#it's late so if it doesn't make sense I will just edit the tags tomorrow

[koeal]

I didn't forget about his bday what do you mean

[ohforficsakelibrary]

The Margay: Chapter 1

There Was Bogotá That One Time

series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santi ropes Frankie into a trial-run mission that doesn't go to plan but comes with one hell of a consolation prize.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC x Santiago Garcia in this part but only in this part because Bogotá was just the once. No age gap.

Word Count: 3.8K

Rating: Explicit 18+/ the beginnings of a threesome, Santi has a filthy mouth, oral over underwear bc Frankie’s a tease (f receiving) / Minors DNI

A/N: Hoooly cowww, thank you all so much for the love on Dominica as my first little foray into this world. And a special thank you to everyone who has liked and shared. Your comments (and tags!) have truly given me life.

OFC here is the reader from Dominica, although I may play with future side chapters where I flip to that pov again. No taglist, but I'll mark everything with #ohforficsake. I do hope you enjoy. Edited 11/3 - I've been asked so I will be doing a taglist, drop me a line if you're interested!

“Who the fuck else is out here, Pope?”

“No one,” Santiago sweeps the clearing in a quick circle, butt of his gun still dug into his shoulder, “no one else is supposed to be out here.”

Things hadn’t gone sideways and he hadn’t called anyone in.

And yet the mark stares back at him through lifeless eyes the same color as the leaflitter he threatens to stain red.

“Well,” Frankie gestures vaguely where he’s knelt down next to the still-warm body. “This ain’t local.”

The high-caliber bullet that blew out the back of the man’s skull is most assuredly not Nicaraguan-made.

“We have to move, Fish,” Santi says before letting out a sharp whistle. A signal to the men holding the perimeter to circle up.

“Nah, if whoever did this wanted us dead…” He lets the words hang in humid jungle air, propping the brim of his cap up just far enough to swipe damp hair from his forehead. “The angle of it’s weird though,” Frankie cants big dark eyes up into the trees even though that makes no goddamn sense.

The men have moved in by now and one of them lets out a low hiss.

“El Caucel.”

“Crees eso?” Santiago's gaze cuts towards him and then over at two other men nodding in agreement.

Two more from their team had departed towards the trucks the moment they saw the carnage.

Frankie stands upright with knitted brows before finding Santiago���s gaze.

He’s met with an imperceptible shake of the head.

And so he doesn’t open his mouth again until they’re back in their hotel room.

_____

“You got an explanation for that, Pope?”

“Not a good one.” Santi sits on the edge of a twin bed and unlaces his boots before toeing them off and flopping backwards.

Frankie stays standing, hands on his hips.

“Someone’s out there with high-caliber shit we didn’t even have as Deltas and that’s all you have to say.”

“That’s all I fuckin’ know, Fish. Look, at least we’re on the same side, ok? For now we’re on the same side. Fuck, I need a shower.”

He’s on his feet now. Clearly rattled.

“What’s El Caucel? A group? Where’d they get that kind of heat?”

“I don’t know, Fish. I don’t know if El Caucel is one guy or five…”

Santi doesn’t realize it but he’s pacing the room.

He’s useless like this.

“Go take a fuckin’ shower, Pope.”

“I need a fucking beer.”

_____

Frankie doesn’t speak again until they’re both perched on plastic chairs at the back of an open-air bar, cumbia blaring through tired but persistent speakers, waves lapping at the shore nearly on beat.

“I don’t like it, Pope," he mutters after a sip of beer. "I don’t like that people we don’t know, using shit that we don’t have, know the same things we do," each point punctuated by a finger stabbed into the table.

“They’re after the same people that we are, Fish. We were fifteen minutes late, more than likely that was our backup. I have a call out to my guy, but he’s out of pocket until tomorrow. Can we at least just leave it at that for the night?”

Somehow Santiago’s nerves aren’t as frayed as they were an hour ago.

“This isn’t what I signed up for, Pope.”

“You signed up to kill bad men and get paid, Fish. A bad man is dead today and I don’t know if you took a look at your bank account, but it’s $25K heavier than it was this morning.”

“We didn’t pull that trigger.”

“Take the fuckin’ win, Catfish.”

It's low out of Santiago's mouth. Like an order.

Frankie doesn’t run like this. Not with unknown eyes on them. And he doesn’t take money for jobs he didn’t finish. He agreed not to ask who was bankrolling this little excursion, he trusted Santi’s judgment enough for that, but things were starting to fall out of alignment.

The last time that happened they lost someone.

He doesn’t like how fucking cool Santi is right now either.

And Santiago pipes up as though he can hear the gears in Fish's head gnashing against one another. “Look, Fish. You’ve got a cold beer, the Caribbean fuckin’ Ocean right there, you’re in a beautiful tropical country instead of freezing your balls off in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere in February..."

"...There are hot girls in this bar.”

“Pope.”

“Do you trust me, Fish?”

Dark eyes lock over the table, Frankie searching for something Santi won’t give away. It takes at least a minute for the tight line of Fish’s mouth to soften into his usual pout.

“It’s a sea.”

“What?” Santi swallows a mouthful of beer.

“The Caribbean Sea.”

“Right, fuckin’, okay.” Santi grins. “The goddamn Caribbean Sea. Just enjoy it, Catfish.”

It’s not a good enough explanation, not by a fucking long shot, but he hates admitting that Santi is right. For the next few hours, there’s nothing they can do.

And for a moment, Corona and lime on his tongue and the thought of $25K in his bank account makes him ignore the insistent scratching in the back of his brain.

Dark eyes sail over Santi’s shoulder and happen to land on a woman reading in the corner, all brown skin and black curls that skim the tops of her shoulders. He can't help but notice the way she's left a few buttons on her linen shirt open.

Can't help but notice the way it allows the curve of one breast to peek out when she reaches for her drink.

“I saw her first.” Santi knows exactly where he’s looking.

“I wouldn’t, actually,” Frankie attempts to clarify, but his half-hard cock says otherwise.

“I would.”

“We’re sharing a room, Pope.”

“I’ll put a sock on the doorknob. Plus there was Bogotá that one time,” Santi arches a brow and grins before draining the rest of his beer.

Bogotá that one time and a blonde between the two of them.

There’s more space than you'd think on a twin bed.

“With $25K you can get your own goddamn room.” Fish quips.

Bogotá was before his girl. Before his kid.

“So could you. Honestly. I think you need it, Francisco. Come on, what happens in Nicaragua…”

“Nah, I’m…”

“Yeah, you need it. I’m doin’ it.”

Pope is out of his chair before Fish can bite back.

"Fuckin’ idiot," Frankie mutters under his breath and directs his gaze out to sea.

“Excuse me, miss?” Santiago purrs in Spanish, leaning over the woman’s table, his most disarming smile playing on his lips.

She angles huge green eyes up from her book and waits for Santi to continue.

“My friend over there,” Santi nods his head in Frankie’s direction. “Thinks you look like you could use a refill.”

“Your friend, or you?” She answers in the same tongue.

Santi’s teeth catch on his bottom lip.

“Myee, my uh, my friend.” Santi slips in English. “Mi amigo.”

Freud would have loved that one.

The woman sets her book aside and reaches for a packet of cigarettes, eyes cutting over to Frankie as she taps the top of the box on the table. He's lit up by red and yellow light and staring out across sand.

Plush lips wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle, wishing the ocean would come crashing through this fuckin’ bar.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Freddie.”

“Tell Freddie I’ll take a gin and soda with lime, but only if he does his dirty work himself and sits down here with me.” She lights up a cigarette. “I suppose you can stay too.”

Santi lets out a sharp whistle that has Frankie on higher alert than he’d care to admit.

“Gin and soda,” Santi calls over his shoulder. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Arabela,” she tosses the packet on top of her book.

“Sam,” Santi offers his hand and she takes it, surprised when Santi presses his lips to her knuckles.

Surprised in a turned-off way.

"What are you reading?"

She lifts the packet of Parliaments so he can glance at the title.

The Living Daylights.

"You like spy novels?"

"I think they're funny."

Frankie appears at last, two fresh beers, one gin, and three shots of tequila balanced easily between two massive hands.

The tequila was an impulse but he needs something stronger than Corona if this is Bogotá Round Two.

Which apparently it became the moment Frankie stood up from his seat.

“Freddie, this is Arabela.”

“Mucho gusto.” Frankie’s hand is shy.

All of Frankie is shy.

“I do speak English, if that’s more comfortable.”

“An American.” Santi perks up. “Where are you from, sweetheart?”

“Florida.”

“Ahh, Texas,” he jabs a thumb towards Frankie and then his own chest “and Miami. What part of Florida?”

“Orlando.”

Jesus this is boring.

_____

She actually just showed up here for dinner and a buzz because it was five minutes down the beach from her hotel. A function of convenience, nothing more.

And now with dinner over, she finds herself in need of another gin.

She’s up at the bar when two more men wander in. Not locals but not uncomfortable here either. Military, past or present, from the sound of their boots on the wood planks. 

She quickly steals a glance over her shoulder. Military boys aren’t uncommon down here, and frankly not particularly interesting, but these two aren’t standard issue.

One of them looks like a good time and the other looks like trouble. 

Trouble slips into a plastic chair at a table in the corner, choosing the seat that allows him to face the door. Good Time on the other hand is skating dark eyes over her bare legs.

She runs the top of one foot over her calf just for kicks as the bartender hands over fresh gin, and turns to leave the very moment that Good Time sidles up.

God it’s too easy. 

She’s not here for this tonight. 

But it’s been three, or was it four, months and she’s not opposed to it either.

Trouble is heated about something when his friend returns with beers.

He’s cute. 

Not in a classically handsome way, his friend has that in spades.

Cocksure, chiseled jaw, perfectly coiffed hair. 

No, Trouble is cute in a wound spring kind of way.

The kind of way that looks absolutely beautiful coming wildly undone.

What the fuck is in this gin tonight. 

Ten minutes later when Good Time struts over, she decides she definitely isn't opposed. 

_____

“What are you doing down here, baby girl?”

“Vacation. Just needed a break from work, I guess.”

Her phone buzzes face-down on the table and Santi Sam laughs.

“I like your phone case,” he grins as he pulls an identical one from his pocket.

Jesus Christ its a regular fucking Amazon phone case, how do we move this along.

“So what are you boys up to?”

He’s probably going to say something stupid like…

“Just appreciating the scenery.”

Yeah.

She checks her watch. It’s barely gone 19:30, she could still have a perfectly enjoyable night on her own. 

Nope.

“Look,” she leans over the table as Good Time leans in and Trouble leans back, “I’m sure that works on someone else, but today’s not your day.”

Santi braces for the crash. 

“You didn’t come over here just to chat and I’m more than happy to save all of us the grief. What’s on the table?”

“Both of us.” 

No one at the table was expecting Frankie to be the one to speak up.

Pope shoots Frankie a look that swims with ‘hadn’t expected but not opposed...’

“If that’s what you want.” Frankie rumbles, arm draped over the back of his chair. 

Trouble.

Something searing and unspoken in a language that Pope doesn’t understand passes between them.

“What’s your word, sweetheart?” He continues with the barest nod of his head in her direction, eyes dark. And starved. 

 “Bogotá.”

She hadn’t overheard them. There’s no way she could have with the music in this place.

And Frankie throws back his tequila because Frankie's not a man to question the Universe when it hands him something.

“Close the tabs,” a firm hand squeezes Santi’s shoulder as Fish stands. “Hers and ours. You. With me.”

Her with him finds them both outside, her back against the wall of the bar, cigarette nestled between her fingers, Frankie close enough that the heat coming off of him sets her nerves tingling.

He hasn’t laid a hand on her yet. One’s braced on the wall near her head, the other on his hip.

He’s angled such that she has room to slip away.

“Are you sure you want this? You can leave right now and I’ll get him out of here and we’ll pretend we never met.”

Dark eyes track the fingers that bring the cigarette to her lips.

“Is that what you want?”

“I didn’t ask about me,” he rumbles, shifting slightly closer and answering her question with his form.

“Right now,” she tilts her head to blow smoke away from him, “there’s nothing I want more.”

Frankie reaches for her cigarette, freely offered, taking a puff before he dashes it out. His fingers move to trail feather-light across her collarbone and over the buttons of her shirt nudging it open a hair.

He glances back up at her eyes and then her lips, plush and parted and waiting, and Frankie decides he can't wait any longer.

He slides the brim of his cap around backwards as his hand slides up her neck, thumb brushing her bottom lip before he replaces it with his mouth.

When Pope breezes through the door, Frankie nabs him by the back of the shirt, tongue never leaving her mouth. He pulls, slamming Santi against the wall before tearing himself away and taking a step back. His thumb comes up to brush the corner of his mouth, surveying them both.

Her dark hair is wild from his greedy fists, lips and chin reddened from his attention.

Santiago’s eyelids are heavy as he stares back.

“You started without me.” It’s restrained, darkly matter-of-fact. She reaches her hand over to wrap around the back of Pope’s neck and guides him to her, tasting his bottom lip and then his tongue. She slants half-closed eyes over to hold Frankie’s stare as she moans into Pope’s mouth.

Frankie nearly reaches out to rip her away.

“We gotta go,” is what he opts for instead.

_____

Not five minutes later, Santi’s back is pressed against the door to their hotel room. Her back is pressed to his chest. And Frankie is on his knees in front of her, nose pressed into the crotch of her cargo shorts.

Santi’s lips skate up the side of her neck as his hands splay across her stomach under her shirt, hips already searching for friction. She reaches back intending to slip her phone and card holder out of the back pockets of her shorts out of the need to feel Pope there unimpeded, pressed flush against her. He catches on, taking them both from her hands and placing them on the side table, fingertips bypassing two layers of cotton to slip just under the waistband of her underwear. He pulls her back against him by her hipbones, grinding the hardness in his jeans against the curve of her ass and she whimpers at the way it puts her just out of reach of Frankie's mouth.

Frankie pulls his shirt off up over his head, taking his backwards cap with it, and tossing them both over his shoulder into the room. He stands to occupy her mouth with his own while Pope unbuttons his shirt and lands it over the luggage rack. Santi meets Frankie’s eyes over her shoulder and nods. Fish breaks the kiss as Pope’s hands pull her against his chest once more. 

She leaves one hand on Frankie’s cheek and reaches the other up to tangle in Santiago’s hair. 

“We’re gonna take such good care of you, baby,” Santiago purrs into her ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he continues, mouth hot on her neck.

Frankie watches for a moment, taking in the way her plush lips are parted before he’s on his knees again. 

He needs to be here. Needs to feel the heat of her on his face. Needs to get rid of this fucking fabric.

“I’m gonna hold you right here,” Santiago purrs, skating his nose over the shell of her ear, “and he’s gonna eat that pretty pussy of yours,” one hand rides further up her stomach under her shirt, “because that’s his favorite thing in the world.”

Frankie can feel goosebumps appear where he’s stroking his palms over her calves, lips tracing the chill up her thighs.

“Would you like that, pretty girl?” Santi voice is a heady whisper now, and her head falls back into the crook of his shoulder as she hums in approval.

“Need to hear you say it, baby,” Frankie murmurs against her skin.

“God, yes,” she moans and immediately Santi’s mouth finds hers, fingers making quick work of the button on her shorts. Frankie helps her out of her sandals and Pope unzips her, thumbs sliding the fabric down over her hips, passing the task off to Frankie’s fingers to take the rest of the way before moving to do the same with her underwear.

“Leave it,” Frankie bats Pope’s hands away, settling one of his own against the curve of her hip, running the other up over the back of one thigh before breathing heat against her mound. She reflexively cants her hips back against Pope’s and he hears the phone in his back pocket knock against the door before it’s tossed carelessly along with his wallet to join hers on the side table. She runs one hand over Frankie’s forearm, fingers of the other still wound in Santi’s hair.

Plush lips trace the seams of her underwear, falling everywhere but where she wants them.

And so she reaches both hands down, tangling fingers in his soft curls, short nails impatiently scraping at his scalp and she feels him smirk against her inner thigh.

Frankie hooks a hand around the back of her knee, guiding her leg over his shoulder.

“Hold her, Pope.”

Santi’s arm hooks firmly around her ribcage.

She spares a thought for the use of a call sign before suddenly there’s pressure and damp, open-mouthed heat breathed against the sodden cotton covering her core. The leg that’s still on the ground buckles, but Santiago holds her firm, grinning against her mouth.

They work well together, these two.

Frankie’s tongue traces the contours of her folds through the fabric, humming with pleasure at what little taste of her he’s able to get at. He can already tell from the feel of this alone that she’s bare below the cotton and his cock jumps at the thought.

And his cock jumps again at the thought of sharing the thought.

“Pretty girl?” Frankie rumbles, teeth catching gently against her mound as he angles his eyes up at her. “If I were to take these off…” he hooks a finger through the waistband of her panties and lets it snap against her flushed skin.

“I wouldn’t find anything under there, would I?”

He pauses and Santiago feels her grin against his mouth.

“I don’t think you would, Fish.”

“No, I think,” the bridge of his nose bumps against her clit just so and she groans against Santi’s lips. “I think you’re completely bare under here.” He inhales deep and her fingers tighten in his curls. “All of that smooth…soft…skin.” Each word punctuated by a kiss before he sucks, open mouthed against the core of her.

Pope has to hold her again.

Santi’s free hand skates up to palm her right shoulder where cream linen has fallen open before slipping his fingers under the strap of her bra, guiding it down her arm.

And Santiago’s not so much in control so much as he’s just the one they let speak.

“Is he good, princesa?” Santi asks against her lips in the lowest register of his voice. “Does his mouth feel good on you?” Santiago reaches down over her collarbone, under her shirt and bra to palm her breast, one arm still firmly locked around her ribcage.

“Fuck,” she gasps, “so good.”

Frankie hums his thanks and moves a little higher to flick his tongue over her clit. He dwells here a while, alternating light and fast with the tip of his tongue with slower, firmer strokes with the flat of it. The cotton of her thong is soaked from her slick and his mouth, and it’s not long before she turns her lips away from Santiago, panting and moaning in time with Frankie’s flicks.

“She’s close, Fish,” Pope breathes against her pulse.

“Mmm hmm,” he hums, the rumble of it causing her to buck her hips against him. Frankie lets go from where strong fingers have been digging into the thigh over his shoulder and brings his hand to her hip, both palms now holding her firm against Santi.

She can feel how hard he is through the denim that scratches against the curve of her ass. How it's taking all of Santiago's control not to grind against her there. Not to send her knocking against Fish's teeth.

Neither of these men have actually put skin against anything that matters, and yet she’s falling apart between them. 

No sooner does the thought cross her mind than Frankie hooks a thumb into the crotch of her thong, pulling the gusset to the side.

He hums deep and low because he was right.

He’s just about to lick a stripe through her glistening folds when a clattering buzz rings out into the room.

All three of them startle.

Santi spares a glance down at the side table where the offending phone is casting blue light into the room.

His contact’s number.

“Fuuck,” he growls, “I gotta get this. Take her to bed, Fish.” Frankie lets her leg down from his shoulder, “and don’t you fucking dare make her come without me.”

“No promises,” he mumbles between kisses, allowing her to move him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sits and she straddles his hips and he bucks up against her, telegraphing what's on offer.

She presses her forehead against his as he fights to nip at her jaw, cursing softy at the feel of him before her fingers scramble to unzip his jeans.

Frankie grins, arm wrapping tight around her waist, and grinds his crotch against her heat as Santi picks up the phone.

“Hey honey, I uh...I can’t really talk right now,” Santi’s voice rings out from the hallway as if he wasn’t half naked and panting.

She props herself up briefly without breaking Frankie’s kisses in an effort to quiet the moans that he can’t seem to keep in his throat. He runs his palms down her sides to fit on her hips and pull but she’s strong. 

“Santiago? Well, now that’s interesting.”

“How...how's that, babe, you called me?”

“Santiago, this isn’t your phone.”

And Santiago's blood runs cold.

next

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted to Ohforficsake - follow me over there for future updates.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

[knockknockchicagopd]

❛ I'M NOT BULLETPROOF ❜

❚❙ REQUEST BY ANON: Hello, here’s the request all sort out ... could I get a Antonio imagine where the reader is related to someone on the unit? With the prompts (fluff 3/ 7) and also could you make it smut? Thank you once more!

❚❙ PROMPTS: “I just wanted to hear your voice”. / “We can pretend that nothing happened last night, but it did”.

❚❙ ANTONIO DAWSON MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 2k.

❚❙ WARNINGS: nsfw, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to my amazing @sonsofeorl.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @inlovewith3 @ocetevasgirl @anotherfan07 @destynelseclipsa @jadakiss13. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

“Hey…”

“Antonio?”

Sitting up on your bed tossing away the sheets, you turn on the small lamp somewhat worried. It's too late and his gloomy tone of voice worries you. For Jay, you know it hasn't been a good week in the way of the delicate case they have had in his hands. A guy who used to rape and murder officers, just because he thought they didn't deserve to live. In the academy, the instructors teach you to catch the bad people but not to deal mentally with what they do. Every cop has their own way to confront him. Your brother, for example, likes to play videogames to escape from the world.

“You okay?” Whispering, you curl up your legs to your chest, resting your cheek on them.

“Yeah, just wanted to hear your voice”.

You can't help but draw a shy smile on your lips, feeling your face slightly burning. You can't lie and say that he hasn't attracted you since Jay introduced you. He has always been kind and tender, and more funny than your middle-brother had told you.

Last night you went to dinner after work and he drove you to your house. And no, you weren't expecting him to kiss you, just as he wasn't expecting you to correspond it with something else than a physical attraction. You can assure that you're in love with him, but you know you are falling for him a little more every time Antonio looks at you and smiles for no reason.

“Whe—Where are you?”

“Close to the beach. Walking. Clearing my head”.

Puckering your lips, placing your eyes over the large window in front of your bed, you try to not succumb to a new necessity you didn't know you had.

“Wanna come over…?”

“I'd like it”. The murmur appears after some seconds of silence, racing your heart for an instant.

“'Key, see you now”. Biting your bottom lip to contain a smile, you hang up the call.

You decide to get up from bed, being aware that if you stay there you'll end up falling asleep again. The beach isn't too far from your house, knowing the way to perfection. It's your favorite place to have something for dinner after a long shift in the cafeteria you work in. Taking the advantage to bring some order in your flat, you lose track of time till the knocks on the main door claims your attention.

Accommodating your hair, you lead your bare feet to the entrance not being able to hide the soft smile that curves up the corners of your lips, when you receive him. Antonio looks tired to death, not wasting time to hug you under the door frame. Surrounding his neck with both arms you take a step to hold him closer, being overwhelmed by all the sensations he is transmitting to you in such a simple gesture.

The hug lasts longer than you could think, not being bothered by that, enjoying every second of his warmth wrapping you. Hearing him sigh with his forehead resting over your shoulder, you push some distance between both to let him come inside and close the door after his steps.

“Wanna drink something? I have beer, coke, whisky… Water?”

“No, I'm good”. He just replies, taking off his jacket to hang it on a chair. “Listen… we can pretend that nothing happened last night. But it did. I don't wanna put pressure on you and I know who your brothers are, but… I really like you. I've been thinking about you, about us, the whole day. In my job you know when you start to work, but you don't know if you'll come home and I don't want to lose the opportunity of being with you, of leaving this world knowing… that I've made you happy”.

These words, the desperation in his voice as he is finishing them, leaves you speechless. Your brain is trying to process what Antonio has just said, keeping his trembling hands inside the pocket of his jeans. The first thing you can think about is that you don't care about Jay, nor Will. They only want for you a man who treats you like you deserve. The best of the best. And the man in front of you is it.

“I can leave, if you wan'me to”.

“Wh— no, no, no”. You fastly reply, taking the steps enough to shorten the distance between the two of you, aware that you've spent too many seconds without saying anything, making him doubt that you don't feel exactly like he does. “I… Antonio, I…”

As soon as you understand that you're not able to form a sentence with sense, you simply place your hands on both sides of his neck while standing on your tiptoes, to crash your lips on his. It doesn't take him by surprise, being what he was waiting for more than for a talk. Bending down slightly, he lifts you up to urge you to surround his waist with your legs. The necessity of feeling each other closer and closer is suffocating you, leaving you breathless because of the passion concentrated in the kiss.

Antonio brings you to your room fastly than you can assimilate, falling on the bed when his knees collide with the mattress. The kiss breaks because of the laughs with a sensation of joyful filling up your chests. Helping him with his t-shirt to throw it somewhere on the floor, you roll up over his body before attacking his lips again. Biting, sucking and tasting them. Deepening with his tongue invading your mouth to play with yours. His hands paw your body almost desperate to memorize every inch of your anatomy, landing them on your ass when he feels the friction against the rock under his jeans, as soon as you swing your hips.

Antonio tosses off his shoes, heel against heel, sliding his fingers over your body to grab the gems of your t-shirt and take it off to discover your soft and sweet skin. Normally, both you and him, would enjoy some foreplay; but not this time. Not after long months of containing the desire to be together in every way. He needs to be inside you. You need him to be inside of you. And while his lips devour your breasts helping himself with a hand, stealing your honeyed moans, the other undoes his belt and the zip of his jeans. Three simply pulls down and his hardness breaks free to his abdomen.

You can't help but lick your lips strongly, urging you to lie on your back to watch him roll down the black thong left on you by your thighs. The fire burning within his eyes gives you chills, not being able to break eye-contact. Settling himself between your legs, spreading them for his delight, his right hands goes straight to his dick; jerking himself off to prepare for you.

“Look at me…” He almost begs with a broken thread of voice, as his glans rubs your center slowly, playing with your mind. “We're on time to stop”.

“I don't want you to”. Your lips brushes his, wrapping his neck with both arms.

You couldn't regret it. You couldn't regret letting him walk into your life. For letting him love you with so much kind and tenderness. Antonio is everything you could have dreamt with all your life, and you're not going to let him go. He just nods in silence with his eyes fixed on yours, digging himself inch by inch inside you. The warmth and the wetness within your cunt make him grunt and shake slightly, feeling by his part how his length forces your wall a little creating a delicious sensation.

“Fuck…” You sigh nailing your fingertips on the back of his neck when he reaches your limits.

Buried deep inside you, one of your legs surrounds his waist trying to push him closer.

“You feel so good, amor”. He babbles pecking your lips with sloppy kisses, placing his right hand on your thigh, as the other wraps your middle back. “You wan'me to move?”

“Please, Antonio”.

He feels proud of hearing you imploring, moving his hips back enough to go forth again, starting a slow dance that curls your tiptoes and causes your eyelids to close. It feels like your bodies are made exactly for the other, fitting to perfection. Soon, your whimpers fill up your room, creating a pleased and delighted echo that it's like a celestial song for the man satisfying you as his only worry tonight. He has the imperious necessity of demonstrating you every single thing he has carried inside his heart since Jay introduced you.

Thrust after thrust, moan after moan, the atmosphere around you is full of heat and devotion for each other. Antonio nails his teeth in your neck without warning you, feeling the tip of his tongue pressing down your skin with soft caresses, being aware that tomorrow you will have a new tattoo. From your lips escape some giggles mixed with surprised gasps, being the match that lights the wildfire inside you.

With a quick move, not knowing where the strength has come from, you sit over him making him laugh. Putting your hands on his bare chest, Antonio travels his to your hips while resting his head on the pillow. If he wasn't in love before, now he really is, watching you taking control. He hasn't ever seen a most beautiful view; you, rocking your body over his, dragging your nails on his skin to bristle it wherever they venture, your breasts almost bouncing with every move (...). If his body were a temple, you would be his goddess without a single damn doubt.

And you can't help but speed up the pace, synchronizing your pleased vocals in a perfect melody all around; increasing them as the knot in your lower belly becomes more suffocating, running your lungs out of air. One of Antonio's hands is placed in your middle back, pushing you down to catch your lips with his. He has declared himself an addict since the very first moment he touched them.

The pearls of sweat decorate your foreheads, as the moans are constant and you can't delay it anymore. The orgasm explodes inside you like fireworks screaming out his name, not caring about the fact that your neighbors can hear you, feeling his hot seed filling you up with a last push to your g-spot. An indescribable sensation that has you two breathless.

You can't help but utter a grunt of disappointment when he pulls himself out of you, falling by a side of your bed trying to catch back your air. Looking at Antonio, the two of you giggle inevitably being conscious of what just happened. But it feels good. It feels so good. Stretching his arms towards you to embrace you against his body, he leans a little to press his lips on yours with so much tenderness, leaving a sigh on them. Resting your heads on the pillow, you place a hand on his cheek to caress it gently with your thumb, watching him close his eyes to only focus on your touch.

“The first time I saw you… I knew your smile would give me some trouble”. You mumble, feeling his grip become a little tightly.

“Did it, uh?”

“Not the kind I thought”.

Antonio chuckles licking his bottom lip, shrugging funnily.

“I'm not gonna say I'm sorry, baby”.

[tumblingdowntheway2019]

Sleepless Nights, Part One (1).

Heelloooo my beautiful pps, how are we all today? Back again with another Head-Canon. 💪😎💕

So this one is when Donna is adopted by Lady Dimitriscu as a new daughter. This is based on the wonderful @charlottefairchildbranwell's story based on a couple of my Head-Canons. Go check check her out, charlottefairchildbranwell wrote some amazing and entertaining stories for them! Here is a link to one of them.

WARNING: BELOW THE CUT, THIS POST WILL CONTAIN TRIGGERS, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION/PTSD/PANIC ATTACKS/GORE, CHILD TRAUMA, TRAUMATIC EVENTS, ETC.

I MAY NOT BE GOOD AT WRITING THESE THINGS, BUT EVEN THEN IT'S BETTER TO WARN YOU.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

With that said, let's begin. Sorry in advance.

😭🙏

LADY DIMITRISCU'S P.O.V.

It had been over a year since Donna started living in Castle Dimitrescu. A full year since Mother Miranda's reign had come to an end.

Things have been going so well for the Doll Maker. She gained more confidence, can hold a conversation with her family and even the Winters' Family without the aid of Angie anymore.

The Lady of the Castle however, began noticing something strange happening with Donna lately. It was small things, but they became more noticeable as of late.

Donna has been more sluggish in her movements, making small and silly mistakes in her everyday tasks and had been spotted dozing off whilst in the middle of tasks or activities.

Lady Dimitrescu tried to ask many times if she was ok, but Donna has been dodging the questions. Her daughters and Angie noted that she was unable to sleep a full night the past few days, but hasn't explained why.

The fact that Angie doesn't have that usual strong mental connection to her closest friend is worrying. But Angie had mentioned at the beginning that these happen occasionally and it will pass soon enough.

DONNA'S P.O.V

It's happening again, she knew it was too good to be true. The nightmares are back with a vengeance.

Donna deliberately severed most of her connection with Angie as to not draw attention to herself. She hates it.

Those nightmares, no, memories? She can't tell now. They are just too real to tell.

The Doll Maker doesn't know what triggered this, but she didn't want to worry her family.

She tried to act normal in order to to fend off any suspicion, but she was just so tired. Mistakes over simple tasks have been more noticeable.

Naps are too and far between during the day. The Bat Trio had been trying to cheer her up, Donna's been doing her best to keep them happy. It was a good distraction for a while.

Unfortunately, the nightmares had been making sure that Donna didn't forget in the waking world.

LADY DIMITRISCU'S P.O.V

Lady Dimitriscu had been keeping a closer eye on her daughter. Made sure to be close by should anything happen.

She observed that Donna has been flinching at random shadows or reflections, dozing off with book in hand, nearly dropping it as she jerked herself up and shaking her head.

Something's wrong, but Donna won't speak about it and won't be forced to.

It had been like any other night, Angie decided to join in on a sleepover with the Bat Trio in the Dungeons.

They wanted to tell scary stories and those particular dungeons was always warm enough for them to stay down there.

It had been in the middle of the night, The Lady had been reading one of the many books, ones that she had read many times before.

She was about to turn the oil lantern off when the sound of breaking glass caused her hand to freeze just inches from the dial.

Sharpening her sense, Alcina close her eyes to allow her to focus more on her hearing.

Quiet hitches of breathing was heard.

DONNA'S P.O.V

The Doll Maker woke with a start, it hasn't even been an hour yet. She couldn't even hold onto Angie as she allowed the Bride Doll to go hang out with Bela, Cassandra and Daniela.

It felt all too real. It started off pleasant enough. Donna was in House Beneviento again, opening the door revealed her mother in a rocking chair, knitting.

Donna approached her, hesitant to reach out to the unaware woman.

A call of another girl caught their attention. They look up to see a teenage girl, who was the spitting image of a younger Donna.

"Bernadette?" She quietly says.

Bernadette comes skipping down, unaware of her younger sister's presence as she skips down the stairs and through Donna, as if she were made of mist.

Donna turns to see Bernadette skip off to meet her friends in the village. Their mother calling after her to be sure to return home before the sun begins to set.

In her near forgotten instinct, The Doll Maker silently makes her way to the elevator.

When she entered the elevator, the button was level with her elbow. Something that came in handy as she was always carrying materials that requires both hands to hold.

The elevator reached the basement, she found that everything was bigger than before.

As she walked down the hallway, Donna barely caught her reflection off the glass cabinet. The bottom of the glass was just at eye level.

Upon looking at her reflection, a young girl stared back with her two (2) dark brown eyes. She was a little girl again, maybe no older than seven (7) years old?

She continued to the end of the hallway and through one of the double doors and found her father hunched over one of his latest creations.

Donna knew what was about to happen next, it didn't surprise her any more. She begins to back away as her father slowly sets down his tools.

"Why?" He hoarsely croaked out as dripping sounds were heard. "Why did you do this to us?"

Donna tried to push against the shut door with all her might, but her small frame barely made it budge.

She looked over her shoulder, gasping and began to shake as her father's bloated corpse stood up slowly, movements strongly resembling a puppet being pulled by their strings.

Small waterfalls were coming through the walls and ceiling as father trudged through the ankle deep water.

With one final charge, Donna finally burst through the door and makes a bee-line toward the elevator. The water rising all around her.

Streams of water burst through the ceiling in many spots. Some appearing with such force in front of her that Donna nearly lost her footing on a few occasions.

Her father close behind in his pursuits as the water appeared to allow him to glide in the rising water.

The water was now at the young girl's knees by the time she reached the elevator.

How did the button get so high up?!

After many frantic attempts, Donna successfully jumps up and up against the elevator's wall to press the button.

The grated door shuts, her father's blue, bloated corpse stared at her with angry bloodshot eyes as he slammed and pulled against the grate.

The water descending and emptying the higher the elevator went. Leaving behind a mostly soaked to the bones Donna.

The elevator dutifully opens on the ground floor, Donna reluctantly steps out. The Doll Maker once again knows what's coming next as she trekked through the hallway.

Opening the door to the Living Room, she found her Mother, standing and looking at the ground with a sharpened out knitting needles in each hand.

Eyes filled with rage look up at her as her mother raises her head, voiceless as her mother's mouth moved. But she heard it so many times before that Donna knew what she was saying.

"Your fault."

"Your fault."

"Your fault."

Barely able to dodge the sudden attack, Donna sprints to the front door. Last obstacle.

Bernadette, now aged twenty-one (21) was now blocking the entrance.

END OF PART ONE (1)

_____________________

Edit: Heyo pps, edited some errors, finished the last point and took away the extra blank ones to helps space it out better. Tags were also added in.

A/N - You guys are gonna laugh, I didn't intend on posting this until later. I accidentally posted it before the last point (Bernadette being at the entrance) was done and no tags. 🤣🤣

But I am glad I did, however. Cause this would have been so much longer and I didn't want to bore you guys with so many points. So a part two (2) will be out later on, either tonight or tomorrow. 🤔 Sorry about that. 🤣

Hope you all enjoyed Part One (1) of 'Sleepless Nights.'

Remember, if you wish to use this or the ideas/H.Cs mentioned above, you are always free to do so under the conditions that you credit back to this and myself. That and to please tag me when you are done because I would love to see how it was able to help you out in your stories/art!!

💪😎💕

Hope you all have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening my lovelies!💪😎💕

Part Two (2) linked here! 💕🥰💕

[border-spam]

Leech Lord - Dumbass

Seifa

8 loss streak at cards with Ven and Eli

EIGHT.

Couldn’t cope, went from talking cocky bullshit and swanning around their table to grab her favourite spot against the wall, to swearing under her breath and stink eyeing Ven when he won for the 4th time.

How. She was good at poker. She was made for poker, this wasn't luck anymore - he was clearly cheating. Took no time accusing him of this either, brandishing a shaky lipstick tube at him like a switch blade, snarling that it wasn't funny anymore and to stop using his jank-ass future bullshit to WIN.

Got smirked at lovingly, he wasn't! Swore on his damn life, a laughing Eli joined in and tried to help convince her. Ven wasn't doin’ nothing, she was just losing! This shit happens Sei, calm down!

Absolutely refused to, got more worked up as the drinks kept coming, the wins kept stacking against her, and whatever little injoke the brothers were enjoying apparently kept getting funnier.

Tried to storm out but only managed a half way confident wobble after way too many tequilas, swore up a storm that she'd never come back, they weren't worth her time, bled her dry and cheated. Eli had called after her that they'd see her for a rematch tomorrow.

They did, and she kept losing.

This went on over a week, her intense stubbornness refusing to acknowledge they were just better at poker. I mean they couldn't be, she'd been reading tells since she was FIVE. Her pride wouldn’t let her call it quits - she kept her coming back nightly, and her wallet kept getting slimmer.

It eventually all made sense on the final night when she was ready to flip their goddamn table and Eli was on the verge of needing an oxygen mask with how hard he was pushing his lungs laughing at her red-faced little egotistical shithead tantrums.

He managed to catch it all on E-Time with Troy, the exact moment she finished another volley of slurs and turned to grab her coat, catching her filthy glare in the wall mirror as she did.

The mirror she'd been sitting in front of... every night.

Tyreen and Troy - Early COV

Some of the bandit clans like Troy better. It doesn't upset her, people think it would but it doesn't, it makes sense. Her brother and her are very different, there have always been the groups who shrink away from her and side-eye him in awe, just like there were ones who'd carve their own skin off to offer her praise and not even notice her brother.

The brute clans, the muscle, those always seem to swarm to the God Queen. The Slabs, the Rippers, the cannibal hoards covered in gore and screaming for glory, but the others always flock to her brother. The schemers and the more technically orientated like the Tink-Tanks and Bloodshots... then there's the Rats.. but she doesn't like to think about those.

She prefers not accompanying him when he's visiting a compound she knows he'll get all the attention in, I mean, what would be the point in the end? She'd rather just stay home and wallow in priest's adoration, but he was harder to convince.

He was meant to have left hours ago but was still prowling around the cloister, muttering and complaining to himself as he rushed to try and organise content. If he goes, who's going to cover the editing? They've 4 uploads ready for posting but he's not scheduled them yet, who's going to organise it? What about the media tags, there's a merch push that has to be released 2.5 hours prior and blah blah blah blah.

She told him to shut the hell up and leave it to her. She'd got this, bro! Stop worrying, it's no problem, everything would be fine. She could manage this without breaking a sweat, just fucking shut up and leave already, the escort caravan was hours overdue.

He'd narrowed suspicious eyes at her and asked if she was SURE about this, they had sponsor contracts for the upload times, shit had to go up when it was due to or they'd breach serious deals, and she'd groaned sarcastically at him. Just go. This stuff is easy. Of course she can do it. If he can, she can. Duh.

Troy had gone silent for a moment, glaring daggers as he hissed out controlled breaths, then turned and stalked out of the cloister - the crackling atmosphere dragging behind him like a stormcloud.

Idiot. She had everything sorted that hour. Queued the whole list at staggered intervals, date and times scheduled and planned exactly as he'd left notes for. Easy, just like she'd said.

Tyreen woke up to an e-dev on the verge of crashing and Troy's contact alerts covering the homescreen in flashing warning panels that made her eyes swim.

What the fuck did you DO. WHERE ARE THE UPLOADS?? 6 hours late, 3 flays missing, one product review, ALL THE SPONSOR MERCH DROPS. FUCKING MORON, WHERE ARE THEY.

Her stomach dropped as she checked the queue. Empty. Gone. Nothing. Where were they... she'd.. scheduled everything?? It was done, she'd triple checked before bed she'd... when she noticed the date in the screens corner, time froze around her.

It was the 1st. She'd scheduled for the 30th... and last month had 29 days. System error, queue wiped, content gone.

All his media team's work, his editing, she.. she hadn't backed up the files, why would she have? It was done it was all done she.. she..

She couldn't handle replying. Knew it was just making things worse but couldn't do it. Felt her guts turn inside out at the thought, so climbed under her duvet to wait in dread. Easier to block things out right now than face what was coming. Easier to pretend.

He said nothing when he got back. No contact, straight into Sanctum and at work placating enraged sponsor contacts, organising his team to botch together replacements from cuts, covering the COV's ass silently and efficiently as always.

Said nothing, till she got a ping later that night -

I'll be controlling content management fully from this point on, keep out of my way and stick with whatever the fuck kind of things YOU have talent in... if any.

I mean hell, having an IQ high enough to know how to count days clearly ain't one of them is it, you IDIOT.

Doesn't matter that she knew she deserved it, or that she'd been such a tool to him while insisting she had it covered, that stuck with them after. He'd been too blunt, and she was never able to shake the confirmation that her brother really did think she was stupid.

Ven and Eli belong to the amazing @hieroglyphix​