sashi

📜𝔒𝔫𝔢-𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔱𝔰

More Beautiful - Things happen that you can't explain, and that man is always around. You want to run but he insists you come with him. (smut) (f!Reader) (part 2 will come)

Gun - You take Marc's gun to threaten him but things don't go as you expected (gn!Reader)

Train - A man, Steven, helps you to get on the train but something's wrong with him (f!Reader)

Limo - Your father has an accident and you visit him every day. But one day a stranger, Jake, tells you to come with him (f!Reader)

📜𝔒𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰

Age Regression - Which personality of his would force you to age regression? (gn!Reader)

hobie

♡ hobie definitely wakes you up in the middle of the night if he can't sleep- pulls your panties to the side and makes you ride him, watching with a hand behind his head as you bounce your ass on his cock- thrusting his hips up to meet the rolls of your hips as he sighs, "Fuck- think I'll be wakin' you up every God damn night, baby.." "Yeah do it- fuckin' make me cum-"

♡ hobie losing his FUCKING mind when he sees you hold your folds open for him- giving him the perfect view of his cock entering your pussy again and again-

♡ no bccc. NO BECAUSEEEEEEE. tell me why he'd do this. he'd def dry hump you till you're both moaning against each other's mouths before he'd fuck you, refusing to remove his underwear from before- saying he likes looking at them all stained with your juices as you bounce up and down his cock<3

spider noir

♡ tw!!!somno noir loving seeing you wear tights/stockings, and absolutely loses his mind when he sees you laying like that on the couch- skirt bundled up on the floor, you'd probably taken it off right before laying down, and fuck- it's so fucked up that he's doing this but he can't help himself as he takes his cock out, slapping it against your ass two-three times before he starts jerking it, slowly, "So pretty for me honey.. 'nd you don't even know it," "Fuck- sorry- I'm sorry- I can't stop, can't fuckin' stop-"

♡ noir letting you control the pace for once as he leans back, supporting his weight with his palms on the mattress as you bounce your ass on his cock vigorously- and he's grunting, muttering praises, until he gets greedy and grabs you by the hips to thrust inside you with a new-found passion, "Did so well for me, such a good girl- unh-" "I'll fuck you so well, don't you worry-" "Won't be able to fuckin' walk tomorrow, honey."

♡ feel like noir would be used to more 'old fashioned' shit so when he met you, he'd become 10x times more freaky- that includes cumming on your face 🤭 he'd be reluctant at first- "Why waste it? You're tellin' me you don't want it in your pussy, hm?" but then he actually does it one time and becomes OBSESSED, "God fucking- I'm gonna cum-" "Where d'you want it sweetie," "Yeah? Ffuck yes- gonna paint your pretty face with my cum-"

the spot

♡ we've established that spot is a certified pussy eater, even without a mouth he'd find a fucking way- he'd just push your cunt into his face hole, and lap at your pussy greedily- moaning as he did so

♡ tw!! pegging jonathon? OH MY GODDDDDDDD and he's moaning so good for you too<3

♡ spot unable to stop pushing his hips back into your hand as you finger one of his holes- the feeling bringing tears into his eyes as he cries out for you<33

♡ him nearly YELLING when he comes inside you- moaning loudly as he pumps you full of his cum<3

webslinger

♡ tw!! breeding kink "Legs up f'me darlin'.... just like that," thrusts into you relentlessly, head thrown back as he literally cannot handle how good your pussy feels around his cock, and he grunts as he pulls out, jerking his cock, his hand shaking, "Can't cum inside you huh, pretty? Can't get you pregnant- not yet-"

♡ him finally slipping and coming inside you- moaning with his eyes rolled back as he feels your cunt sucking him in- "Ah shit- m sorry darlin' I couldn't hold m'self back.."

♡ him pounding you from the back and then suddenly deciding that he wants to watch you ride him instead- (save a horse, ride a cowboy), absolutely looooves watching your face contort in pleasure, your tits bouncing as you guide yourself up and down his cock<3

From the many times people tried to persuade you from marrying your current husband, none of them were successful.

Massimo Bianchi. An important lawyer that had swooped you off your feet with his smile and Italian charisma.

People often told you that he wasn't good. None had to be a genius to know the man was in shady business as his main job was to defend the top dogs of  corporate world. He didn't have to mingle with underworld criminals to know how they worked cause he was one.

Corrupt lawyer that always came out successful in his cases. But you remained on the shadows, blissfully ignorant of your husband's doings to the world. All you knew was that he was the head of his firm and that alone earned him a good chunk of money.

You thought him good, though your marriage had been cold for the last few years. Even though he spoiled you with things, you didn't want materialistic rewards. You wanted him.

A true fool. Your friends called you. Sometimes you truly wondered if it

was love or just that attachment that had grown over time? The kind that makes one so used to a person that their absence feels odd yet expected? You didn't know nor cared. As long as he kept coming home at night, things would be right. Everything would be fine and the fake illusion of a perfect marriage would keep playing in the background.

And it was. Until death threats kept coming into your mail. All of them saying the same.

Stay away.

Confrontations weren't really your thing, but the tension had turned so dense that arguments were the main course of everyday. Massimo refused to spill the beans as dread only kept growing inside your already rattled mind. Just like the death threats. All of them signed by El Diablo.

"Amore, he is none. Just a petty criminal that is pissed I'm locking up his associates."

Lies, lies and more lies.

A petty criminal wouldn't put you on edge, wouldn't make you feel watched. Cause in truth, wherever you went the feeling of being observed remained etched in every step you took.

"That's exactly what they want you to believe, cara mía. That's a tactic for scum like them to scare decent people like us."

You didn't pressed any further, rather save your breath. He was as closed as an hermetic safe box.

-----

To relax your nerves you decided to go shopping, and returned home with an idea that you were certain would rekindle the cold flame in your marriage. Massimo seemed way too busy in his work to make an approach, and when you wanted to initiate things, he'd just push you away with the excuse that he was exhausted.

And you were tired of toys and your hand. So, you took a bath, lathered your body in rich and delicious smelling oils, and slipped into an emerald green silk and velvet lingerie set you just bought.

You hid it all underneath a skin tight black dress that enhanced your body shape. Hair done in a messy yet sultry look, a subtle fem fatale makeup with a gorgeous shade of burgundy lips.

The sound of your husband's car breaking violently snapped your attention at the front door. Massimo bursted out through the door and you smiled.

"Hey, darling!"

"Pack your shit. We're leaving."

You frowned in confusion at his sudden panicky and antsy state. But most importantly his tone. Urgent, demanding and scared.

"W-What? Where are-"

"There is no time for questions! Just do as I tell you! Now!"

He grabbed you by the arm and dragged you to the bedroom.

"Massimo, you're scarying me. What's going on?!"

Bianchi groaned as he threw you on the bed, nose flaring in anger at your reluctance.

"Non hai sentito, stupida stronza? Fai quello che ti dico, cazzo!" (Didn't you hear, dumb bitch? Do as I fucking tell you!)

Your teary eyes widened at him, frantic and fumbling with the suitcases. Filling them with papers and valuable objects. Not even clothes, just things you were sure he treasured more than your marriage.

"MOVE IT!" He roared and you blinked away your tears, scrambling out of his sight. He muttered things you didn't understand much as he shoved more papers inside. You grabbed the first suitcase you found and filled in with the necessary.

The sound of cars breaking and revving into the pebbled porch of your luxurious  home made Massimo to pull out a gun, you gasped and he ushered you to come closer. You kneeled next to him as he spoke in hushed whispers.

"No matter what happens, you remain silent okay?"

Your trembling hands clung to him as fear begun numbing your judgment. There was a collective round of car's doors slapping shut and footsteps that approached almost in scary synchronization.

"Go through the pool entrance, take this with you and leave. I'll see you in the other apartment"

"N-No, Massi-"

He kissed you, as he pushed a stack of documents further in your hands.

"No matter what, don't let them get this, ok?" His hushed whispers didn't help soothing your already fried nerves

"Massimo!"

"Go!"

He dispatched you with an angry growl, shaking legs scrambled once more ducking down the windows. You removed the heels as you crossed the manor, tears momentarily blurring your sight as you reached the pool. A shot in the air made you still, before you ran back inside.

A few shots and screaming voices followed you. The pained screams of your husband along some grunts made you whimper in fear. You hid behind the kitchen's large breakfast island as steps echoed ominously close. No matter in what direction you tried to go, the men, clad in black and red were there. Awaiting for their prey. Anything that moved.

The paper crumpled under your tight grip, and you covered your mouth, to remain as quiet as possible. Heavy steps retired from your area, and you exhaled in mild relief. Heart pumped hard with every passing beat, you snuck past the island to go back to the main entrance.

And just as you were about to taste freedom, the largest man you had ever seen, clad in a rich black suit and polished shoes, blocked your entrance with a stoic gaze that shifted into a shameless smirk upon seeing you.

Big, strong and long limbs trapped you against him as you cried and thrashed in a meek attempt to free yourself.

"Shh, shhh shh"

His nose nuzzled your neck and you stilled, tears rolled down your cheeks as he pointed a gun to your head. The cold metal against your temple made your breathings erratic.

"Tranquila, corazón. I'm not gonna hurt you." (Relax, sweetheart)

He dragged you to one of the many spare rooms in the house. A tall black woman with a frondous afro was finishing tying Massimo on the ground to then wipe away the blood caked in her brassed knuckles. 

His handsome face littered in bruises, a blooming dark eye on his left, a busted lip and his broken nose was all that remained after the bravado he often boasted up. Your heart couldn't help but sink in further at the sight.

You tried to go to his side, but the man only tightened his grip on you.

"Mr. Bianchi."

The man holding you spoke, to then aim his gun to him.

"S-Stop! Please!"

He kissed you deeply as his hands handcuffed your hands back. The kiss was so fast you barely had time to digest it, just like everything that was happening around you.

"You really need to shut your pretty mouth for a bit, cariño."

"Hei! Lasciala!" (Hey! Leave her)

A blonde man kneed him in the stomach, knocking all the air out of Massimo as he doubled in pain.

"Stop!" You squealed in between hiccups. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks, ruining your makeup. The papers you were given were long gone from your hands.

The woman with the afro smirked upon reading them.

"We got it, Miguel."

Massimo gulped at the name. Miguel O'Hara, one of the major criminal Don's in the underworld, El Diablo himself had came to his home to collect his reaps.

"I tried to be a reasonable man with you, Mr. Bianchi, but given your stubborn nature to cooperate and pay what's rightfully mine, I must take drastic measures for you to understand that I don't like being lied to."

Miguel made a sign for everyone to leave.

"M-Massi? What... What is he talking about?"

"You lie to your lovely wife?" His face turned one of disgust and his large feet pushed Massimo's head on the ground, his swollen cheek flattening against the expensive Prada shoes adorning Miguel's feet.

You only looked away as your husband groaned in pain despite Miguel holding back from hurting him seriously.

" You see, cariño. Your doting husband right here, has been fucking around with my associates."

He removed the outer layer of his suit and carefully laid it on a nearby chair.

"People that have worked hard for what they have and have come to me in dire need of protection against this... greedy coward."

Your eyes snapped back to Massimo as he kept folded in pain, his eyes adverted from you.

"Bribing the judges, increasing taxes, charging extra fees to those who need him? And not enough, this cabrón tiene los huevos para pedir dinero en mi nombre." (This fucker has the guts to collect money in my name.)

His meaty mouth clicked in disapproval. 

"Is that true?"

He remained quiet, blood caking on his lips and chin.

"Massimo, look at me. Is that true?!"

"I'm really sorry you have to find out this way, preciosa. But don't you worry. I know he will pay."

Dread sunk in further at his words. If there was something you were so sure of, that if your life depended on it you wouldn't fear in risking it, is the little fact that your husband never really had the intention of paying debts.

A habit that stuck with him in your dating stage, something he never grew out of. And now the fatal consequences were only added in his karma balance.

"The hell I am!" Bianchi spat at his shoes, and Miguel, unbuttoned his shirt to then pull out a cigarette. He took a long drag. Cherry scent filled in your lungs as he blew the smoke in his direction.

"I'll put you behind bars, O'Hara!"

Miguel chuckled, showing his canines. One of the reasons of his nickname.

He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed the ablaze end on your husband's forehead. A new groan of pain along a few Italian curses filled in the room.

You looked away, too scared and stunned to actually do something. What help could you possibly be? You were handcuffed, barefooted and emotionally all over the place. The many warnings about him finally weighing on your shoulders.

Your name was called between breathless and pained yelps, but you refused to acknowledge him.

"Let her go, please." You heard him, speak, but no words or pleas seemed to move Miguel. He just stared at Massimo with a bored expression as he crouched to meet his eyes.

"Hope you have told her that you cheated her with one of my favorite colleagues."

His words were the last stab you could handle, you broke in tears.

"I should kill you for that alone, but that would be too merciful of me."

Miguel stood up and prowled over you, his hands reached for your face and wiped away your tears carefully.

"I am a firm believer of 'An eye for an eye', Mr. Bianchi."

He removed the shirt, leaving his torso bare before you, eyes couldn't help but wander before retreating away, Miguel smirked.

"Are you?"

Massimo glared at him, heaving through the pain as he pulled a pocket knife and approached you.

"I'll have to make you a believer, then."

The sharp of the blade slid down your dress, enough to tear through the fabric covering your breasts. His lips pursed to give an appreciating whistle upon seeing your mounds clad in the velvety and silky texture of your lingerie.

" Con permiso, cariño." (Excuse me, darling)

Big hands took each a piece of fabric to tear the dress in half as you gasped and tried to scurry away from him. A hand grope your nape and you stilled.

One of his hands was big enough to pull you before your husband as the other one rested on the dip of your waist.

"Look at that. Por Dios... Was this a surprise for him?"

Upon your silence he squeezed your nape a bit tighter and you yelped.

"Y-Yes!"

"Too fucking bad he doesn't deserves it, right preciosa?"

"Don't you dare to touch her!"

Miguel nearly cackled at his measly threats. He took a couch and placed it before him. The coolness in the room made your skin crawl, but when he kissed your neck, an involuntary gasp left your lips.

"How long has been since this man touched you?"

His hands roamed your body, fingertips grazed your silky covered nipples as his other hand ghosted over your velvet clad pussy.

Another tiny whimper as he sat down on the couch, you were placed ontop of him, your thighs stretched, making to meet the width of his well sculpted ones, clad in fine wool. Hot and moist tongue caressed the upper part of your earlobe.

"M-Months"

You gulped and his touches stopped.

"You steal, you cheat and are a con man, yet you refuse to touch your wife? And me thinking I was the monster here."

He sat you in one of his thighs and pinched the bridge of his nose, an annoyed and incredulous look on his face.

"Lucky for you I'm in a good mood right now. Vamos a arreglar eso." (Let's fix that)

His hand cupped your chin and pulled you in for a kiss. Upon feeling his tongue invading your mouth, you recoiled but this only enticed him to snake his tongue around yours, sucking it and savoring you. The oils in your skin tickled his nose, a sweet and delicious scent that he'd often gift to his most prominent conquers.

But the way you had so dotingly prepared yourself for the cheating of a man you had for a husband, stirred something within him. You groaned as you demanded for air.

A thin dribble of his saliva connecting your mouths as hot pants fanned on eachother's lips.

He kneeled behind you and rolled your silk and velvet panties down your hips and knees. He tossed them away and bent you over, earning a yelp from you as your face was inches away from your alarmed husband.

"Don't" He shook his head and whispered. It came out like a silent plea that you ignored as Miguel sunk his face between your thighs from behind with a groan. Tongue teasing your mound, caressing softly at your clit.

You trembled and clenched your jaw to avoid moaning too loud. Shame spurted over your face in the shape of a bright red flush and a heavy feeling on your stomach. Big tanned thumbs spreaded your cheeks, to push himself deeper. His tongue lapped and teased; learning your skin's taste and texture that felt wonderful on his tongue and taste buds.

Wet and sloshing slurps made you pant and choke a moan as his hands grabbed your hips, exhorting them to use his handsome face as a seat. His tongue dribbled up and down your shivering and soaked flesh.

You groaned.

"Oh my god!" You mewled as you rode his face softly, "I-I'm so sorry!"

You spoke in between breathless pants as Miguel just moved your hips faster. Your mouth went slack and your needy breath fanned over your husband.

"Cara mía?" He'd whisper with pleading eyes but you were too enraptured in your brewing bliss. By instinct your hips seeked the movements of his tongue, chasing that relief only his mouth seemed to provide.

Legs quivered as they stood in their tip toes that curled in everytime he toyed with your clit. The smoothenes of his ministrations and the unceasing wet slurps he gave in your flesh, inched you closer and closer to the dangerous precipice of corruption and pleasure.

Another man was devouring you with such hunger you didn't think possible, as your lawful husband was forced to watch as you came right before him. It made your knees weak.

Eyes drooped before they clamped shut and your mouth hissed through panting and erratic breaths a needy Yes!

The guards outside the closed door were unfazed at Miguel’s antics. But the smirk on their faces were full of pride. El Diablo, their boss was someone people often had the misfortune of underestimate, until they were no longer laughing and rather plea for mercy or death, whichever came first.

Your hands behind your back slowly tingled as numbness spreaded upwards your arms.

Miguel separated himself and wiped his chin off your delicious slick and pulled the couch closer, he unzipped his pants and spreaded your thighs above his once more. Your chest heaved as you nested against his torso, fire licking your skin at the contact. The pocket knife was brought to your skin as he locked eyes with a disturbed yet aroused Massimo.

The tip of the sharp blades ran down up your torso, leaving a faint pink trail on it's wake, your breath hitching at the sensation until it reached the elastic lower band of your bra that held the cups together.

You didn't expected the quality elastic to give in so easily under the sharpness of a frail looking knife. Your breast spilled from the velvety green confinements and Miguel groaned while he hissed in delight at the sight.

He slapped your husband's face with a serious scowl

"Watch and learn how to treat a woman, cabrón."

Miguel fumbled with his pants and cotton briefs before releasing his aching and hard cock free. Bianchi adverted his eyes, embarrassed as defeat washed over him.

Miguel slapped the tip against your drenched folds, a cue for you to move your hips and smear more of your slick all over him before sinking in balls deep.

The intrusion felt delightful and painfully tight. Inner muscles clamped around him, making his head be thrown back, relishing not only at how hot and delicious you felt, but also at the feeling of your tightness trembling around him.

"Maldita sea preciosa, me estás matando". (Goddammit beautiful . You're killing me)

His hands hooked underneath the back of your knees, making you lean against him completely. Firm and cinnamon skin toned pecs supported your arching back.

Massimo couldn't help but peek under his disheveled hair and he nearly gasped at the sight. You were completely full and stretched at the size of his hefty cock. He could see your lower belly bulging a bit as his shaft rested within you. Bianchi was unable to look away, as emasculated as he felt.

A firm slap of his hips and it sent you curling your toes. Hips accommodated further in the single couch as his lips kissed your neck, canines grazing at your sensitive skin.

"So fucking tight f'me" He plunged you deeper, finally letting your walls meld to his size to then begin his slow thrusting. As much as he was dying to raw you silly, he had enough self control to be careful and not ruin you you. That would come later.

It had been a long long time since he actually enjoyed having this kind of revenge. His eyes gave a quick glance to his beaten enemy and smirked in satisfaction when he noticed the bulge in between his imitation pants. Your hands fisted behind you, letting him to stretch you completely.

Your hips gave a soft rut, snapping his attention back to you, surprised you'd seek more of him.

His hands pushed your hips down onto him and your breast bounced. His eyes stalked yours, to assert his control, but you gave in so easily. Months of being untouched had made you a needy and sodden mess.

You were tired of your toys, and now that you had the real deal, it felt too good to let it slip. Things with your husband were surely done for anyways as fucked up as the situation was.

He'd probably be killed either way.

"Eyes on me, cariño" And just then, a sinful symphony of wet and merciless thrust fell upon you. Everytime he slid in made your pussy drool in contempt at his punishment. You cooed and stared at him with such a lovely and needy expression Miguel engraved in his mind.

Tears bit at the corner of your eyes as they drooped, taking your mind in this continuous trance of being torn between being absolutely fucked out and coherent enough to give him a vocal reply like a moan or a praise and apologies to your voyeur.

"Cara mía, Don't do this to me" Bianchi shook his head in denial, but that only enticed Miguel to make it rougher.

Shy moans turned into shameless mewls and implorings that enticed him to ruin you at his contempt. The con man wished to cover his ears, but it was too delicious and forbidden to not indulge. Unavoidable too. Your pleas turned into lewd wailings and howlings. The tears and mascara long caked and dried on your cheeks.

Despite three years deep in marriage your husband would never care enough to leave you satisfied. It was everything about him, not really minding if you finished yourself by whatever means you found or thought right.

But this, this was pure torture. Sure, he didn't do anything to please you, but the thought of you being with another man always made him kick enough with the right amount of jealousy that would keep you satisfied for at least a couple of months while he kept ruining lives.

The slaps and Miguel's grunts turned desperate.

"Just like that! Yes!" You sobbed as his sac slapped against your clit, serving a good amount of punishment to your sensitive nub of nerves.

Your skin shook, breast bounced as you squirmed and twitched in absolute enjoyment.

"Like that, princesa?"

You nodded in between blown breaths, the pressure coiled tightly in the pit of your stomach. Menacing to snap at any second.

The sex and his Oud Wood by Tom Ford undertoned sweat made a puddle of your mind. Mouth gaped and shallow breaths came clenching through gritted teeth but he stopped just when you were about to greet God to release your hands from the back.

He pushed you on the floor on all your trembling fours, wool pants discarded completely, just as his CK briefs. Everything of him exuded with luxury. Even his rutting felt like an exotic meal you've tasted for the first time and you'd never go back to settle for anything less delicious and mind blowing than this.

But poor Massimo Bianchi was a reminder of your golden band that was wrapped around your ring finger.

Miguel's hand held tightly around the base of your neck, both hands melded at the size of your frail joint. both his feet planted on each side of you, caging you between his hips, and he sheathed once more in your already puffed and beaten pussy, making you yelp at the fullness and depth.

"Miguel!" You cried as your hands held on your husband's crossed legs. Your body lurched forward, meeting his cock in a merciless pace it had you bubbling like a total fool.

"I'm... Im sorry" A choked whimper, "Oh god, I'm so sorry Massi" Your mouth mumbled before Miguel squeezed your neck to keep you from apologizing to him, choking words in your gaping mouth.

He didn't deserve your regret, he deserved nothing. He wouldn't give him that much satisfaction.

"But it feels so good!"

You rasped and Miguel smiled darkly.

"Why don't you give him a farewell kiss, cariño?"

You shook your head and he frowned.

"No? Should I stop then?"

A whimper. Eyes twinkled in amusement as you reached for your husband and forced a kiss on him while El Diablo plowed remorselessly into you.

Bianchi could only whimper in pain as you bit his busted lip and kissed him, with a rough motion Miguel pulled you away from him. Your head far too gone into a place only he could reach. His panting and mumblings had turned borderline animalistic. He had praised you through it all and you were more than willing to comply.

Your body went taut, spent walls milked and creamed him as he cradled you against his torso. Body convulsed in bliss as he spilled his hot, sticky and big load inside your spasming walls. He laughed at your husband and at your dumb-bitch gone look.

He gave you a deep smooch before laying you on the couch. He slicked his hair back and caught his breath for a couple of minutes to then put on back his boxers. His eyes darted to an expectant Massimo.

Eyes wide. Still deciding between feeling horrified and happy for having such a twisted fantasy come true. A sick fuck through and through.

"I expect my payment within a month. More than enough time for you to collect what you owe me, Max."

Miguel purposely butchered his name as he threw his thousand dollars shirt you way.

"Put that on. We're taking a ride."

----

His men had escorted you back to his car. An armored black Bulletproof Lincoln Navigator SUV. House slippers was the only thing he had allowed you to get on your feet. The cold seemed to not affect his naked torso as he waltzed out your now wrecked home.

The cologne in his shirt stronger, as it covered your naked body from prying eyes.

"Get inside"

"N-No"

Miguel's nostrils flared in anger, despite the dazing and scrumptious raw fucking he put you through some moments ago, you knew he was a dangerous man.

"Why wouldn't you just-"

"-Ta madre, que entres al puto carro, mujer!" (Fucking shit, get into the fucking car, woman!)

His booming voice made you still with a frown. His temper switching surely made you confused. Tears welled up in your eyes, and seeing the sluggishness you took to get in, made him drag you inside himself, and sat beside you and sighed.

His sour mood was thanks to one of his men, Peter. He had the most awful timing to deliver news. One of his younger recruits had been shot. Not fatally shot, but surely would cost him a great chunk of money. Bribing judges to prevent him from sending him to prison, and medics through thirds would take some resources he was planning to use in another mission.

Miles G. Morales.

The name made his patience even shorter, and it didn't helped you were sniffling as your hands rubbed your ring despite the sore wrists.

After all he did to you you still thought about that cheating cuck?

No. He wouldn't allow it. Not when he has already found a perfect use for you.

As the ride begun he pulled up the middle window, blocking his sight from Ben as he drove. He made a couple of calls, you were recoiling away from him at every chance he tried to wipe your tears. Reject was something he was used to, that didn't mean it set right in his heart. And it showed as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock once more.

The calls ended and he tossed the phone back to the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out his gun to rest it on your temple.

Your eyes widened as he spoke.

"Clean it."

Fear clung to you as a new wave of tears rolled down your cheeks. But your mouth beat you to voice your true desires.

"No."

His brow quirked and smiled darkly once more. He grabbed your hair and pulled you down on your knees before him. Legs still recovered from the previous cucking session, not that he cared anyways. The SUV cabin was spacious enough for him to pull the stunt.

"Funny you think you have a saying, cariño. Now be a good girl and clean my fucking cock. You made a mess out it."

The gun was pressed further, the click of his safety removal made you gulp.

Was this the life that you'd get from now on? It couldn't be. Part of your brain refused to acknowledge him as your owner, but the other part was terrified and intrigued to see how all of this would unfold for you. You won't make things easy for him as he was already making it a living hell for you.

You mouth begun to work him as he pulled another cigarette and blew the smoke in your direction.

Groaning, I grab my head, my fingers kneading into my temples, willing the pain to go away without having to move. I drank way too much last night and I'm certainly paying for it now. Nausea starts to set in, churning my stomach slightly as if it's preparing me for a lengthy bathroom session later. It's when I reach for my stomach that I realize I'm not wearing any clothes. A peek under the covers reveals that I'm completely naked. Well, at least I got comfortable before bed?

I play the events of last night in my head. Having the same best friends as your fiancé has its perks, but when they're all former soldiers, you definitely have to work to keep up with their drinking, especially with us being in Vegas. Our Bachelor  and Bachelorette parties were combined, all of us simply hanging out in each other's rooms and basically drinking, playing the occasional game. I vaguely remember Santi telling me, somewhere between my 6th and 9th drink, that this was why he added a day between the party and our actual wedding. He knew we'd need to recover and he was right. 

If you had told me 5 years ago that I would be engaged to Santiago Garcia, I would have laughed in your face. Not that he's a terrible person, but he's not the kind of guy I usually fall for. He's impulsive, hard headed, and a giant flirt, which is why it took me so long to realize he was serious when he asked me out. I'm honestly surprised I'd said yes, considering the amount of women I'd seen run through his home, some of them throwing things at him as they left. 

I remember the first time I saw that happen. Frankie chuckled and shook his head, saying that's just how Santi is. Frankie is the one of the group I'd bonded to the fastest, quickly becoming best friends and remaining so, despite my desire to be more. But life had other plans, giving Frankie a baby from a girl he barely knew. And though they gave it their best shot, it didn't end well. 

But then Santi swooped in and somehow, we fell for each other. And now we're getting married, which is something I never thought he'd agree to. 

I roll onto my side, headache following me and I see a toned, tanned arm sticking out from the between the sheets. I reach out, my fingers brushing his skin as I smile, a handful of flashes of the night before dancing in my head. Santi is an amazing lover, always responding to my every need and desire with fervor. Something feels different about the memories, though I can't quite put my finger on it. 

Rolling to my other side, I groan, swallowing down the churning feeling in my stomach. Soft skin, and that same arm wraps around me, calloused fingers gently rubbing my stomach, a sleepy attempt to help quell my quesiness. 

"Santi."

I feel Santi scoot up behind me, his body molding to mine as he pushes his nose to the side of my neck, nuzzling into it. 

His hand skates sleepily down my body, gently rubbing circles between my thighs in an effort to make me feel better. My pulse quickens, my breaths coming quicker as he continues to work me open. A nip to my shoulder sends warmth between my legs and my breath hitches. I bring my hand up, reaching behind Santi's head to grip his curls. Except, I'm not met with the tight, short curls of my fiance. These ones are longer, softer, more flipping out before becoming actual curls. My brain is rapidly waking, pushing past the hangover to process what was happening, who was happening. A small moan from him and my brain finally clicks it all into place. 

Frankie.

I grab his hand and toss it from me, yanking my body forward to create as much space as I can considering I'm pinned under the sheets. He protests, his hands still reaching for me. 

"Frankie?" I question, hoping to anything that I was wrong. 

"Mmm?" 

Shit. 

"FRANKIE." I'm more firm, scrambling to disentangle myself from the sheets that now feel like a prison. 

"Come back to bed. You weren't finish-"

"Frankie."

His body stills as my voice finally seems to permeate his sleepy, hungover state. He sits up quickly, hand flying to his head as he blinks, swearing under his breath as his head pounds. He whispers my name and I can hear the desperation behind it, hope that he's hearing things and didn't sleep with his best friend's fiancé.

"It's me."

His large hands run down his face, rubbing at his eyes before he finally looks at me, regret pouring out from behind his deep brown eyes. 

"I- what..did we…" He stutters, already knowing the answer to the questions he's trying to ask. 

"I..I think so." Tears well up in my eyes, my voice cracking as the weight of what had most likely transpired comes crashing down on me.

On us. 

"Shit….SHIT!" Frankie yells, slamming his fist down on the bed. "What the fuck happened?"

I clutch the sheet, holding it up to my neck as the tears start to fall. "All I remember is drinking way too much and I think you offered to take me back to the room? Santi… I don't know what happened to him. But Frankie, what..what do we do?"

"I don't fucking know, do I? Shit, this is bad. I mean not that I haven't thought about… but that's not the point…wait. Are we sure we even really…"

"You had half your hand inside me just a few minutes ago, Frankie. Safe to assume we did."

Frankie is silent a moment. "Unless you thought I was Santi?"

"Does it even matter?"

An uncomfortable silence falls between us, so much left unsaid whether from fear or self preservation, I don't know. 

"Don't look."

Frankie glances over at me. "Why not?"

"I'm getting out of the sheets. Turn around."

"Haven't I seen it all?"

"Do you remember?"

"Fair point." Frankie turns his head and shifts his body away from me, attempting to give me some semblance of dignity. Whatever is left of that anyway. 

I extricate myself from the sheets, reaching down to grab my clothes off the floor. Which is when I see a certificate on the table. Pulling my dress over my head, I walk to the table, picking up the paper and scanning it, my eyes growing wider with every word. 

"Fuck…fuck!"

"Did I mess up your clothes?" Frankie asks. 

I wish that was our problem. 

Grabbing the paper, I walk around the bed and stand in front of him, shoving the paper towards him. Frankie blinks up at me and takes the paper, slowly turning it around to read it. His eyes grow wide and he stands abruptly, nearly knocking me on my ass. 

"WE GOT MARRIED??"

"I don't remember!"

"Fucking hell, I… I don't remember either!" His eyes scan the paper again, looking for the butt of a joke and finding none. 

"May…maybe we can get it annulled?" I offer up. 

"Could we?"

I shrug. "They did on Friends."

He glances back down at the paper. "That's only half our problem."

"I'm supposed to get married tomorrow, Frankie. What the fuck am I supposed to say to Santi?"

He looks at me, regret oozing from him. "I don't fucking know, do I? I can't remember anything to even tell him, aside from waking up with a major hangover and my hand shoved between his finance's legs."

He stands angrily and I back up a few steps to give him space. But he misinterprets my reaction and his eyes narrow. 

"Do you think I'd hurt you?"

"What? No, I was giving you space."

He steps towards me and I step backwards, my own back bumping into the hotel wall. 

"I'd never hurt you. I've only ever wanted to love you and be with you but not…not like this."

"Like this?"

He gestures around. "Whatever the fuck happened." He takes a step towards me again and my breath catches in my throat. I'd given up on Frankie a while ago, trying to give him the space he would need for his daughter and his doomed relationship with her mother. 

His hand comes up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger there, thumb rubbing into my cheek as his eyes find mine. 

"I don't want you to marry Santi." It's whispered, but he may as well have yelled his confession. 

"I..what are you saying?"

His finger traces my cheek as I hold my breath, my eyes locked onto his as I wait.

"I love-"

Knock, knock!

I jump, swatting his hand aside as I walk to the door, smoothing out my dress before I look in the peephole.

Santi. 

"Querida, you in there?"

I glance back at Frankie who is still standing where I left him, pants pulled on but still shirtless. He crosses his arms, biceps pulling with the effort and he nods once. 

Taking a deep breath, I crack open the door and see Santi standing there, smiling when his eyes meet mine.

"Querida you're alive!" He chuckles and takes a step forward. When I don't open the door wider, he stops, eyebrows coming together.

"Is everything ok?"

Tears fall, tracing wet paths down my cheeks. But before I can speak, Santi steps forward and reaches out, wiping them from my cheeks. 

"Querida, what's wrong? What happened?" He's not joking around - he knows this isn't the time. His eyes take in my face, raking down what's visible of my body to check for any injuries. 

Suddenly, I can't talk. "I…I…" 

Santi's voice lowers, nearly to a whisper. "Blink twice if there's someone in the room that will hurt you."

Determined not to blink, I stare back at him. His shoulders relax after several seconds and he lets out a breath of relief. 

"Querida-"

"I love you, Santi."

"I love you too, but what-"

I pull open the door the rest of the way, inviting him in. His eyes are on me as he steps in and I gently close the door behind him.

"Querida, what-"

Frankie had shuffled his feet and Santi turns around, immediately on alert for trouble. He relaxes when he sees Frankie, not taking in the situation.

"Hey, Cat. You're alive too I see?"

Frankie glances at me. "I survived the night."

Santi laughs. "Surprising. You had so much to drink. I'm nursing a mad hangover so I know you have…to…be…" Santi's speech slows, his brain making the connection between my tears and Frankie being shirtless in my room, the sheets all mussed up. Santi's eyes snap back to Frankie's after looking at the bed. 

"Oh, what the fuck man?" I can hear him holding back his anger, hoping that he's misreading the situation. 

When Frankie doesn't reply, the hope disappears from Santi's eyes, replaced by a hurt that pierces me straight through. 

"You were supposed to get her back safe!" Santi yells, stepping closer to Frankie. 

"I did! She's here isn't she?"

"She's here and fucked by you! I knew I shouldn't have trusted you with her. I fucking knew but I thought you were over that little crush you had-"

Frankie moves away from the wall and steps towards Santi, finger pointing at him angrily. "It was never a little crush and you fucking know that. And you went after her anyway!"

"You went and got some girl pregnant! It's not my fault you weren't there."

"But you made damn sure you were there after!"

"Someone had to take care of her!"

Frankie steps closer, glaring down at his friend. "You fucking took her from me!"

"You fucked my fiancé!"

They were in each other's faces now, just a step away from each other.

"You never cared for her! Only wanted her after I said I loved her!"

Santi's eyes flash red, his entire body shaking. I've never seen either of them this mad before. 

"I fucking love her, Frankie!"

"Love her so much that you sent her back to a hotel room with the guy who she's been in love with for years and who loves her back?"

WHAM!

Santi's fist collides with the side of Frankie's face, sending his head flying to the side, Frankie stumbling from the force of it. Santi takes advantage of Frankie's momentary distraction and lunges at him, fists flying and hitting their targets. Frankie rallies quickly, throwing his own punches, shoving Santi back, his head hitting the carpeted floor as Frankie climbs on top of him, fist raised and ready to slam into Santi. 

"STOP!" I yell, but he doesn't hear me. I lunge for him, shoving Frankie sideways off Santi onto the floor. He shakes his head and looks at me, anger flashing in his eyes. 

I turn back to Santi who was trying to sit up, blood gushing out of his nose and his right eye swelling quickly. I reach out to touch his face and he flinches, swatting my hand away. 

"Don't touch me." It's quiet, but his words echo around my head. 

"Santi, I-"

"Let me guess. You're sorry?"

"I am, but -"

"No buts. You slept with Frankie. My best friend."

"I didn't know-"

"Do you have any idea how much you're killing me?" His eyes are watering and not from punches. "I never thought I'd stay with anyone and then…there you were."

"I-"

"You pulled me from a dark space. One I never thought I'd be pulled out of. I fucking loved you, querida." Tears fall from his eyes now and my vision blurs with my own as I watch him.

"And now you've fucked my best friend. My best friend! You just-"

"She didn't know." Frankie hasn't moved from where I had shoved him to the ground, aside from sitting upright.

Santi looks at Frankie with digust. "Didn't know? Did she just fall naked into the bed then? Just an oops?"

"It's my fault."

"You wanna elaborate on that?"

Frankie takes a deep breath, his eyes heavy and weary as he glances at me before looking at Santi. "We were both drunk. Her more than me. I really only remember getting her up here, making sure she took off her shoes. I told her to change her clothes because she had throw up on them. The next thing I know, she's yelling at me to get up, shoving me away from her."

"That doesn't-"

"She kept calling me Santi."

Frankie looks at me, hurt in his eyes. "She thought I was you right up until she was fully awake."

"I thought you said you don't remember-"

"I'm getting flashes. She called me Santi."

"How is it your fault?" Santi asks. "It's not like you just let her-"

"I didn't stop her. She called me Santi and I didn't stop her. I should have…but I didn't."

He moves too fast for me, olive skin bunched into a fist collides with Frankie's face, sending him flying backwards. 

"Fuck you, Frankie." Santi struggles to his feet, his hand coming up to dab at his bleeding nose. I stand with him, hands moving to his face to inspect his injuries. He flinches at my touch, but his eyes find mine and I break. 

"I'm sorry." It's not enough but all I can choke out. 

His hands grip my wrists, bringing them away from his face. 

"I love you, querida. But I…I can't." He cries, tears falling silently as his heart breaks from the pain I put there. "I can't do this. I can't even look at Frankie, and you? You're the last person I thought would ever hurt me."

"Santi-"

He drops my wrists and heads towards the door, pausing at the table where the marriage certificate between Frankie and I lays. He stares at it for several long moments before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wedding band, my wedding band, and sets it on the certificate. He doesn't say a word and he doesn't look back as he leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind him. 

The room is oppressive with its silence, despite not being alone in it. I feel like I'm suffocating, dying, like a part of me went with Santi and I knew I'd never see it again. 

"I'm sorry." Frankie quietly breaks the silence. 

"You're sorry?" I turn to face him. I know I am not innocent but what he just revealed makes me sick. "You knew I was calling out for Santi and you didn't stop me?"

"I-"

I wanna throw up, scream, throw things, something, anything to get away, crawl out of my own body. 

"I trusted you."

"I…lied."

"What?"

"I guess I didn't realize how much you actually love him. And how he loves you. And I wanted to give you a shot so I lied."

I take a step closer, anger radiating out from me. "Lied about what exactly?'

Frankie takes a deep breath. "You never called out his name. Not until this morning before we both were….aware."

"Then-"

"You called out my name. And I just…I couldn't resist. I'm so sorry. I'm a weak person I know. I was drunk and in love and…" He gestures randomly. 

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out of my room."

I don't have to repeat myself. Frankie gets up off the floor, grabbing his shirt on the way out. He doesn't say anything but pauses to look back, regret and pain in his eyes. 

I don't blame Frankie. The more the day wears on the more I start to remember. I definitely started it, thinking it was Santi. When I realized it wasn't, I didn't stop. Just switched to the right name, my long love for Frankie winning out over drunk logic. 

And now I get to go back to an empty home, all because of someone's love for me that was not my fiance. 

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