cock all over again.

The sound is guttural, harsh. Perfect to accompany the rough thrust where the wolf buries his cock in the willing throat of his lover. Not caring about the teeth scraping, just the warm suction as he starts to cum.

Benny groans, shuddering with his own kind of pleasure as he swallows every drop he's able to before the sheer amount of sticky fluid pouring down his throat begins to overwhelm him and dribble out the sides of his mouth. His eyes are watering and he's nearly drooling, so overcome with his own need to cum that his own cock twitches desperately in the cool air as Frankie's torrential orgasm begins to subside.

In wolf form, Frankie is never satisfied, not until he’s cum at least three or four times. His appetite for sex as ravenous as for food. So when the last rope of cum is deposited into Benny’s mouth, he’s already pulling his cock out so he can turn the other man over and fuck him, dropping down to all fours right before he buries his tongue in his ass to get him ready.

Deftly extracting the plug that Benny had been wearing all day - the one that matches yours, as a fun little nod to how the boys planned on sharing you tonight - Frankie growls in approval as Benny cries out beneath him. He is aching to cum, practically breathless with need, and he knows that he'll come apart completely untouched once that cock is buried inside him again.

Only when Benny’s tight little hole is pulsing does Frankie stop. Pulling his tongue away before you move into view with the lube. Only the small portion of him that remains Frankie keeps him from just plowing into the waiting little hole without lube.

"You in the mood to sit your gorgeous ass in that swing and watch?" Benny asks, pulling you down to kiss him just before he feels the drip of moisture on his overheated skin that tells him you're multitasking - lubing him up at the same time you indulge in a kiss. "Or do you want to join us?" Looking up at Frankie, you raise an eyebrow in question and smirk. "I don't think he's in the mood to share after all," you hum. "But maybe if you ask very nicely, he'll let you slip inside my aching pussy while he fucks you. I can see how badly you need to cum."

Frankie huffs, snorting as he grips Benny’s shoulder and yanks him back up against his chest. The tip of his cock grinding against his ass and another little growl rumbles in his chest impatiently as he tries to line up while keeping Benny anchored to him.

"Let me help, baby," you practically tsk Frankie in his impatience, reaching between the two men to wrap your hand as far around the wolf's cock as you can and guide him to the tight heat of Benny's waiting hole.

Frankie grunts, turning and licking your neck, even as his hips lurch forward before you’ve properly lined him up.

"You're welcome." It's said with a grin, and nearly drowned out by Benny's deep moan. If he wasn't being held up by the wolf's large, carefully placed paws, he would have immediately fallen forward with the force of the thrust.

The louder canine whine of satisfaction is your answer, moving his hips forward until every inch of his large cock is buried in the tight hole of the man in his grasp, turning his head and pressing his snout to Benny’s pulse before he starts to move.

Benny reaches for you, pulling you into his arms to feel that connection roll through three bodies instead of two. The taste of Frankie's cum is musky on his tongue when it plunges into your mouth, and you ring your arms around his neck to hold on tight. It would be an uncomfortable angle to try to fuck you in, but his wandering hands find your dripping cunt and his mouth makes its way down your throat and chest to latch on to your tits hungrily. His moans and grunts absorb into your skin and vibrate through you as his long fingers curl inside you, and you wrap your hand around his aching, purple cock in turn. He'll be lucky to last a whole two minutes with you stroking his length and Frankie fucking his ass so mercilessly, and you can't wait to hear him scream.

Frankie's hold on Benny tightens, pulling him back, almost completely out of your grip. He's possessive, curling around him and grunting with the bruising force of the pace that he's set. Both arms are around him, one across his chest, pinning him to him and the other is lower, sliding down his stomach and knocking your hand away from the man's aching cock.

The whine it earns from both you and Benny is honestly borderline pathetic, neediness wound up in both of you in tight knots, but you step back. Frankie gets what he wants when he’s in wolf form for very obvious reasons, and tonight it seems he wants Benny to himself. While it’s unusual for Frankie as the wolf to not want all the physical pleasure he can get at any given time, it isn’t unheard of, so you end up back in the swing to watch and eagerly await your turn while Benny is on the verge of exploding the second one large paw flattens itself against his belly.

Hot breath washes over Benny's skin. Followed by the wet tongue that is determined to taste every inch of him. Rasping over his skin again and again while his cock drills deep into his ass, growling happily at the sounds he is making while he fucks him. For some reason, he doesn't want to have you touch Benny, have him touch you. He wants to keep it separate.

“Greedy,” Benny huffs, voice laced with amusement and heavy with pleasure, breaths forced out of him at a punishing pace as Frankie rockets them both toward cumming.

There’s no denying that. Growling in his ear, Frankie bends his legs, changing the angle so he is rocking up into Benny and striking against his prostate.

“Fuck, fuck— fucking hell—” Any clever second comment is completely stolen from the tip of Ben’s tongue, feeling that perfect pressure and sinful angle in every one of Frankie’s quick thrusts. He practically goes cross eyed, gasp caught in this throat as spurts of hot, sticky spend erupt from his own cock and splatter onto the cement. The orgasm takes him over entirely, and in that moment Ben Miller probably couldn’t have even recalled his own name - though he sure as fuck knows Frankie’s.

The tight vice around his cock is sublime, making Frankie throw his head back and howl. Hips stuttering for another frantic thrust before he’s cumming. The hot rush of his seed filling Benny and pushing out of him with every jerk of his hips.

“Fucking shit…” Benny gasps, clinging to Frankie’s enormous frame so he doesn’t end up crashing onto the hard floor. “Happy anniversary to me, I guess,” he jokes, flashing you a grin.

There’s a moment where Frankie is softer. His snout turning into Benny’s neck and nuzzling him, holding him as he comes down from his high. Just pulsing inside the other man, still hard but not needy like before. A moment to breathe.

“He wanted his man tonight,” you hum, not minding in the least.

The grumble is huffy, slightly put out when he starts to relax his hold on Benny, his cock pulling out of him with a thick plop of cum hitting the ground. Now he has to wait to touch you, the inevitable clean up required annoying but he tolerates it.

“Don’t be impatient.” You chide him, grinning and shaking your head a little as you grab a few things off the little bookshelf in the basement - the location of all your cleaning supplies. Benny is still catching his breath and despite the aching in your neglected pussy you’re definitely the most functional of the three of you right now.

If a wolf could roll his eyes, Frankie is there. The animal instinct doesn’t understand the need to clean up between Benny and you, but he doesn’t push back against the order. Instead he turns his head to look at his cum dripping out of Benny.

It only takes a minute, and you press kisses to Benny’s shoulder and cheek before lighting one on his lips. “You want to lay down, love?”

“Mm.” Benny nods, chuckling a little to himself. Frankie has left him feeling wrecked and he needs a little time to recover.

The werewolf is a cocky lover, his chest puffing up with pride and he huffs happily when Benny sinks down onto the cushions that have been piled up in a corner.

“You gonna do the same to me?” It’s all teasing, but you know from experience that Frankie can break you down and put you back together again physically when he’s a wolf and it’s very different than the way he does it emotionally when he’s human.

There’s a deep growl, a heavy twitch to his cock as your washcloth holding hand swipes soapy water over it. Making him ruck his hips forward. “Yeah?” His reaction elicits a filthy grin from you and the second you’re done cleaning up you toss the cloth slide. “Well what are you waiting for, big boy?”

Frankie pounces, making sure that he’s not too rough when he knocks you to the floor. Your head hitting Benny’s thigh and your body cushioned by the padding the two of you had insisted on. All machine washable for when cum smeared on it. Hovering over you, Frankie drags his tongue down your body, licking every inch and paying special attention to your breasts before his head dives between your thighs.

He’s so eager tonight that you would probably giggle if you weren’t already moaning, head tossed back against Benny’s leg and your own legs spread wide to give Frankie every inch of room you can manage.

His tongue is seeking, your tang on his tastebuds making him want more. Curling it deep inside you as if he were using it like a cock.

It’s the kind of attention that makes your toes curl and your back arch right away - there is no slow build or easing you into anything tonight. Your feet are braced on Frankie’s broader-than-usual shoulders and he is diving into you with reckless abandon, like the Big Bad Wolf trying a very different method of eating up Red Riding Hood.

He growls, burrowing his head deeper, tongue piercing as deep as he can manage while keeping his teeth away from your skin. Wanting to be as deep as possible, needing to be. His claws curl around your hip, one over your breast, claiming you as his own.

Neither of the men in your life have ever discouraged you from being vocal during sex, both fully admitting that it spurs them on, and Frankie seems to be driving an extra pleasure from it tonight. Every moan that he tears from your throat is met with vigorous enthusiasm as the crescendo builds in your belly, and you swear the tip of that extra-long tongue is somehow stroking your g-spot so perfectly that your vision is blurry.

He’s addicted to your taste, wants to live the entire full moon with his tongue buried in your cunt. Ripping orgasm after orgasm out of you. Except the fact that his cock is leaking, desperate to plunge into your body and pump you full of his seed. Frankie grumbles into you, pushing his tongue harder as he wants you to cum.

Frankie is normally the undisputed king of pussy eating. It's a known fact to such a degree that he has a wire crown that the guys made him years before you even met him. But like this? The wolf doesn't care about technique or edging or any of the little things that Frankie does to build you up and topple you over the edge of that intense orgasm. When the wolf is in charge, it's usually about the absolute overwhelming feeling of being on a runaway train of pleasure as he pushes and pushes and pushes you toward the edge. An edge that is approaching so rapidly that your legs are shaking and starting to squeeze shut on the long snout between them.

Growling, Frankie works his shoulders between your legs, wanting you open for him. The orgasms are so much more intense when you cannot bear down. Greedily lapping at your cunt, he watches as you fall apart.

His name on your lips isn’t plaintive, isn’t prayerful. It’s an explosion as you fall apart for him - shaking legs and arched back meeting the intensity of your cries in a shattering orgasm.

The way you cum is like a geyser and Frankie groans happily, his tongue continuing to swipe at you to capture every drop of your release like it the nectar of the gods. Not stopping until you are whimpering under his attention.

“Baby,” it’s a few passes too many after you finish cumming, and you gently nudge the tip of his nose away from your body and laugh. “Gimme a second,” you insist. Overstimulation isn’t something you enjoy, and your clit is aching right now. But it will only take a second to move past. “You’re too good. Man or wolf. Doesn’t matter.”

It’s hard to imagine a wolf grinning, but that is exactly what Frankie does when his head comes up from your clit.

“So pleased with himself,” Benny chuckles, running his hands up and down your arms as your breathing returns to normal.

He is pleased with himself, but he’s also impatient. Waiting only another minute before he pulls you up into his arms to get ready to impale you on his hard cock.

You weigh nothing to him when he’s like this - as easy to pick up and toss around as an apple - and far more fun to play with. From the little shriek that accompanied the leap in your heartbeat when he picks you up to the way your legs fall open without hesitation only to wrap around his waist and hang on for the ride, he loves every second of it.

You're used to taking him like this. Having no issue burying himself to the very root in one swift thrust, growling loudly even as you shriek out in pleasure.

There’s never any danger, he’s not going to overexert himself and you’re not going to accidentally slip too far down in his arms. All of your focus can rest securely on the feeling of his thick cock dragging in and out of your throbbing pussy with every demanding thrust and you revel in it.

He’s huffing, his head pushing against your neck and chest, scenting you in him. Wanting you covered in him.

His pace never falters, always relentless and always needy, eager to hear the sounds you'll make and feel the way you'll squeeze him as he works himself in and out of you at a rhythm that even the best porn stars would envy.

Benny groans, watching his lovers together is something that he always loves, no matter what form Frankie is in. It's beautiful and animalistic and there is always the joke about how feral Frankie is during the full moon. His spent cock twitching as he reaches down and palms himself, quickly starting to harden while watching his own personal porno play out in front of him.

You let your head fall back, moans and whimpers pouring out to the ceiling as Frankie nuzzles into your chest and licks your tits, flicking your nipples and keeping you moving on his cock. Since he's made you cum once it would usually take longer for it to build a second time, but you swear nothing in the world works faster than the feral force of the wolf taking what he wants.

Frankie's eyes move towards Benny, watching him as he watches you. Piercing gaze fixed on the younger man as he continues to fuck into you with wild abandon.

"Tease me about being a voyeur," you huff, following Frankie's eyes to your lover and grinning. "But you ca— can't fuck help jerking off watching us."

"It's fucking hot." Benny whines, pumping his cock slowly and groaning when he watches Frankie's cock spear up into your gapping cunt. "Fuck baby, you're so full of him. How'm I gonna fit?"

"Guess you're just gonna have to – fuck, Frankie, oh my god – try." You moan even louder when Frankie snaps his hips forward, growling a little at the comment.

The agreement firmly in Benny's mind, he pushes up off the cushions and starts to move towards the two of you, reaching for the bottle of lube. "God baby, you look fucking divine on his cock." He coos.

"Almost as good as you do." Leaning over, you brace yourself on Benny's shoulder and dive into kissing him, flush and overheated body craving as much attention as your lovers are willing to give you.

Frankie's grumble is put out, huffy because your attention is not focused on him. The snap of his hips pushes harder, bouncing you on his cock. Demanding your attention and pulling you away from Ben's lips.

"Not into sharing tonight, are you?" It earns Frankie a raised eyebrow from you, but you're not going to question him. Not when he can't properly answer you. The language barrier does present a few obstacles occasionally.

Frankie reaches out and pulls Benny towards the two of you. His paw wrapped around the other man's back as he plasters him to your back. Crushing you between the two of them. Benny takes the invitation happily, too eager to be inside you to worry about teasing you for now. It only takes him a second to grab the lube, making himself as ready for you as he can be. Then he eases the plug you've been wearing out of your ass while pressing earnest kisses to your shoulders, one arm wrapped around your waist to rest on your belly in between you and the wolf - holding you steady and steadying himself with you all in one motion. The way you keen for them - both of them - is music to their ears and you reach behind you with one hand to cling to both of them at once.

Frankie’s lips curl back, teeth exposed, and his hackles raise for a split second before he relaxes. His growl soft and his snout reaching over your shoulder to poke at Benny, sniffing him before his tongue laps at his skin before dragging over to the back of your neck.

It should have happened in slow motion. There should been a change in the wind, or a soundtrack cue. There should have been something. But as it happened, all three of you almost missed it. Reaching back to grasp for Benny's jaw to kiss him, you overreach and touch his shoulder. The dampness would have gone unnoticed and unthought of as sweat during sex, except that you catch a glimpse of red on your fingertips. Benny is bleeding. Benny is bleeding right where the wolf's teeth just were.

Mid thrust, Frankie's larger frame freezes, eyes locked onto your fingers. He smells the blood, tastes it. His head tilts back and he does the only think that he can do in this moment. His howl of anguish fills the basement.

******

It took forever for all of you to fall asleep last night. You had taken Benny upstairs to wash his shoulder and bandage it after Frankie refused to so much as touch either of you again, and the two of you had lain in bed in near silence with only the mournful howls coming from the basement as your soundtrack. When the adrenaline finally wore out and sleep took over it was fitful and you know instinctively, even before you open your eyes the next morning, that you've slept far too late.

Frankie is exhausted, turning back to his human form in the early morning light and collapsing into a heap to sob on the cold concrete floor for nearly an hour before he managed to drag himself up the stairs. He's leaving. His mind is made up and it's ripping his very heart from his chest.

"Frankie!" He looks like a complete wreck when he slumps into the bedroom, and even though Benny is still sound asleep you jump out of bed to throw your arms around your husband. "It was an accident, baby. An accident." You insist, and when he doesn't react to your arms around him right away you only squeeze harder. "We love you, Francisco. That has not changed. It never will."

Frankie swallows harshly, fresh tears in his eyes but he blinks them away as he very gently - oh so fucking gently - takes your arms and pulls you away from him. He's too dangerous for you to touch, not now, not after he's hurt one of the ones that he loves most. "You— you need to stay away from me." He rasps out, his voice hoarse from the howling of the night before.

"Not going to happen." Frankie might be stubborn, but in a lot of ways you are more so. You shake your head at him and reach to wipe away the water rising his eyes only for him to flinch away from your touch. So instead you very deliberately put both of your hands on his shoulders and hold his gaze. “We love you,” you repeat. It was never something in contention, not even for a second, when you and Benny actually talked last night. "And I'm not giving you a divorce so get that thought out of your head right this second."

Shaking his head, he huffs in frustration. "I bit Ben!" He hisses, angry at himself, angry at you for being so fucking accepting of all of this. It had led to this. He needed to be chained up like the fucking vicious monster that he is. "Love isn't going to fix that!"

"It was an accident." You're not blind to the seriousness of the situation, but you're also not going to let your family fall apart because of it. Not when you're the happiest you've ever been in your entire life and you know Frankie had been too, up until last night. "We don't even really know how the infection works. Ben might be immune or something! But if he's not, are you going to make him go through those changes every single month terrified and alone? Because I have never seen you as scared as you were during those first few months." It isn't meant to be a guilt trip, it's just reality. And your reality is a whole hell of a lot weirder than most other people's.

"You're pregnant." Frankie snaps harshly. You don't understand why he had bit Ben. He had been territorial. He was dangerous.

"What?" Your head jerks back but your hands don't leave him, practically clinging like it will keep him from walking away.

"The wolf knew it. You're pregnant. He got territorial." It's easier to refer to the monster that had potentially destroyed his lover's life as some entity that is separate from himself. It doesn't lessen his guilt though. "I smelled it the second I changed last night, and I bit Ben because he was fucking territorial."

"You accidentally grazed Benny after pulling him in so he could fuck me with you." Scrunching your eyes shut for even half a second does absolutely nothing to clear your mind. Pregnant. Pregnant? That complicates things, sure, but it's not like you can be upset about it. You have the two best men in the world in your life and one of them has swimmers tough enough to beat your birth control, apparently. "So we lay off the rampant werewolf sex for the next eight or nine months or however long. But...baby...parents? That's something to celebrate, isn't it?"

"Who knows what could be in your belly?" Frankie snarls, lashing out in his own anguish and fear. He has no clue what could happen. Does this curse travel through his seed? Could it spawn another wolf from your womb? Even worse, could the thing in your stomach kill you? Frankie's blood runs cold at the idea. "Maybe the wolf decides to kill you next time. No." He shakes his head. "I'm not letting that happen."

"Frankie." Moving from his arms to his face, you hold him steady when he tries to flinch again and force him to look you in the eye. "We have no idea what's going to happen next." That's not something you can deny. It's simple fact, as much as you hate it. "But whatever it is, the three of us are going to face it together. As a family. That's what we agreed on when we said our vows. For better or worse, in sickness and in health." You could kick your own ass for the water behind your eyes, knowing that he sees it and knowing that he blames himself for hurting you. But in reality? You know he's thinking about running and the idea of living a life without him is the scariest and most terrible thought in the whole world. "Maybe love won't fix anything, but it's sure as hell not something to let go of."

"I can't— If something happened to you – if I did something to you—" Frankie lets out a small sob, shaking his head and closing his eyes to keep from bawling again. "I couldn't— I couldn't live it with. I wouldn't live with it. And I— I just— Benny—"

"C'mere, baby." He lets you pull him in this time, thank god, and you hold Frankie against your frame as tightly as you can. Neither of you has looked over to the bed yet so neither of you sees that Benny has woken up at some point in your argument - because of course he has. It's not as though you were being quiet. You've been too frantic in trying to keep Frankie from leaving his goddamn family. "Whatever happens, it's going to happen with all three of us there. If something happens to me then you two are going to have a baby to take care of, and that's just the way it is." A baby. Holy shit... "It's okay to be scared. Or to be sorry. But we're never ever going to stop loving you."

It breaks him. Your words tear at the tiny sliver of composure he was holding onto, and his knees hit the ground, dragging you down with him as he clings to you. Wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into your shoulder as he sobs. Harsh, heavy, guttural sobs from the very depths of his soul.

"We're going to figure it out, baby." You can't promise that everything is going to be okay, since you have no idea what is going to happen at all, but you do know that you'll push yourself to the end of the earth to find a happy solution if you possibly can. Rocking Frankie against your chest, you finally look over at the bed when you feel the mattress move beside you, and only see Benny leaning in to wrap his arms around both of you a second before it happens.

"Yeah," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Frankie's head before squeezing tight. "We are. We're going to figure it out." Despite being terrified, there is a sense in him now of knowing that it's okay to be scared. Probably because the word he woke up to was pregnant, and that was about the scariest and best thing in the world he could possibly think of.

Frankie jerks back, his eyes wide and full of self loathing as he searches Ben's face, and settles on the bandage on his lover's shoulder. "I—I'm so sorry Benjamin." He whimpers, shaking. his head. "I didn't—I can't— Jesus."

“Don’t start with that ‘Benjamin’ bullshit,” he huffs, wiping the tears from Frankie’s eyes with his thumb. “This isn’t some mission and we’re sure as hell not writing a report, so it’s Ben or Benny just like always, okay?” They both sniffle, and Benny presses his forehead to Frankie’s like a solid force. “A-are…are we really pregnant?” To him, it will be the glorious silver lining to anything else that comes next.

Frankie huffs, shaking his head at how Benny is focusing on the fact that he had told you that you’re pregnant, rather than the very real damage he might have done. “Yeah.” He admits after a second. “Her scent is changed.”

“Okay.” Benny blows out a breath, nodding slightly before he presses a kiss to Frankie’s forehead and then yours. “Then…then I think we need to do some traveling,” he tells you both quietly. “I thought about it all night until I just couldn’t think anymore, and we need to go back down to whatever godforsaken jungle we were in when you got bitten in the first place and find out whatever they know. If that baby is yours, it can’t be first time this has happened. And if it’s mine?” He shrugs and cracks a grin. “Then at least he’ll be tall.”

Frankie huffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m not short, you’re just a goddamn tree.”

“One that you both love to climb.” Benny winks, glad to see that Frankie has at least stopped crying for now.

“Ben…” He doesn’t know exactly what he wants to say, but he just stares at his lover with an expression of deep remorse.

“It was an accident.” Shifting to the edge of the bed, Benny slips off the mattress to join the two on you the rug. “It could have happened even if we did use chains faithfully. And it’s sure as fuck not going to make me stop loving you.”

“You might change your mind when you have your own time of the month.” Frankie grumbles.

“If that happens, we’ll cross that bridge then.” Benny promises. He leans in, placing a soft but earnest kiss on Frankie’s lips. “Until then you can dress my wound like a sexy nurse.”

The wounded look in Frankie’s eyes has everything to do with it being his fault that Benny is even wearing a bandage. This is so much more different than any other injury that he had witness on the younger Miller brother. “Let me see it.” He murmurs softly, reaching for the edges of the tape.

“It wasn’t too bad,” you assure him, glancing at Benny as Frankie reaches to pull back the blood-stained gauze you had taped to his shoulder after cleaning the gash. It wasn’t too deep, but it looked like it would definitely leave a scar. One you would have all have to agree on a cover story for. “Oh shit…” the words leave your mouth before you can stop them, but the wind is knocked out of both you and Frankie at the same time when he peels back the first aid tape. There is no scar. Not a single mark or even freckle. Not a single trace of the injury is left behind for the naked eye to see.

Frankie sighs, his heart plummeting to his feet. He knows what this means. “Well fuck…”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @spideysimpossiblegirl  @adancedivasmom  ​

My Masterlist!

[flightlessangelwings]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Lamo so you sent me this like over a month ago and I’m just now seeing it 😂😂😂 My bad 😅😅 But thank you so much for sending me this!!! 💖💖💖

1. In My Arms (Over and Over Again)- Loki x gn!reader. Loki is trapped in a time loop that ends with reader’s death and he has to figure out how to escape it and save reader… and feelings are discovered in the process. One of my favorite things I’ve ever written, and it’s the only fic that’s made my partner and beta reader cry lol

2. Just Kiss Like Real People Do- tasm!Peter x afab!reader. I’m so proud of this fic! Friends with benefits, protective Peter, pining, heated love confessions, this has it all!

3. Messy Pile of Affection- Frankie Morales x fem!reader x Benny Miller. What started as a one shot grew into a 3 part series plus extras because I fell in love with this thruple!

4. Bounty- Din Djarin x fem!reader. A cnc with Din that has both rough and soft elements. An older fic but still one I’m very fond of!

5. Comfort in Your Embrace- Joel Miller x fem!reader. Pining, protective Joel, heated smut, this is everything I love to read in a fic lol. This is one I actually re read the most too!

[green-socks]

Invisible Locket masterlist

BENNY MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

A relaxed fit series of Frankie, reader, and Benny navigating their feelings and relationships with each other, varying from mutual pining to domestic bliss and everything in between. This is me fulfilling all of my fishben throuple dreams in one place. Installments will happen out of order and whenever the mood strikes, but I'll list them here in chronological order.

Notes: Check individual chapters for warnings! But we deal with adult themes, so on the whole this series is rated M.

Flashback

[pedge-page]

Sharing is Caring - Series

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

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

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

* contains explicit content 18+ ONLY

1. Happy Hour *

2. Appetizer *

3. Four Course Meal *

4. Dessert *

5. Leftovers *

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

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

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

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5k

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

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

Masterlist. Inbox.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I built your couch!"

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

"He did! It needed assembling!"

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

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

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

Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.

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

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

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

You shrug, squeezing him tight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Living Room. Benny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Had what?"

"A hickey."

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

"Seriously?"

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

Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.

"You want one?"

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

"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"

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

"No games, baby."

"No?"

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

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

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

You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

"Whatever you want, baby."

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

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

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

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

"That's half the fun, baby!"

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bathroom. Frankie.

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

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

"Hey, you guys. You okay?"

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

"Anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

"What?"

"Don't call a guy!"

"Why not?"

"I'll do it."

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

"Do you... know how?"

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

You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.

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

"Of course I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Me too," he says quietly.

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

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

He goes to protest, but you cut him off.

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

Frankie stares at you for a moment.

"You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

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

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

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

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

"You tell me everyday, Frankie."

"I do?"

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Kitchen. Santiago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks slowly, before winking at you.

"Surprise."

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He knows what.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

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

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

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

"Good times, huh?"

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

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

"What are you making, cariño?"

You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.

"Nothing."

He smiles, Cheshire cat style.

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

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

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

"What was that? Hmm?"

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

"I'm making you a cake."

He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.

"You are?"

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

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

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

"There's a party too?"

"Shit."

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

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

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

"I made a list."

"Of?"

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

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

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

"What?"

"Painting your goddamn kitchen."

You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."

"It's not that bad."

"It's terrible."

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

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

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

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of nothing I want more."

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bedroom. Will.

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

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

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

"Honey?"

"Shit, sorry. The green one?"

"Please."

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

"You okay over there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...Hmm?"

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

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

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

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

"Is that a good thing?"

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

"You're a smooth talker, Miller."

"I learned from the best."

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

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

You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.

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

"That's my girl."

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

"We did a good job."

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

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

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

"I'm always looking at you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will?"

"Yeah, honey?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You ready to keep building?"

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

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

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

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

He grins at you, pecking your lips.

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

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

"Can I get that in writing?"

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

"Do what?"

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

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

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

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

You and Will's first dance.

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

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

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

"It's perfect," Will agrees.

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

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

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

"Love you, hermosa."

"Love you too, cariño."

"Love ya, baby!"

"I love you, honey."

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

@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me

Series, ongoing

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

Week after week, under the crushing weight of his body, you learn to find yourself. Week after week, under the reverence of your touch, he allows himself to heal. Why can’t this last forever, when you’re so good to each other?

Set a few months after the TF events. 

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC fem!Reader Written in reader format but Reader is an OFC. There are sparse but still present physical descriptions, she has a thorough background, and a name.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

TW: THERE WILL BE NO TRIGGER WARNINGS ON INDIVIDUAL CHAPTERS. So please tread carefully because there will be (blood) (kidding, just mine) mentions of: PTSD, death, infidelity, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, stomach bug & hospitalization, light bondage, rough sex, size kink taken to the next level, lots of bodily fluids (come spit and sweat, sweat come and spit, the usual suspects), questionable (very bad) decisions, unprotected sex like woa, intense darker Frankie, where’s my feminism at, this man, this man, this man. You know the drill.

A/N: alright orange besties, here we go again, I once more locked up Frankie in a bedroom with a girl... More or less an alternate exploration of my favourite tropes: love at first sight, soulmates, forever love, pleasure and pain, hard sex/sweet love, flourishing through a lover's care and attention, Frankie being a B I G boy... Are you in? 🥺 Also, I’ve never set a foot in Florida, bear with me, I'm trying my best. This is going to be a little rougher kind of Frankie, but still our Pilot™️. I hope you enjoy the flight 🧡 

A very special and heartfelt orange THANK YOU to my love @deadmantis for the moodboards & inspos that went straight into the header for this series 🧡 Deadmantis, I love you in every colour.

Chapters

Prologue - In The Beginning

Chapter 1 - Dirt

Chapter 2 - Closer

Chapter 3 - The Man At The Frontier

Chapter 4 - Frankie (coming... before May. I hope. Tell my employer to leave me alone)

Chapter 5 - ...

Chapter 6 - ...

Epilogue - ...

Playlist

[romanarose]

Triple Frontier Write-A-Thon

Hosted by @romanarose and @for-a-longlongtime

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

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

How it works

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rules

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

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

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

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

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

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

LGBT themes are highly encouraged, not required.

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

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

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

Remember to reblog and comment to support artists!

Please come to us with any questions!