Hey I've been thinking about playing with men's hair recently.
special thanks to @softanon for helping me reboot my brain and for A+ Benny headcanons
(triple frontier poly thoughts ahead, 18+)
like, thinking about Benny, heart on his sleeve, all six feet and two inches of him filled to the brim with passion and determination and longing. Benny, texting I need you and it meaning more than needing to thrust himself hilt-deep into your warmth, more than needing you to cry his name as you pulse around him, he needs ... all of you.
Benny, needing to crawl into your lap, seeming smaller as he curls to press as much of your skin against his as he can. Benny, needing kisses that go on for hours, needing to breathe in the scent of your neck, needing to -
needing the feel of your fingers in his hair. running soothing rows straight as Nebraska corn fields. your fingers suddenly halting their path to grip onto him, to gently pull, to remind him that you are there, here, and you've got him.
thinking about Frankie finding him after long days when the two of them have had days too long for words, silently pressing their mouths together and feeling their tension seep away like air from a punctured tire. seeking you, imploring, earnest, nosing contentedly into your neck, burrowing into the safe haven of your arms.
Frankie letting the two of you wind your fingers into his curls - tiny circles working off emotional grease stains he thought would never come out.
Frankie feeling the miniscule scrape of nails through his beard and feeling more handsome than maybe he's ever felt. maybe fighting off sleep as his hands wonder under your shirt, swelling at the idea that you don't want to let go.
And Santi, Santiago, your Pope, liking the rougher grip of your hands in the thick of his hair, running past the shaved sides to bury them somewhere they can hold as he buries himself in you.
Santi, loving the way, once you've come two or three times around his cock, that your hands stay in his hair, holding yourself to him like he's changed you, fundamentally.
Santi, thinking he could almost come again when stronger hands slide over the rough of his growing beard to turn his jaw towards hungry mouths.
His gentle smile as he slides his big hands to cradle your head, gently untangling both your hair and his limbs from your own as Ironhead watches.
Will, pulling you into his arms, onto his chest, heart pounding as your sleepy fingers find the soft baby hairs on the nape of his neck.
Will, knowing your hands - smaller than theirs - are well cherished. Will, kissing your forehead as the others settle in close, because he knows they'll never be able to thank you for being their comfort, after all this time.
alright darling celeste, it's me, elle, and I want to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY I ADORE YOU THANKS FOR BEING YOU
also. if you want a challenge, I'd love to see your thoughts on a triple frontier game night (poly or just one of your choosing!) anyway, anything you choose to write will be amazing, I just love your headcanons for them 😌
@ohheyitsokay ELLE!!!!!!!! OH THANK YOU FOR BEING SO KIND TO ME! AND FOR THE BIRTHDAY WISHES!!!! I’m forever glad that we meet on this hellsite! You mean the world to me and I will always store your kind messages in my heart!! IM GIVING YOU MILLIONS OF FOREHEAD KISSES 😌 ALSO MY DEAR!! I had so much fun writing the boys all together and I hope you like it!!!
Triple frontier - Will “ Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x f! reader
word count : 1,500
warnings : Fluff, established relationships
It was an impulsive purchase on Benny’s part, something that he immediately regretted the day before but after telling Santi of his purchase he brought that excitement back into Benny’s eyes.
You knew of the purchase but didn’t know what it was and there was murmuring and giggling that they shared between each other. You were curious but it wasn’t a curiosity that licked at your spine. You hummed content that they had something to look forward to, something that wasn’t day in and day out of work. The other two got rightfully curious about the situation and when Benny was talking about his “gift” arriving soon Frankie bit the bait.
“Alright Benny, I cleaned up the stuff in the garage. Don’t know why you need all that space for,” his body covered a sheen of sweat. Benny was getting some ingredients in the fridge for you when he asked the question. He grinned wide at Frankie and closed the fridge setting the food down on the cutting board you were using. Cooking for the group used a lot of work and you appreciated when the boys helped you out.
“Just needed the space, don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Frankie hummed in thought.
“Is it for your little impulse purchase,” he mused, standing at the entrance of the kitchen.
“Curiosity killed the catfish,” Benny replied, helping you cut vegetables.
“Satisfaction brought him back, “ he made his way towards you and Benny, ruffling Benny’s hair.
“You’ll be satisfied Friday so don’t pout ‘fish.”
“Alright alright, gonna shower. I’ll be out by dinner,” he kissed the back of your neck causing you to hum happily.
“You’re distracting the chief,” Frankie just shook his head but his smile never faltered.
“Encouraging the chief,” he corrected as he left for the bathroom. Benny stopped dicing the veggies and slid behind you. He tucked your figure underneath him and rested his chin on your head.
“Benny-”
“Are you not curious about what’s happening Friday,” you smiled at him and the little surprise that both Santi and Benny are cooking up. You did ask Will about what he might think the impulse purchase was and he chalked up to something eccentric. His deep voice rumbled in your head.
“You know how both of them are… it won’t be something bad though. Nothing to worry about.”
“It’s a surprise right? I’ll try to wait patiently,” emphasis on try. He giggled above you and kissed the top of your head.
“You’ll like it baby, promise you will.”
——<><>—<><>——
Benny’s car was parked in the driveway when you got home. You did your best in waiting patiently for Friday to come and now that it’s here you ran off into the house expecting to see either Benny or Santi but Will was making some tea in the kitchen.
“Was wondering when you’d get home, boys are out back,” he called out in the kitchen, with two mugs in hand. He memorized your schedule a long time ago. It was always so sweet of him to have things like this all ready when you came back after a particularly hard day. You gave him a kiss on his cheek, beard slightly scratching you, and accepted the warm drink.
“Still not telling us what's going on,” you muttered after taking a sip. He shook his head and steered you close to the big couch that has become a welcoming section of your home with them. Will’s thumb rubbed your knee as you sat down, a salacious grin took over his features.
“Whatever they're doing, all that really matters is that you’re there and that everyone’s enjoying themselves.”
“How about you?” You sipped your tea again, enjoying his warm body by your side.
“I always enjoy myself when I’m around you,” blunt and earnest, those were the two words you use to describe your Ironhead. Your hand reached for his face, relishing his soft skin.
“You make me happy too, Will.” He kissed your cheek and set down his drink so he could hold your hips in his big hands. He quickly took the mug from your hands and set it aside on the coffee table by his mug. He kissed your lips softly then explored slowly, removing the tension of the day with his lips. Sighing against him, his hand rubbing at your thighs.
“Rough day?” he murmured against you and you nodded tired from the week and finally being able to relax with your boys this weekend. You molded your lips against his to remove the tension once again and you heard the back door open with a pair of excited voices. You whimpered quietly against his lips as he continued to hold you to relieve your stress.
“Looks like our girl’s busy, “ Santi commented to Benny, seeing the scene between you and Will. “Welcome home.” You gazed up at him looking at you with those kind dark eyes.
“Is it surprise time?” You smiled wide at him while Will nipped at your jaw.
“Frankie isn’t here yet, we gotta have him here,” Santiago stood his ground on that, needing Frankie to see the surprise that the three of you have been wondering about. You nodded in agreement wondering where he was. He always came home around the same time as Will so his absence was strange.
“What do you think is holding him up?” Benny replied somewhat impatiently, bouncing his leg wanting to show the thing that they built up for the past week.
“Probably-,” the door handle jiggled, making Benny run off to the door to open it and see Frankie with a bag full of food. His eyes were wide and all the attention was on him.
“Everything okay?” Frankie asked concerned. Benny kissed Frankie on his cheek and welcomed him home.
“Come on Frankie, surprise time,” He grabbed the food and he started to excitedly take him to the garage. Santi wrangled both you and Will out of the living room to the garage. As you stepped into the garage it was a completely different place, fairy lights covering the ceiling, a table set up with a variety of different games and drinks for the night. All things surrounding the somewhat beat-up foosball table. The impulse purchase.
Benny set the food down at the table and excitedly turned around to see the others' faces. You peered at Frankie and Will whose eyes looked like they were in another time of their life.
“So! Frankie! Will! What do you think,” Benny moved his hand around the tabletop excitedly. Frankie was the one who got close to the old table putting a hand on it, feeling the old wood on his palms.
“It’s just like the ones in the barracks, god this brings me back,” Frankie laughed, reminiscing on the old days. “This one over here was overly competitive with this,” he tilted his head at Santi who looked slightly offended.
“No no no, I was only competitive cause of these two,” he pointed at the brothers.
“We don’t do sound effects,” Will murmured while scratching his beard. You started to laugh at the boys and their differing perspectives of the same event. It was nice to see them focusing on moments that were nearly forgotten and creating new ones.
“They aren’t sound effects, it’s how the announcers tell the audience the team got a goal,” Santi grumbled and the conversation continued to be boisterous, the boys continuing to recall events. You grinned at them animated in conversation and Santi started pulling you into conversation not wanting to leave you out. “You want to see me beat all these guys baby,” he whispered and you snickered at his cockiness.
“Talking shit Pope? Try to beat us dork,” Benny raised his eyebrows in a challenge.
“Bring it on baby boy. If I recall correctly, I’m the only one you guys couldn’t beat,” he grinned, rolling up his sleeves in excitement.
“Competition time it is then, come on sweetheart you’re a part of our madness too.” Frankie wrangled you with the rest of the boys and the excitement bubbled in your chest.
“Game night! Guys! It's game night!” Will chuckled at Benny who was beyond excited that his surprise was so well-liked amongst everyone. The boys started competing with one another, playful jesting and harmless jokes. The food that Frankie brought for everyone to eat was well enjoyed and eaten fully. Will and Benny were the first ones playing with the foosball table, the other two rooting for each other and enjoying the peaceful night together. Benny and Santi put so much effort for everyone to enjoy. Santi pulled you close to him as the others continued to talk loudly over one another and tell jokes to get each other distracted.
“How’s my pretty girl doing,” Santi asked, still looking at the brothers messing around.
“Better, can we have more nights like this?” You’ve been a lot more tired as of late and the boys have had busy days with work but when everything aligns just right, it makes you feel complete. You enter more of that feeling with them.
“Course…We’ll figure out how to schedule everything,” Will scored a goal on Benny after Santi finished his statement and Frankie started cheering for him. The tension from the week has officially vanished and it’s all thanks to these four men and their unbridled excitement.
pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco “Catfish Morales, Ben “Benny” Miller and a female reader
wordcount: just be happy I'm posting writing again, okay?
warnings: all fics in this series are 18+, mentions of a poly relationship, lots of fluff and kissing
summary: this one is a Benny story, with a quick scene from before they were together, and one well into the relationship
a special thank you to @ifimayhaveaword for reminding me that this time of year is truly romantic, and for inspiring this
>>
You laugh as he pushes the shopping cart, letting it wobble down the isle of the scattered remnants of red and pink boxes.
Before you hit the corner, you put a foot down, stopping the rolling and he sticks his hands in his pockets, watching you.
"What about discount chocolate, Benny?"
His shoulders rise a little, something strange in his eyes.
The two of you are friends. Young, still too stubborn to admit Valentine's would've been better together.
And it seems a bit too close to those deep buried secrets, buying you chocolates, but he'd promised to get you one thing as a thank you.
He rises onto the balls of his feet before rolling back.
"Sure."
Maybe next year, he'll try it a day or two sooner.
-
His hood is up but you can recognize him anywhere.
Mind still clouded with your betrayal of well earned sleep, you try to comprehend why he's here, why he didn't let himself in, why he's alone.
They weren't supposed to be back for another two days at least.
Bleary-eyed, you fumble with the lock they'd insisted on, staring through the bit of glass at your lover, trying desperately to let him in. He must hear because he grins and as the cool night air bursts in, so does Benny.
It never changes - his hugs feel like flannel and smell like sunshine and he's all around you something crinkling as it falls to the floor.
There's a chance you stay his name before his mouth finds yours, but very little. His beard is rough, a bit uneven, like it always is when he comes home in a hurry. His touch feels like relief, like a first gasp of air, and his lips almost cover yours with the hunger of his kiss. Chilly hands pull you close, his forearms pressing as they wrap around your ribs, and you know it means he missed you.
"Benny," you mean to say it like a question but it comes out a breathless prayer. Pulling back just enough to look at you, he smiles crookedly for a moment.
"Hi."
"Hi," you murmur back. There's a cut along his hairline and you touch it, feeling the scab. His hair is cleaned of any blood, and you know in your heart it's a few days old.
The touch makes him wince, and he almost seems like he's waking up, ducking to the ground to grab what he'd been holding before. Proudly, he presents you with a handful of cellophane and ribbons and carnation stems, the silly flowers peaking out behind the lace-edged card.
You take them, blinking.
"Happy Valentine's," he says, now digging in his pocket and producing a pink heart-shaped carton.
You kiss his cheek before taking the slightly crumpled carton, echoing his words.
"Happy Valentine's. Only a week late."
It's not a jab, they've been at least four timezones away, and you hadn't expected them for another handful of days.
It's a question, one he's obviously anticipated, and he knows you're full of them, knows he's a little off, but he checks the door before pulling you to the couch and back into his arms as best he can.
"I promise I'm okay, everyone is okay."
Benny answers your most pressing question first, finding time to kiss your hairline and your cheekbone.
"The others are on their way, they're making our excuses and finishing the paperwork I left behind." He takes back the box to open it, revealing almost all the chocolates, and affectionately presses one against your lips.
"I..." gently, carefully, he bumps his forehead into yours, waiting a moment as you let the sugar melt over your tongue. "We saw the discount chocolates at the store and..."
There's quite and you know.
All of a sudden it feels like the chocolate is still thick in your throat, your heart pounding like you're a teenager again. Eyes stinging suddenly, you feel warm all the way to your toes, and you press your face against his, trying to form words and failing.
"Discount chocolate," you manage, feeling weepy, big, bubbling tears threatening to slide down your cheeks.
He hums.
And, while you've spent the last two weeks aching for them all to come home, just for this moment, you couldn't be more thankful that you're alone in his arms.
Benny brushes his thumb across your cheek, his lashes low, almost tangling, and you feel his declaration in your stomach and on your tongue.
pairing: triple frontier guys - Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco (Frankie) “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x (f) reader
wordcount: 3.8k
warnings: all fics in this series are 18+, but this one is filthy yall. it’s here, the first poly frontier smutfic. strong language, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving) kissing, voyeurism, somophilia, sex toys (note: not all of these at the same time)
also, poly dynamics, but only mentions group sex in this one
summary: kinks and building trusts with the boys individually
>>
“Hey baby, come here for a moment?”
The call floats to you, deep and unassuming, but a bit too far away for you to hear the undercurrents of his tone.
It’s strange, for Benny to be calling you like this – you thought he was getting ready for bed, and he knows you were just about to get into the shower. For these reasons alone, you entertain him, calling “One moment!” and grabbing your still-dry towel to venture along.
Your feet are near silent on the floors as you pad to the room, tilting your head when you find it empty. The others are off helping Santi’s uncle for a project, and Ben had volunteered to stay, rewarding his sacrifice with a weekend full of time with you.
But Benny isn’t in the bedroom. His voice wasn’t quite faint enough to have been outside wanting to show you something silly, so you check the kitchen, expecting to find him cooking a late-night snack. There too is void of your gentle giant, however, and you hear him laugh from the living room.
“Ben? What –”
Your lover was waiting for you to walk through the door and is suddenly, insistently pressing into you. Then your mind catches up with your eyes and you kiss him, his soft lips moving against yours with familiar determination.
Of all the things you’d been imagining, expecting, none of them were him, bare as the day he was born, his blue eyes dark with arousal. He guides you towards the couch, and you barely register a soft blanket laid out just for you. You would notice how hard he tried to make it flat, the way he tucked it in so it wouldn't rumble or slide, but his cock is hard and pressing against your hip.
It's as natural as breathing, to loose yourself in the way he can't seem to be even an inch away from you, the way his body is almost steaming with warmth like embers. Something catches in tour throat, some pinpoint of a thought as frustrating as a rock in your shoe, and you try to shove it out of your mind. He tugs at your body, turning and twisting you both so you tumble down.
The kiss breaks when you fall, and your eyes fly open, opting to look at the windows instead of the man pulling your towel away from your body. There, like a rock in your shoe, is the expanse of darkness, and flickers of reflection like watching eyes.
And his movements freeze, before he covers you again, his face pulling away just enough for you to see the line between his eyebrows. He had asked you, a few nights ago if you’d be alright with trying it, trying… a little bit of exposure, even to the cool black darkness of the land outside, and you had readily agreed. It seemed sexy, a touch of harmless danger, and well within what you should be comfortable with, given your multitude of lovers. And you can feel heat licking at you, the raw excitement of trying something a little new with him, and it was undeniable, how quickly you came undone before him.
But alongside the rush of ache and wanting was a sharp line of fear, as unwelcome as a trickle of sweat down the spine.
He hums at your silence, an understanding noise more than a grumble, and you feel a third feeling: guilt, as he moves to stand.
“Wait, Ben, it’s… it’s fine.” The windows, still dark and unchanging, pull your eyes, and you look up towards him instead, your hand pulling at his skin. Obediently he kisses you, and your anxiety softens when he smiled against your mouth.
“It’s not, love, but that’s cool,” he tries to coax you up, knowing well he would win. “It’s not like you’re any less fucking gorgeous in the bedroom.” It was one of those jokes he made, one of those truths he spoke, matter of fact, making your heart swell like the crest of a wave. You tried, it didn’t work, and while it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest – in fact, the delay of your hands on him was the most inconvenient part – you hesitate.
It wasn’t a lie, before. You want him, this.
“Wait,” you try again, unfolding your towel and his eyes rake over you involuntarily. You angle the cloth so you’re still shielded, but on full display for him, and you see him twitch gratefully at your bravery. And he knows you, sees the determination in your eyes, and relents, too hungry for you to slow down.
The air is cool, but heating rapidly, and there’s a softness behind the heat that tells you that you've won.
Briskly, he yanks most of the curtains closed, guarding you from the most intimidating ones before returning, sinking onto you like nothing in the world could keep him from tasting you.
In-between kisses he pulls the blanket corner over most of you, discarding the towel and whispering about taking it step by step. His reassuring sentences trail into quiet affirmations when you agree, and then trickle into nothing as his mouth finds it’s way down your body.
It should be sweet, the way his mouth sucks at the underside of your breast, the playful lick he leaves around your nipple, but it is. It is because his hands hold the blanket just so you're for him, and his eyes flicker to yours, despite his focus, checking in.
And he covers you again without you asking, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.
It makes you wish, somehow, it would be reasonable to hold his hand.
When his tongue finds it’s home along the folds of your cunt, and you watch him rut against the cushions with a groan, you stop thinking about anything. He's made a little world for you, somehow, a little adventure for you and him.
Hands curling into the soft thick of his hair, you feel him flick and lick around you clit and you can’t help but think you should’ve stopping thinking long ago. And as he presses two of those perfect fingers into you, you think you hear him whisper to focus on him.
You think you manage to reconfirm your trust before your orgasm hits you.
Benny fucks you like the two of you are in your own little world. Maybe that’s why he likes this so much, likes the idea that no matter what circumstances, he can encompass you, carve a home for the two of you between reality. He thrusts a little wildly, a little inconsistently, and you know for a fact he’s not trying to prove anything, not letting defensive thoughts enter your little world. All he’s thinking about is you, the way he can see your breasts bounce even beneath the blanket, the way your tight heat is almost swallowing him, and the way you’re looking at him, finally, with half-lidded eyes, like you’re only thinking about him too. The way he’s hitting that spot again and again, the way he knows you, the way he’s using his strength to almost desperately make you feel like nothing else in the world matters more than this, now.
You are, and without thinking, your eyes snap closed as you gasp.
-
It's quiet, darkness like a blanket over your home, draping itself into every corner of your room. Above that, above the heavy folds of nighttime magic, something else.
It feels like fog, spider webs and cotton and thick, thick caramel. Dreams poking through like the tips of pine trees spearing out of grey morning mist.
You’re sleeping.
Or at least you think you are – you can feel a comforting weight surrounding your body, warm walls of men sleeping soundly nearby.
But… but there’s something else, too, something hot like lava, seeping around the edges of you mind. It's slick in places, slippery like lips and tongues and sloppy touches and something else entirely in others, something firm. Subtle but insistent.
And something.... tall, sturdy forest trees, linen and leather and aftershave. Santi.
A click of the wrist and swathes of spiderwebs are swept away. He's half on top of you, his hand guiding his cock against your folds so it rubs your clit with every sleepy thrust.
You're... soaking wet, like he been teasing you longer than you can remember, and you're aching for him like you're inches from cumming, hard. Slowly, softly he shifts you, and a thought slips in your mind that he’s being more careful than you expected when you’d talked about this yesterday. You start to get those inches, a perfect stretch of his tip pressing into you, and your dream mind wonders if he’s trying not to wake you.
It’s impossible to tell if you’re conscious or not - you’re aware, but your body feels aflame, encompassed by him, hyper focused on only him. You try to tell him “Yes, Santi, more -” you try to beg a little, “please, keep -” but only a tiny whine escapes.
And he’s pulling away, a rush of hot air clouding over your shoulder blades. You whine again in protest, still too tired to reach for him, forgetting the nearby men. Santi kisses your spine your shoulder, the shell of your ear. It’s tender, the most temped feeling yet to breach the moment.
You’re aware of him, because it’s Santi. That’s why you told him this was okay, that’s why you trusted him. But that’s also why you know him, know he’s hesitating, not for you to sleep, but for you too wake.
It’s effort, clawing your way through the cotton, but you focus on his hand, still drawing feather-light lines over your waiting cunt. You focus on his other hand, gently smoothing over your skin, softly, subconsciously appreciating every inch of flesh. And you crack an eye, before realizing it’s well and truly night still, and reaching back for him blindly.
“I said it was okay, Pope,” your whisper still croaks a bit, and you wince.
You feel him soften when your hand finds his neck, pulling him back onto you.
“Yesterday.” His voice is but a breath, and you think you understand.
“Okay,” you find your quiet voice, now laced with your arousal, and he shudders at it. “Okay,” you try again. “It’s now, Santi, please.” His cock, still hard, presses against your folds like he’s entranced by you, like keeping his skin from yours was the greatest effort.
The words tumble out of you - you hardly notice them, keeping them just shy of silent. They’re for him, for now, the other’s will get their turn when he chooses, like you talked about. And he gives in, pressing deep with a breathless groan. It’s a stretch, how full he makes you feel, but not as much as you expected, confirming. His hands... one braces his weight, so he can begin to rock, and the other finds your lips, filling your mouth with two of his fingers, insisting on your silence.
And you relax, surrendering yourself for him, hand moving to weakly hold his wrist. Each time he slows, and you can feel anxiety spike just a little, you squeeze him gently, reminding him again and again, you trust him.
He whispers, “I’ve got you,” and “I fucking love you baby,” and you think you get it. Why he likes this, because you do too.
Fucking Santi makes you feel like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. He alternates between quick, deliberate ruts and those slow strokes where he almost completely leaves you before he thrusts as deep as he can go, and yet still. He makes you feel like a lucid dream, like everything is a little too good to be true. You feel full of him, surrounded by him, like you’re floating but you’ll never fall. His stubble scrapes against your skin and he holds you like this fuck is part of a dream he’s building for the two of you. There’s this thing about Santiago, this... love that burns with intensity like soot and sweat and you almost taste it on his fingers.
You trust him completely, and he trusts you just as much.
-
Frankie’s breath is hot against your breast, his eyes still clear as he presses a slow open-mouthed kiss to the swell of it.
Your mind as been sputtering out since this afternoon – when Frankie admitted he bought you a vibrator without asking, because your old one had gotten lost. The very idea of him, Frankie, thinking of that and… using it on you had your mind filled with adoringly lustful daydreams.
And here he is, hovering fully clothed above you, as though he hadn’t been thinking about pressing it against your clit as he filled you.
Unfortunately for you, he’s talking like he isn’t quite thinking about it even now, as you’d practically town off your own clothes for him.
“Answer me, baby,” he rumbles, and you whine.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Those deep brown eyes darken a little, and the creases in their corners deepen ever-so-slightly. Pulling back, he regards you: clothes pressing crumpled wrinkles into the skin of your back, most of you bare just for him. And he looks at the little vibrator in his hands, runs the silicon over the lines along your legs, slow, thoughtful.
It moves, following his words as he talks.
“I see these gorgeous tits, all…” he swallows appreciatively, “All of you out for me.” He’s slow, almost torturing you, but it’s sweet – his dedication to your affirmation. If it were anyone else, it would be purely to tease, purely to see how undone you are, but it’s him.
You can see it, even as he slides closer and closer to giving in, his intensity to make sure everything is clean and cut.
“I see your pretty, desperate face,” he flips the vibrator, watching as your eyes for honestly as they flicker towards it imploringly. He lowers it, using his free hand to push your panties to the side, shifting a little in spite of himself. “You’re fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart.” It’s not on but it’s there, hovering inches from your core and you relent.
“Yes, Frankie,” you almost laugh at how obviously you want this. He turns it on, and you try not to whimper, laughter dying under the flood of your arousal. “Yes, it’s always been okay, not just now, I promise.” Your sweet Catfish relaxes, finally, his shoulders almost drooping now that you’ve confirmed he’s not, in fact, overstepping by buying toys for you.
“I can use it on you, us?” The last, tiny doubt is in his eyes, and you do laugh. As much as you want this, have been wanting this for what feels like hours, you pull him into a chaste kiss.
“Yes, Frankie. This all okay with you?” He laughs too, almost shuddering.
“Yeah,” he kisses you hard, his own arousal finally overtaking him, “Fuck. Yeah.”
Your wait is over, abruptly, as he yanks clothes off with efficiency, almost immediately pushing the vibrator to an equally intense buzz. It wracks through you, shaking into your very core as he experiments for long moments, gliding it from your slick folds to your aching clit. His eyes feel like his fingers, running over your face, your skin, your trembling sex, and you know what he’s watching for. It takes him no time at all, to find a spot that makes you feel like you’re going to cry from the pleasure, not time at all to realize the only thing left is for you to be filled.
You try to ask him, words rushed and tumbling, if he wants you to use it on him, but he shakes his head and presses the tip of his leaking cock against you, toy unwavering from it’s place. And even now, he keeps you waiting, just long enough for you to gasp, please before he pushes inside of you.
And your first orgasm hit you immediately, his groan ringing in your ears. You always stretch around Frankie, the sheer girth of him filling you completely, and this is near ethereal.
He slows the vibe, waiting, concentrating as he tries not to overstimulate you, and you have the overwhelming thought that Francisco Morales is perfect, and he seems to agree.
Just as abruptly, he clicks it off and tosses it away, leaning over to encompass you more.
When your hips roll and you whisper, “Go ahead,” he almost growls his response:
“My turn.”
He means it too, and it’s just like him - to think of you pleasure like selfish, selfless love. Moments of insecurity and wrong moves are long gone, replaced with the confidence of a man who knows no thing could fuck you better. And he loves you, thinks you’re strong and sexy and sweet and soft and he simply doesn’t feel like distracting himself from swallowing you whole.
Frankie pushes into you with steady determination, watching, watching for every little song he makes your body sing. You came him want to grab every handful of you he can get and hold on as long as he can. He wants to see you come undone, and wants to be the one who made it so, wants to let himself pour into you and let his forehead fall on yours and kiss you slow. Because this isn’t about just you or just him, but this special thing the two of you have, that he’ll never stop being in awe of.
And now he knows.
-
“Will...” you concentrate on saying his name, gasping it out like it’s you’re final breath. He rumbles in response, and you lose your words all over again.
Your Ironhead is buried deep in your heat, not moving an inch and he holds you against his chest.
“We’ve been talking about it, and I’m almost sure we can make it work.”
He’s working hard to keep his voice even, even harder to keep from pounding into you. Only because you’ve known him for years can you tell, because as long as you’ve been fucking, he’s been working on building your patience.
“Will,” you try again. Allowing himself a quiet groan, he begins moving his hand against your clit again. Almost writhing, you fight to keep you question in your mind, hating how he’s just barely coming undone after all this time.
"Why are we talking about this right now?"
His chuckle is tight, like the wrap of your soaking sex around him is finally making him question his choices.
"This was the plan?" He asks - he's asking, even though he knows it's true. You'd talked about it before, worked up to you taking the length him while for awhile, keeping his cock warm to see how long he could last.
But you're two orgasms in and it's unreasonable how desperately you need him to move, just thrust a little, to find that spot he's near memorized, to do something.
And you don't know how to say that when all you can feel is him, Will, Will, Will. He's hard, almost harder than you've ever felt, his sturdy thighs tense beneath your own, and his arms keep you grounded. He's everywhere and it's phenomenal, truly, but something has to change.
"I - " you take a slow, even breath, before giving up on words and finding his wrist to grip hopelessly.
It's instantaneous, how he springs like he's been waiting for your signal, and he lifts you off of him with effort, concern in his eyes.
"Too much." It's not a question.
You hum, gathering your scattered thoughts to kiss him slowly.
"Not enough," you say, smiling at him, too in love to be particularly shy. Surprised, he tilts his head, looking you over.
"William Miller," you kiss him again. "Please fuck me?"
He groans a little, before his broad hands are guiding you back onto his length, and you both shudder. Will sets an unreasonably fast pace and you make a noise, clinging to him for dear life, relief flooding your system alongside the pleasure.
He remembers talking is only in his top three ways to communicate with you, one of the others being interpreting the gasps he makes hitch into your throat. There’s thoughts running through his wind, warm like satisfaction as he remembers himself, remembers you, and how beautiful, wonderful, capable you are. The idea that you’ve disappointed him isn’t one of those thoughts, because he can’t be bothered with the falsity, couldn’t comprehend your honestly being anything less than perfect.
And he can see the way your pussy takes the length of him again and again, getting slicker by the second. He can see the way your legs wriggle and tremble, weak with pleasure but asking him - begging him for more. There’s this expression on your face, one he’s been seeing long enough to know its because of him. It’s relief, it’s the moment that he finds that perfect thing, whatever you need, hits it just right. There’s almost nothing that makes him more proud, and he knows it, sees it in your eyebrows, feels it in your hands on his skin, and it’s all he needs.
Every moment is necessary, like pieces to a puzzle, every word fits into place.
The last few found are your ankles digging into flesh, the pulse of you together, his name on your lips.... and then he stops thinking.
-
It was work, eliminating unrequited moments, but you all did it diligently.
Extra dates, careful timing, intentional love.
No letting jealousy build.
And moments.
Kissing Will like you need him more than air, feeling Santi split you open, cracking an eye to see Frankie tugging Ben into the closest guestroom.
Hearing laughter and muffled moans pour out from the shower like the steam, and sliding off to the kitchen to get a snack while you wait.
The softness of Frankie bringing you down, Will cleaning you off while the others go another round. Steady, undistracted eyes and tired limbs pulling you to rest.
It’s work, but none of you would have it any other way.
Hello sweet elle! With some of the holidays coming up, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on how the Poly Frontier celebrates them? 💕 Do they cook a meal together? Do they have a favorite dish, or tradition? I just love their dynamic so much, you fics are all so gorgeous - I am so hooked.
hello my beloved Jess 💕 I've been sitting on this for a long time - thank you so much! have a collection of poly frontier holiday moments :)
note: all my fics in this series are 18+! poly dynamics, relationships, and sex
also a huge thank you to @0celestialbitch0 and everyone who helped me come up with all these ideas!!
There's a stack of notecards and a paperclip, and Will is wearing his glasses as he blows puffs of flour from the paper.
further warnings include: fingering, mentions of sex, mentions of oral, strong language, copious amounts of holiday fluff
<<
Santi and Will are in the kitchen.
He's sitting on the counter, holding measuring utensils as Santi dances to and fro to holiday music from years and years ago. Rolls are rising under a towel, and there's savory smells wafting from the oven.
In between cleaning bowls and checking the temperature of cooling potatoes and pies, he makes time to listen to thoughtful instructions. More than that, he makes time to stand in from of him, kiss him slow enough they forget the timer is ticking.
"Doesn't Frankie interpret that one every year?" He asks, his palms pressing against Will's thighs.
"I remember it. She likes it with an extra tablespoon of butter," he replies, matter-of-fact.
"Thank you," you smile at the doorway, too adoring to watch in silence. "And Frankie can't because you banned him from the kitchen, Pope."
His laughter is loud, a little free, and it makes you smile. Santiago loves the holidays, let's go a little when the air outside gets cooler, and he steps back, beckoning you. All of you know he only banned Frankie so he would rest - he got called into work this morning even though he was supposed to be off.
Tucking yourself between them, it feels like a slice of something special, and Will rests his elbows on your shoulders. He kisses the side of your head, then his lips meet Santi's.
You rest your forehead against the tan collarbone in front of you, letting their warmth wash over you like a steaming mug of cider.
There's a timer from his abuela ticking down and down, but he takes the time to kiss you too. Open-mouthed, almost needy, he tried to gather you both into his arms, and Will rumbles against your back.
Time feels slow, you feel slow, your mind occupied with thoughts of dragging the two of them to the couch, and you realize someone was saying words.
"Hmm?" You blink, eyes open as Santi takes the opportunity to kiss your neck.
"I said we need him soon, and Benny too," Will sounds amused, always Ironhead, not as easily caught up in the moment.
Your other lover pulls back, a stark contrast, as his hand is under the shirt behind you and his brows are furrowed.
He's about to retort that the five of you are not having sex on the kitchen floor, when Will explains.
"Chili verde."
Something in the air melts and the moment slows again. It's a favorite, and a requirement that everyone makes and eats it together.
Santi smiles, not at all put-out, and with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Later, then." You making a confirming noise, and extract yourself to find the others.
As you slide through the door, you hear Will add that he agrees as long as it's not on the floor.
And you hear their laughter, warm and sweet as ham cooked with honey.
-
There warm clouds of steam in the air, hot water pouring down your back.
The bliss of shower is cut for a moment by the quiet door, and a slice of cold air rushing in. Listening under the cleansing rain, you run your fingers along the groove of the shower, waiting patiently.
He brings the cold with him, but makes up for in when his fingers tilt your chin up, coaxing you lips against his.
"Brr," you say, pressing your wet hands against his cheeks, trying to share the warmth.
Benny hums.
"I thought you were getting the wreath?" The local school was having a fundraiser - your lover had only left a bit ago to pick it up.
His eyebrows draw together, gently chiding you
"I missed you," he says, like that's more than enough explanation, and kisses the side of your neck, gently shifting you to share the warming water.
There's a kid he's mentoring, the one who got your Ben to pay the contents of his wallet for twine and twigs. You feel like you're missing something - he wouldn't miss this moments.
"I missed you too," you say, instead of asking, reaching around his sturdy form to grab his favorite body wash. It's more than that warmth and longing for your touch, and you know he'll tell you when he's ready.
Slowly, a lather builds across his shoulders and you feel them loosen, watching as his hair begins to stick against his forehead.
"He needs a... real talk," Benny says the code for private, "He called and asked if he could deliver if after basketball practice.".
You nod, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
"I made a sled ramp in the back yard." That explains the cold your lover brought, and his insecurity about navigating something he cares so much about. He rinses, almost dancing with you in the crowded square.
"I'll get Frankie and make some cocoa for whenever you guys are done," you offer, and Ben stills, looking at you through the steam. His arm was reaching for the curtain, and he rests it on the rod, hovering over you.
He doesn't respond with words, but his kiss feels like thanks.
-
You're distracted, watching a child nearly tremble with nerves as they wait for their turn to meet Santa. Pity wells in your chest, and you think you understand - the mall, in a word, is chaos. Mothers in boots, talking into cell phones with arms overloaded with bags, rushing fathers and shirt tempered teens.
A line of kids and hassled parents and the blast of cheery music.
It's a lot, for anyone, and this particular child looks like they're suddenly carrying the weight of the world on their tiny shoulders.
Like a fabled hero, Frankie appear, stooping low as he ignores his crackling joints. Eye level, he pulls a face, soft and steady. You can't hear him over the noise, but it must he reassuring, because the child settles with determination. Little hands grip a crumpled ticket and bestow your love with a sticky candycane shard in thanks, before moving up in line towards their goal.
He stays knelt for a moment, watching, and you feel warm all the way to your toes, savoring the stolen moment like a slice pie past midnight.
The hairs on the back of your neck rise, but you don’t look away, too familiar with the solid shape of Will by your side to spare a moment.
“He really is something else,” Will says, voice quite below the roar of voices and the running train, and you nod. The spell fades slowly, and you turn to kiss him, laughing a little at the boxes in his arms.
“Are those all yours, Ironhead?”
It’s a beautiful afternoon, wandering around the stores, hands tucked in their elbows with lights twinkling above. None of you love the chaos, anymore, not as much as Santi and Ben, so you talk about life and buy each other’s favorite snacks and press kisses to each other’s cheeks in a way that will get lost in the crowd.
“No, well -” his brows furrow, debating whether or not he should retract his honesty. Luckily for him, Frankie has found you both, and buts in ruefully.
“Some of them are mine.” They have a silent conversation before your Catfish sighs, admitting, “I got him to get some of my presents wrapped here because...” He trails off, half embarrassed, because you’re well aware he historically wraps presents in grocery bags with duct tape.
When he meets you’re eyes though, they’re shining and you’re almost floating you’re so excited. You look like you could just burst with love at any moment, because him getting those presents means he noticed.
The misshapen lumps were always well appreciated, but you and Benny just adored the extra holiday spirit of brightly colored wrapping and the care it took to have everything tucked into place. Neither of you ever thought to even complain, but of course Frankie noticed the way the two of you would light up like tacky decorations when you saw nice paper wrapping.
Will had helped him find a solution, but it was welcome when you threw your arms around him, making incompressible happy noises.
Making things tastefully pretty isn’t one of his specialties, but details are, and the two of hem beamed over your head, proud and glowing with satisfaction.
Frankie couldn’t wait to see the other’s faces when they came home that evening.
-
“Hey, hey now,” you reach over and gently tug on Benny’s earlobe. He’s glaring at his brother, unreasonably competitive over a simple game of cards. Of the two of them, he’s always the quickest to let his excitement roll into passion and to be fair, Will has backed him into a corner.
Equal parts genuine and annoyingly amused, Will say’s sorry and you shoot him a look.
Santi is brushing some of Ben’s growing bangs off his forehead, and pulls a face at you, saying, “I think it’s time for gingerbread houses.”
When you jump up, it’s a little too fast, and you cringe at your eagerness to diffuse the moment. After all the years you’ve put up with their bickering, you just knew better than to wait until it escalated, and too often you let yourself get annoyed at their moments of immaturity.
Still, you don’t look to see if their eyes follow you, and start gathering the supplies from the kitchen. Behind you, you hear Frankie’s reasonable tone offering to be his partner, and you can imagine the temptation that offer brings, despite his poor piping skills.
As you return with armfuls of cooled gingerbread, bags of colored frosting and bowls full of decorating cadies, you breathe out again. Will is hovering, looking a bit guilty, and his brother’s indignation is nullified by Frankie, who had the good sense to offer himself as a distraction.
None of you can resist his calming, reasonable tone when he’s trying, and he gets this look in his eye like you’re the only thing in the world. They’re talking about who knows what, and you leave them be, content.
“Are you judging this year?” You keep your voice quiet as you place everything down as close to the middle of the circular table as the game board allows. Santi nods, grateful you remembered, and Will patter’s off to find his laptop for him. Poor Pope has a report that he’s been putting off, and you all know he wants to fill it out before it becomes a problem.
“We’re going to be a team,” Frankie says, voice a little louder and you look at him quizzically.
“Is that allowed?”
“It’s not like there are rules, sweetheart,” Frankie shrugs and Will, who relents, handing Santi not only his computer, but it’s charger and a heaping pile of files. He’s right - you all just make little gingerbread houses and sometimes vote on who’s is best, it’s hardly a real competition.
“Does that mean we’re a team?” You slide against him, and he almost shudders, like the same thought just occurs to him, and he likes it.
And so it begins.
Will seats you in his lap, and it occurs to you that this is sort of what he needed all along - a chance to do something where he’s not really relying on his personal skill. It’s been hard couple weeks for him, and most games are too easy for him to slip into old habits.
His breath is warm and sends little lines of electricity down your neck as he watches you over your shoulder, obediently holding the walls as you run frosting down the seams, and his knee stops bouncing under your thighs.
There’s long moments of sneaking kisses while you wait for the structure to dry, as his hands gently grip your hips, and you feel his whole body shift, like he’s trying to rise to meet you. Will’s kisses are slow, a little longing but mostly content, and you resist the urge to straddle him fully, knowing where that will lead.
It breaks, after awhile, and you pull off him, getting drinks for everyone, sure that he’ll be organizing your favorite candies when you return.
You take a moment to watch Santi type, kissing the side of his neck before he notices you behind him.
“How’s it going, hot stuff?” You press your thumbs into the muscles where his neck meets his shoulders and he groans. He says some things, about how annoying this specifically is, and you don’t know if you really understand, but Will nods, responding with well-placed encouragement and tossing him a gummy.
They grin at each other when Santi catches it in his mouth, and you almost wonder if you should find something else to do, letting them have their moment.
But Santi must have winked at him, because suddenly Will is looking at you, and beckoning you back into his arms. Everything about the moment feels safer and cozy and as he helps you add rows of icicles and a stack of snowy chocolate firewood, you almost feel like you’re in the home you’re making.
The air smells sweet and Benny has started singing as he starts adding little pieces of chocolate to a row of gingerbread people. He’s planning on making your dream a reality, although Frankie’s the one ducking his head in embarrassed joy when he sees his cookie likeness.
“They look pretty damn accurate," Santi quips, hovering affectionately as he absentmindedly feeds Ben a bit of candycane.
In comparison, your structure is far superior, but the two of them begin showing him all their little heartfelt additions and you sigh, settling against your Ironhead.
"Theres not going to be a winner, is there?"
His kiss against your temple is warm and slow.
"No, my love."
-
It's almost adoring, the gentle push of Frankie's thick to fingers in and out of you, and the tickle of his mustache as he flicks his tongue over your overestimated clit.
Just as lazy and soft as the contented moans of Ben and Santi as they pull apart and collapse next to you on the wide bed.
And certainly as loving as the idle patterns Will was tracing around your breast and over your heart.
The only sounds in the cooling air are the lewd sounds of his touches and quiet moans and pants of bliss, until Benny laughs.
Everyone looks at him almost sharply, offended slightly by the break of the moment, except you, who's too focused on the twist of Frankie's fingers to acknowledge him. That won't due for him, however, and Beny gently leans over Santi to tilt your head towards him, and they all soften at the tender way he meets your blissed-out gaze.
"We missed the ball drop," he says, and doesn't even make it gross. Wills eyebrows furrow and he checks the time, surprized he lost track of it, even through a evening such as this. Everyone processes slowly, huffs and rumbling chuckles as they acknowledge the truth of the matter.
Trying to organize who was kissing who would've been in poor taste anyway, and no one can be quite sure who's mouth was where half an hour ago.
"Happy New Year," you murmur, accepting kisses and smiling as the trade them above you. Their mouths taste like you, but also like each other, and it's almost sweet, despite the sticky nature of it all.
"I think fucking in the new year should be a tradition," Ben says, his hand joining Frankie's on your cunt, and you shudder. You hear the hitch of breath in someone's throat, as they silently agree, and you find a way to kiss him again.
Certainly, no one in their right mind would complain.
pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco “Catfish” Morales, Ben “Benny” Miller and a female reader
wordcount: 2.5k
warnings: all fics in this series are 18+, poly relationship domestic, romantic, and sexual intimacy. strong language, both implications of sex and brief explicit sexual content, mostly fluff
summary: a collection of moments about always choosing the ones we love
>>
It’s a romantic little outing – a walk to the park, flowers tucked behind ears, a gazebo by the pond. Santiago looks good with flowers in his curls, and they stick well. He’s got that look in his eyes, the one that says he thinks of the two of you hung the stars, and his broad shoulders look void of weight in the evening sun.
Will can’t keep his hands off of you, which is strange, but not unwelcome. He keeps running his hand through your hair or pulling you into sudden hugs, and it makes Santi smile.
The three of you are waiting for Frankie and Ben to come, settling into the white benches and enjoying the dappled lighting that sways with the vines overhead. Your Ironhead practically pulls you into his lap as your other lover goes in search of ducklings. Watching him, Will kisses your temple, your cheek, the side of your neck.
You close your eyes, just for a moment. It’s mandatory, really, because these moments are few and far between. Soft noises from the nature around you, smells of flowers and the musk of your lover, and most of all, his open affection. When was the last time his confidence overrode his calculating brain?
When you open them again, a woman is walking by, chattering on her phone, and her heels slow when she catches sight of Santi.
The pillars of the gazebo shroud you from her, and Will holds you tight as you watch her hang up, a twitch in her hips. You miss her greeting, but not the way Santi turns towards her, his face polite and neutral.
“I’m just here with them,” he waves and points, and you see an incorrect realization on her face as she glances shrewdly. The two of you are wrapped up in each other, his hands wandering even still – she thinks she knows.
“So you’re the third wheel?” the woman all but purrs, eyes fluttering in a way that makes you roll your own. So fixed is she on the warm tone of his skin and the stubble across his jaw, that she misses both the darkness of his eyes, and approaching footsteps.
“Not at all,” his words are simple and you grin.
“Like hell you aren’t,” Benny says, slipping an arm around his Pope. They came up less than quietly, watching without your patient interest. Will huff’s a laugh, almost proud at the kiss and raised eyebrow his brother gives the woman, who’s stepping back, suddenly uncertain.
She turns to Frankie, mistakes his soft edges for vulnerability, and changes targets. Hes handsome as a warm fall walk, and she drinks him in. All shy backtracking and twirls of hair, she reaches for his arm, playing all the right cards for sympathy.
But his eyes, deep and brown are unwavering as he shifts away. You see his mouth move – a quiet nope, with a p that pops, and the both you and Ironhead shake with silent laughter.
No one explains as she sputters and spins, trying helplessly to say have a good day, and as she near runs away and you feel a little guilty.
Mostly, though, you feel lucky as you see your eager boys making their way over and loved as they’re already reaching for you.
“That was fun,” Will pulls Frankie close to replace your warmth. Arms around Santi's neck you laugh again, feeling matching rumbles at your front and back.
“We should go out more often,” Benny says, resting his chin atop your head. You can hear the mirth in his voice, but of all of them, he thrives in awkwardness the best.
“Great idea, Ben.” Frankie doesn’t even have to roll his eyes.
“It’s fun confusing people,” the blonde defends, pulling back to flap a hand. Of course he thinks so, and of course Catfish disagrees.
“As long as the people who aren’t confused are us,” Will catches Santi's eye, and you feel him rumble again, squeezing you.
“I agree.”
-
Will walks in to see you completely on top of Frankie, sleeping against his chest. It’s a welcome sight, after a long, long week, and his layers shed as Frankie beams at him. The smile is void of gloating or even teasing, filled only with a hard earned joy. He loves the moments you crash into him, drawing out the weight on his mind and replacing it with you.
“That seems a little selfish,” his watcher teases, his deep, dry voice making you stir a little.
Frankie pulls an understanding face and shifts, letting you slide between him and the back of the couch, opening up for the other man. Your eye peaks open long enough to see Will’s smile, before you feel him, warm and close.
He’s taller, but it’s a practiced fit, and the couch was bought specifically for all of their width and height.
The man beneath you let’s out a groaning breath, like the weight of one of his loves hadn’t been quite enough. Silence fills the air, thick and warm as cocoa on a chilly evening, the three of you taking slow, indulgent sips. Hands rub shoulders and slide over unwinding muscles before they still, thankful for the heartbeats just beneath the surface.
And then the moment slides away, as Frankie remembers a story from work – his excitement is contagious. His deep eyes are bright, the lilt of his voice exaggerated by the animation that fills him head to toe, and you climb over them to find a glass of water. You'd already heard the story, and you need to wake up for the evening.
Santi’s in the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket, and hes pulling you by the hip into his arms. His skin is cool from their air outside, and he seeks your warmth with playful pleading, rubbing his nose along your cheek, your neck, and blowing puffs into your hair. The squeaks you make only spur him, happy kisses following the pre-made path, and he laughs, really laughs, for no real reason.
“Come,” he says, after finding your lips once more, “it’s almost time.” And you wake fully, checking the clock. He’s right, and both of you rush back to the others.
Ben’s fight is on the screen, and your boys are sitting, telling you for the thousandth time how rude it is that they cut off spectators.
“I know, I know,” you shush Will with your mouth, a chaste, chiding kiss, and he softens, pulling you back down. The sleepy satisfaction is long gone, dissipated by his talk with Frankie, and their inevitable excitement as they traded bits of wisdom. Now, it’s time to watch his brother, and to feel the bones in your hand creak as Frankie winces at every punch.
The fight is a short one, and you’re almost glad you didn’t drive an hour for it – your sweet Benny hardly gives the other guy a chance. He blows a kiss at the camera, and Santi says, “Mine,” before sticking his tongue out.
“How do you know?” Frankie protests, reaching over to smack him.
“Hush, he’ll call in just a minute,” you scold, snipping a budding argument, and rolling your eyes. “You can ask him then, if you want.”
You were right – and he called you, probably well aware of the bickering he caused. Speakerphone is mandatory, as deep voices shout their approval.
“The kiss was for all of you,” he says. “Minus Will.” He rolls his eyes, as Frankie makes a triumphant noise.
Over the responsive banter you change the topic.
“How soon will you be home?”
“Why baby, the whole crew there, and you still miss me?” Tonight’s win had gone straight to his head.
Will appears behind you, rumbling, his hand sliding up you shirt in a single, fluid motion.
“Watch yourself,” he said, loud enough for the phone to catch it. “I’d say we’re doing just-"
“- Fine,” the others catch his drift, lowered eyelids and knowing smirks making their way around. Just as fluid, Frankie pulls at you, settling your core over his thigh, his dark eyes asking for permission. Denying him is unfathomable – their touches already perfectly placed and hot.
The gasp leaves your lips before you even think to stop it.
“Fuck,” Benny’s voice is lower, even through the phone. “Don’t you dare!” The command falls flat, his damage done. Bra shoved away, Will rolls a nipple between his fingers as Santi’s hand palms you through the fabric as best he can, always eager to join the torture.
“Hurry up then,” he adds, watching you grind and melt beneath them, knowing the other man is already regretting his words.
“No fair!” you hear the slam of his locker and grin, already too far gone to stop their antics.
Frankie coaxes you off his thigh, hands busy as he began to rid your of your clothes. You’re slick with want, holding whatever you can brace yourself against, as they lovingly remind him what he’s missing.
“Would you rather we let you listen, hot shot?” it’s both a taunt and an offer, and you see wide eyes and feel eager twitches.
There was a moment of silence, before Benny’s curse cracks into the air, needy and nearly breathless.
And you’re suddenly glad you got a nap in earlier. If the last five minutes are any indication, it’s going to be a long night.
-
“No, but thanks for checking again,” you say, trying not to sound sarcastic. Benny is using his best puppy eyes, even pulling down the thick scarf his mama gave him to pout at you.
“But I made us the coolest fort, you said so yourself!”
“My love, it’s cold.” You respond, kissing his surprisingly warm cheek. “The others have already tried.”
You wave at Will over his shoulder as he packs yet another snowball for their war. A hit to the back of the head is a fitting distraction, and Ben kisses you quickly before he runs off to his corner of the yard.
And as much fun as it could be to watch, you close the door to the freezing air, knowing if you don’t, the next one will be coming for you.
You end up by the window, catching glimpses through the thick white frost, as you Google new winter recipes. And you’re thoroughly wrapped up in a distraction when a hand slips into yours
“Oh, hello,” you grab at it, trying to warm the fingers between your palms. “Too cold for Catfish?”
He nods, sighing as you try to thaw him.
“Come,” you say, leading him to the kitchen. He’s like a bear, lumbering after you, thickened with winter layers, but with meek obedience and eyes filled with adoration.
“Cocoa, love?” it’s hardly a question.
“Please, Frankie?” He kisses you in confirmation, seemingly growing even lager as he glows with pride. No recipe you’ve ever found gets the spices as perfect as he can, and it’s his joy to brew if for you all.
Before, though he turns the kettle on, heating water for the bottles, knowing any moment what will happen. And he’s never wrong. The door opens with a gust of chill wind, making snowflakes cling to their winter beards.
Just as the hot water bags are filled, and the rest finds its way into a footpan, Santi trudges through the door, huffing with laughter but with spikes of pain shooting from his knees. You help him settle into cushions, resting his joints, as Will and Benny tumble in, shedding soaking layers and telling you the final battle.
Passing out steaming mugs you kiss their cheeks and they know the truth – adventures should be taken and fun should be had, but nowhere was better than right here with you.
-
It happens rarely: waking up perfectly encompassed by your loves. Someone’s elbow was always poking or beard would tickle, and the first to wake would inevitably wiggle and jostle limbs.
But when it does, it’s bliss.
Your tucked into Will’s side – his beard is soft and smells like books and clean linens and the way it feels when rain pours down after weeks of drought.
Frankie is behind him, pressing close, and Santi is near a second skin, he’s sandwiched you so tightly. You can the shape of Benny beyond Frankie's fluff of hair, and for once, you don’t feel the need to move. Deep breathes a contented mid-dream murmurs push away the reminder that one of you must leave – a least for long moments.
But then you notice the pace of the heart beneath your hand, and prepare yourself for the rub of his jaw along his temple. Your Will would never risk the movement of kissing you before he knew you were awake.
“Good morning,” your voice is barely audible, just for him.
“I love you,” his response is just as quiet, but equally filled with love.
Neither of you says anything else, just shifting ever-so-slightly to kiss each other, unable to resist. Then you settle again, cherishing the squeezes and pacified rumbles, and dreaming of drifting off again.
You know he won’t - can’t, with a stupid Saturday meeting on it’s way, but you wish he would. All of you hate when he’s robbed like this, hate that he has to count down the minutes and then untangle himself and climb away. Feeling his heart race pick up again, you know he’s anxious. It goes against his nature to disturb, to break a perfect moment.
“Stop thinking so loud.” Benny groans, quiet, but not quite so in-control. “Here.”
He flops, pawing the end table before finding Will’s phone and tossing it to him, before settling forward against Frankie again. The whole time his eyes barely opened more than a hair, awake exclusively for the greater good.
A small, conflicted noise grumbles in Will’s throat, but then, to your amazement, he frees a hand and begins to draft an excuse.
“Tell them it could be an email,” Santi’s voice is thick with sleep.
“Because it could be,” Frankie adds, reaching for the phone. His eyes are puffy, wincing at the brightness, but if Will doesn’t call off the meeting, someone has to. Huffing, the man beneath you snatches it back, making incomprehensible comments about how he’s the only one who knows what to say.
You shift to kiss him again, shocked in spite of yourself. All this time, he’s never called in sick, no matter how deeply he’s been tempted. But more proud than anything.
It’s a perfect morning – too good to spoil. He sends it and tosses his phone, satisfied sighs and sleepy high fives making him chuckle. And you pull the blankets back in place, tucking in the joy for a few hours more.
what's up loves! here's my masterlist for all of my triple frontier poly fics, which all exist in the same universe. they include William (Ironhead) Miller, Santiago (Pope) Garcia, Francisco (Catfish) Morales, Ben (Benny) Miller, and a female reader.
these are 18+ fics. yes, all of them, even if they dont have explicit sexual content.
again, I've spoken to the other tf poly author I know, this is ... completely separate :) as an additional disclaimer, I will not be including any fetishization of the mlm relationships in this group, and not including any romantic or sexual relations between the Miller brothers.
just a day - exploring the group dynamic
kissing - headcannons exploring the differences between each of them
ebb and flow - insecurities and glimpses at how they process them
free time - headcannons about what activities they do in pairs and trios and as a group
trials - what happens when Santi tries to get another girl, and ends up falling more in love with you
bickering - a lil goofy ficlet about de-esclating the Miller arguements
cuddle puddles - a collections of cuddly scenes
out or in - scenes of choosing each other
soulmates - an au of this au, where they're all soulmates
home - scenes from the first week in their house
ask - kinks, consent, kissing (and sex with each of the boys individually)
pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco “Catfish Morales, Ben “Benny” Miller and a female reader
wordcount: 2.1k
warnings: all fics in this series are 18+, poly relationship, domestic, romantic, and sexual intimacy. strong language, angst with a happy ending
summary: this one is a Santi story - he tries to bring another girl into the relationship, and learns instead how much he loves you
it wont be everyone's cup of tea but I felt like it was an important part of the story
note: don’t hate Santi! I think this is a pretty normal, and the best sunsets come after rain
>>
Santi was the first to branch out. He didn’t mean to – hated himself for it a little, but he did.
This – whatever this is, it’s a ticking time bomb, he told Will. One of has to do something before it breaks all of our hearts.
It was a lie.
They both knew it. But he had the money and the looks and the confidence and he was just hurt enough by the sight of you asleep in Ben’s lap one afternoon that he just… let it get to him.
Brooded and boiled until he was overcome with false righteousness and pure selfishness.
He didn’t look you in the eyes when he told you he was going to try to get another girl. It wasn’t that he was leaving what you all had, just that he deserved a chance at whatever he called balance. His gaze in the other men’s eyes was too bold – the look of a desperate man, terrified of being hurt so causing it on his own terms.
You nodded numbly, shocked in spite of yourself, scolding and scathing voices in your mind telling you not to be selfish. Not to be greedy.
He deserves more than sharing.
Tucking yourself into Frankie’s arms, you tried not to glare or cry and only failed at the latter. Because it’s not the dating another girl that hurt, really it’s not. Polyamory is hard, and it was always an open option. What hurts is his blatant choice to ignore the relationship his has with you, specifically, that he’s ignoring everything you and him have worked for, built with love and time and care.
Rubbing gentle hands over your skin, Will and Frankie and Ben shared looks as Santi stalks away.
Frankie corners him in the garage the next morning. You had slept between him and Will the night before, but they had all felt you toss and turn, all spent a fair amount of time staring at the ceiling themselves. His dark eyes are an insecure that shoots into Frankie’s core – it’s a look he knows, has spent months overcoming. He swallows hard, his words dying in his throat, and he simply shakes his head.
It almost breaks Santi in two, the first moment one of his loves betrays the damage he’s done, but he tells himself there’s no going back.
“Better now than later, when our parents hate her or –”
Frankie’s look stops him and he flinches away.
Will is at the bar he chooses without an invite, knowing where he’d be without having to even ask and they both try not to think of you at home with Ben, probably dripping flames. Santi wonders if it hurts more to watch him flirt, or to do it, but neither of them say a word to each other. In spite of it all, the respect his judgement, respect his choice, and that hurts too.
It feels strange to have others looking him up and down and to look back, smile with lust void of love and soak in the attention.
Before he succumbs to it, Santi wishes Will would come over, slide his hand around his neck and… stop respecting him so much. It would pull him back, but since he doesn’t, the thought dies under the burn of cheap alcohol.
-
She’s lovely, really, graceful like a cat.
Santi has kept her from you all for a few weeks now, keeping his dignity with distance. But now she’s here, in your home, and you should be jealous but instead you just smile sadly at her, and slip off to the kitchen.
He likes… coffee, dark roast, with just a clump of raw sugar. You’re stirring it when you realize they followed you, hovering at the door. The ache of it is less than it was before and they’re happy together, so for his sake, you sit down across from her.
She’s kind, friendly. Knows the gist of the situation, tells you she’ll go at your pace.
And it crashes into you, how he’s pinned you at a time when know one else is home, offering her up to you like a plea, a child who used the superglue to make a gift, never mind the fact that his hands are both stuck to it and burning.
It feels reasonable to have another woman around, to make the numbers less absurd, to – to help you. Her smile is a little shy and she takes you hand and she looks at Santi with such adoration that a knot loosens in your chest involuntarily.
She doesn’t joke about it, any of it, and you almost wish she would. It would be so much easier to hate her if she was shallow, or stupid, or something but she’s not, and when she smiles you almost think you could be friends. You wonder if you could make it work, like they do for you.
Ben and Will come home early, stepping in like the angels they are, planting themselves solid at your side like trees with roots deeper than they are tall. When Frankie comes home, he takes the spot of the two of them as their eyes draw Santi into another room.
“What the fuck, Garcia,” Benny is as hurt as you are by it all, maybe more.
“Shut up Miller.” He’s glaring, filled with venomous satisfaction at how well the two of you have been talking.
“Cant you see it’s for the better?”
There’s silence – neither of them agree, too confused by him to respond.
“Don’t you ever wonder,” Santi tries again, knowing they’re listening because they love him too.
“No.” They spoke in unison, which makes Will roll his eyes. Neither of them hesitate, and something in Santi cracks.
-
You poke holes in the bottom of a styrofoam container with a plastic fork. She’s long gone now, but the date still lingers as you poke at your leftovers and try to unwind each moment of the date like strings of spaghetti.
On the surface it had gone well, you had thought you had fun until you felt a burn of tears under your eyelids.
Closing them you sigh, breathing like you practiced, gentle tides of love and logic washing over a feelings you tell yourself are selfish.
When you open your eyes, your Santi is standing behind her chair, and you almost cant breathe.
He went away for two weeks to help with a mission, and he’s here, one side of his mouth higher than the other. You want to kiss it, but you smile instead, and say, “You missed her by a couple minutes, sorry,” and actually mean it.
“I caught her in the parking lot,” he sits slowly, carefully, and when he reaches for your hands it’s almost tentative. It makes you blink again, how his eyebrows are bending. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t understand what it means, cant predict at all what he says next.
“I broke it off,” his eyes are in yours.
“I don’t understand,” you hear yourself say.
Santi searches for the words, like he had them but cant make them come out of his mouth.
“She’s not you,” he says. “I want you.”
You realize with a start that his hand is trembling, and he says your name in a way you’ve never heard before – like he’s terrified. That’s how badly he wants this, wants.. you. There’s no question in your mind, your eyes answer him.
It’s messy, not like a movie, the way he tugs you up and up and into his arms, the shudder of his broad shoulders and he buries himself into you as much as he can.
Like a hazy, blurry dream, your arms find their way around him, holding him like he’s fragile, another first.
He doesn’t say You’re enough for me, or You deserve the world, or anything dramatic.
Instead he says, “Can I buy you dinner?” And, “I’m sorry,” and “It’s been too long.”
And he says “I love you.”
-
He already asked the others, calling them each on his drive to you. Asked like he was young, if it was okay. Santi knew none of them had fallen in love with her, because even he hadn’t. But he had to ask for their permission as much as yours, to try to win you back.
They were more guarded than you, wary of his passion.
It takes time, and work.
He stays up later than he should talking with Benny about everything and nothing, hands nervously putting together snacks. When the younger man holds you, Santi teaches himself to join, to be held and hold you both. It feels good, which feels like guilt.
He works on that, too.
Frankie and him never talk about it. For weeks he thought his oldest friend had understood, more of less forgiven him without a word. One day they’re out for lunch, and his eyes flicker at the waitress, tucking her hair behind her ear. When he returns his gaze to the man across him, his blood runs cold. It’s been years since he’s seen furious determination brewing in Frankie’s dark, caring eyes, but it’s there now and he hates it. It takes discipline, to watch how he’s perceived as closely as he watched his intentions, but he does it.
It was easier than winning Will back.
“How long has your logic been shit?” Has your heart been in the wrong place this whole damn time?
“I just got on the wrong path, Ironhead.”
“Like hell you did,” his eyes were ice. “You let that happen.”
It would’ve been easier if he punched him. This wasn’t a kiss and make up moment either. The work ended up being long talks while you forced them to drive to pick you up when your car broke down the town over. Forcing words out being so honest it hurt, until has heart and throat felt raw. Making Will understand it was out of his own fears. Showing him how he was fixing it.
And weeks of letting with watch him again, eyes not missing a single touch or flinch or moment between you all. Actions to reinforce his words.
It hurt, but infinitely less than feeling distant from you all to begin with.
-
Will and your Catfish bring it up with you, one sunday afternoon as you tuck yourself between them and let their hands trace your skin.
“How are you doing?”
“I don’t know, Will. Better, I think. I missed him.”
Frankie places a row of warm kisses down the side of your neck.
“He missed you too. It’s Pope, he’s... he’s scared, love.”
“I don’t know if I believe that, yet.”
Ironhead grumbles at your confession, his big fingers squeezing the meat of your thigh.
“You gave him another chance, but you’re holding back. What does your gut say?”
“Unreliable - I’m in love with him.”
His head pops up and he kisses you before half-smiling. Frankie’s hand finds one of his, and they share a look.
“Can we tell you, querida? What we’ve seen.”
“Some objective evidence,” Will kisses you again.
“He loves us.” Another kiss.
“You.”
-
It’s quiet as Santi flips through his latest files. The evening air is cool, and he should be getting ready for bed but you’re not home yet, and they’re all milling about waiting. You texted them how tired you were, what an awful evening you had.
“It should just be another couple of minutes,” Will says, and Frankie checks his watch. Ben wanders to the kitchen and they can hear him mixing hot chocolate.
When you walk through the front door, they fold you in their arms. Santi holds back, doubt still nagging at his mind. You let him back in, let him take you don't dates, but you didn’t fit together any more. He was running out of ways to communicate with you.
But you slump over, gently pushing aside his files and placing his laptop away before replacing it with yourself. Molding into him you sigh, and almost instantly fall asleep.
You’re small and vulnerable in his arms and the weight on his legs feels like trust.
The air in the room shifts, lighter, more breathable than it’s been in months. Adoring, proud eyes watch, and he wants to cry.
For the first time maybe ever, he’s sure that everything is going to be okay.
-
The bar was mercifully quite that evening, and if made it easy for you to find your love. A small, familiar feeling tugged in your gut as you made your way over to him, eyes on the waitress who was leaning over him with unwholesome intentions.
Then the feeling settled, and was replace with a warmer feeling. She was putting down a tray that had your order on it, and Santi was thanking her, distracted checking your message on his phone.
“Hey, handsome,” you said, the warm feeling spreading throughout your chest. “Can we actually get out of here?”
His brown eyes were big, dark lashes catching the low lights as he stared at you. Somewhere in his mind, he thought too protest because your drink just got there, but the words stuck on his tongue.
“Yeah... yeah of course, baby,” He signaled for the check before standing to draw you in his arms. Saying no to you had never really been an option.
The two of you barely made it to his truck before your hands were all over each other. You liked the feel of him, pinning you against the metal frame, the desperate way he kissed you.
Pope was saying something about how you looked so fucking sexy, needing him so badly you couldn’t wait. You couldn’t concentrate on them.
“Pope,” you said against his skin, sliding your hands under his shirt. In response, he only made a soft groaning noise and increases his urgency.
"Santi," you tried again, before your own gasp cut you off.
"Santi - fuck - Santiago!"
The look he gave you was that of a dog, when you held the treat just out of reach.
"I'm yours," you said, pulling his head in to press against your forehead. "And you," you kissed him, hard, fingers gripping his beautiful curls. "Are mine."
"Fuck," you could feel his heartbeat, his pulse, he was pressing into you so hard, like he wanted to blur where he ended and you began. You knew he understood.
"I am," he said into your skin again and again that evening. Not selfish position, a promise and a proclamation: "I'm yours."
