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#santiago pope garcia
navybrat817 · 2 days
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We'll call this Titillating Tuesday.
The Triple Frontier boys are part of a military program where they're each paired with a reader for breeding purposes.
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Except Tom. He isn't invited.
Could also work with the Cap trio.
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That's all, lovelies. Go about your business. ❤️
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fettuccin-e · 6 months
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Tag-Teaming
Kinktober Day 5: Threesome
Tags: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Reader x Santiago "Pope" Garcia, afab!fem!reader, tag-teaming, unprotected piv (wrap it up gang dont be dumb), fingering and oral (f!recieving), Santi and Frankie both have filthy mouths how dare they (w/c: 1.1K)
A/N: I have been wanting to write a Santi x Frankie x Reader fic for forever okay and kinktober really gave me an excuse, but writing threesomes is so HARD (in more ways than one hehehe) so props to anyone who can write threesomes regularly because it's so difficult. Anyway these two can sandwich me between them anytime (I have been following prompts from this list by @flightlessangelwings!)
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It shouldn’t surprise you how good they are together, how well they work. They’re a team. They've always been a team. Why would this be any different?
But fuck, it’s so much different experiencing it, not just seeing it in the field. Frankie plastered against your back, your legs braced over his thighs as he spreads you apart, spreading you so wide for Santiago. Fucking Santi, his cock pressed so deep inside you it’s like you can’t breathe, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips as he breaks you open around him.
“Fuck her harder Pope,” Frankie grumbles, pinching your aching clit between two wonderfully calloused fingers. “Fuck her like you goddamn mean it.” His voice in your ear, his filthy fucking mouth, make your cunt clench around Santi’s cock, and the man groans at both the feeling and Frankie’s command, pounding his cock into you hard.
Frankie rubs furiously at your clit, sending your back arching against his chest, gasping for air. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Let yourself fuckin’ feel it. Santi’s cock feels so good, doesn’t it?”
“God, yes, oh my fucking God,” you whine. Santi chuckles, all smugness and delirious pleasure. He rocks into you at an angle that has him jamming into your sweet spot relentlessly. “He feels so fucking good, ‘s so fucking big.”
Santi leans forward again, capturing your lips with his. “You think I’m big, hermosa, I can’t wait to see how you take Frankie’s cock. He’s gonna split you apart, stretch this pussy so fuckin’ wide,” Santi mutters against your mouth.
The thought makes you moan, pressing back against the unmistakable length of Frankie's cock, hard and aching, pressed against your skin. You hear Frankie suck in a labored breath, his fingers pausing on your clit. “You wanna cum, sweetheart?" Santi says, his voice dark with promise. "Get all loose to take Frankie so deep in this little cunt?”
This time, Frankie groans from behind you, deep and rumbling. The sound is intoxicating, especially as his fingers start rubbing at your pussy all over again. An endless mantra of “please, please, please,” escapes from your lips, and Santi growls, fucking into you so hard it makes tears spring to your eyes. You claw at Santi’s back, into Frankie’s forearm, gripping onto them both for dear life.
“C’mon, baby, cum on Santi’s cock, bet you look so pretty when you do. Wanna feel this pretty pussy clench around his cock,” Frankie murmurs darkly in your ear. He snakes his other hand up for body, pinching one of your nipples between his fingers. “Don’t you want to see Santi cum, cariño? Won’t he look so pretty?” 
A look up at Santi, his curls drenched with sweat, flush high on his cheeks as his hips work between yours, has you nodding furiously at Frankie’s words, and fuck, you’re cumming at the sight of him, of Santi, so beautiful and debauched between your thighs. Your body locks up with it, your pussy clenching around his length still working into you, Frankie holding you tightly to his chest as Santi fucks you through it.
“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” Santi growls, pressing himself as deep into you as he can, his hips twitching as he fills you up. And God, Frankie was right, Santi is beautiful, twitching through his orgasm, jaw clenched and pupils blown wide. He leans forward to kiss you in a way that is fucking filthy, licking into your mouth desperately, swallowing your moans. You breathe together through it, and when you finally stop trembling, Santi pulls away from your mouth with a feral grin.
“Wanna give Fish a turn, baby?” he whispers, and you manage to mumble a yes, even though your brain has been turned to mush. Santi chuckles, the smug bastard, and slips out of you, the emptiness making you whimper.
“I know, bebita, I know,” Santi says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Frankie’s gonna fill you up again, I promise.”
You lift your hips, turning  your head to press a kiss to Frankie’s lips as Santi grabs Frankie's cock, pressing the tip to your entrance. Fuck, it’s thick, popping past your entrance as you sink your hips down, down, stretching yourself around him. It seems fucking endless, how deep he reaches into your cunt.
“That’s it, baby, it’s so big, isn’t it?" Santi whispers, "Frankie fills you up so good, yeah? Treats this pretty pussy like it fucking deserves?”
“Santiago.” Frankie growls, his fingers digging into your thighs as you clench around him like a vice at Santi’s words. Fuck, he’s so close already. Watching Pope fuck you already had his cock throbbing beneath you, and now, in the hot clutch of your cunt, he feels like a goddamn virgin. And with Santiago whispering some of the filthiest shit he’s ever heard in his life between the three of you, there’s no way he can last very long.
He’ll make you cum first though. Of course he will.
You nearly scream as Frankie pumps his hips up beneath you, spearing you deep on his cock. He holds tight to your thighs as he pounds furiously in and out of you, ripping you to pieces on top of him. He’s so fucking warm against your back, Santi radiating heat against your front, and you swear to God that you could pass out then and there. Fuck, it’s so good, Frankie’s cock drags against your g-spot with every fucking thrust, unrelenting and utterly debilitating.
And then, Santi lays down on his front, eyes trained on where you and Frankie are connected, and sucks your clit into his hot mouth.
This time, you really do scream, your hands flying down to tangle in Santi’s hair while he licks feverishly at your clit, and you cum, Santi licking between your legs, Frankie pounding up into your cunt. You thrash between them, utterly lost in the feeling of it, hot tears leaking down your cheeks.
“Fuck yes, baby, that’s our good girl,” Frankie groans from behind you.
“Please, please cum Frankie, need you to fucking cum,” you cry, and Frankie has no choice but to follow your orders. He sinks deep inside, biting into your shoulder as he drowns your pussy in his cum. The thought of it mixing with Pope’s inside of you has him shaking through his orgasm.
“God, look at that,” Santi murmurs from between your legs, watching you clench around Frankie so tight he can barely move, cum leaking out around where Frankie is buried deep inside you. His cock twitches at the sight. Later, he thinks, later, we’ll do this again, over and over.
For now, he helps Fish guide you off of his lap, laying you between them. The three of you plaster yourselves against each other, breathing together. A unit, a team. 
You wouldn’t have it any other way.
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ser-rctslcyer · 19 days
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Happy 45th Birthday Oscar Isaac!!!
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Tethered.
The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.
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Pairing - Benny Miller, Frankie Morales, Santiago Garcia, Will Miller x female reader
Age Rating - 18+
Warnings - Cursing, sexual content, mentions of sobriety
Word Count - 5523
Author's Note - by popular demand!! thank you to everyone who voted in the poll, it was so helpful!! don't worry, there is still a stewy hosseini fic coming very soon. i love writing for the triple frontier boys, so if anyone has any requests or particular thoughts, please send them my way. i'm also a total will girly, if you couldn't tell. as always, lots of love <3
my other triple frontier fics - Time, Tranquility and Home Is Where The Heart Is.
Masterlist. Requests.
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Will’s strong hand rubs steady circles into your thigh under the table as you all hunch over laughing.
Benny’s telling the story of his bad date from the night before. The combination of his masterful storytelling and the whiskey that seems to be refilling itself is making you giddy, all of you high on the joy of being with your best friends. There’s no feeling quite like it, laughing until you cry.
“Wait, that doesn’t explain why she slapped you!” Santiago exclaims from opposite you, clapping Benny on the back.
“She slapped me because, it turns out, I’d kissed her best friend a few months ago. She called me a dog and everything,” he laughs, tears escaping from his eyes. “She had a strong hand!”
“Did you know who she was when you saw her?” Frankie asks, genuinely intrigued.
“I realised as soon as I sat down. I didn’t know it’d be a problem! Man, fuck blind dates,” Ben chuckles.
“Am I crazy for not seeing the issue here?” Santiago asks, looking around the table.
“I didn’t see it either, apparently. It’s not like me and Lucy ever went anywhere. It was just a kiss.” Benny’s face is scrunched up in confusion. It makes you want to smooth your thumb over the crease between his brows.
“She was giving me the look, I swear,” he continues. “So I went in for the kiss, and she hit me.”
The boys are all laughing again, and as guilty as you feel, you can’t help but join them. Benny has such an animated, expressive face, that even the most boring of stories are entertaining when being told by him. It’s a gift. He just has a way with people.
“What do you think, hermosa?” Santiago asks, looking at you pointedly. “Would you kiss someone your best friend has kissed?”
“I don’t know,” you reply carefully. “Depends on the situation, I guess. I’d try not to, I think.”
Will’s looking at you with amusement in his eyes, slight smirk on his face. It’s clear that no one is putting the pieces together.
“Would you, Santi?” you question, lips quirking up at the corners.
“Probably not. I’d avoid it, if possible,” he replies.
The whiskey is making you braver than usual, a warm buzz running through your veins. Without thinking, you laugh,
“Too late.”
Everyone looks at you, brows raised in confusion. Will’s grinning now, chuckling to himself quietly. You’re giggling at their faces, their naivety making you smile.
You watch as Frankie looks slowly around the table, and then back at you. Shaking his head, he catches your eyes and snickers.
“Minx,” he mutters, still smiling.
“Am I missing something here?” Benny asks, surveying the silent communication happening between you, Frankie and Will.
You sigh sarcastically and throw your drink back, downing it in one go. Well, we’re doing this, you think.
“I’ve kissed every single person at this table,” you start. “Which means you’ve all kissed the same girl your best friend has kissed.”
Santiago and Benny go silent for a moment, processing this new information. Will and Frankie are still smiling, already a step ahead.
“Wait, what?” Santiago finally speaks. “You have?”
“Oh no. Pope thought he was special,” Frankie laughs, head thrown back.
“Stop it, Francisco! You are special, Santi. It just so happens that they are too.”
You point generally at the other boys, all of them with their eyes fixed on you. You can see that Benny is still figuring things out, the alcohol making his brain work slower than usual.
“I’ve known you guys for years. We’ve been through a lot together. And you’re like, the four most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen! It was bound to happen sooner or later,” you justify.
Everyone’s laughing now, the final piece finally being put into the jigsaw. You can tell they’re all thinking back to their kisses – you are too.
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
Benny had been the first one to kiss you.
It happened right at the beginning of his boxing career. He’d started working out religiously, meal planning, prepping for his first big fight. He set strict rules for himself – no alcohol, no women, no sex. You were glad he’d found an output for his energy, glad he was taking something so seriously – even if the idea of him getting hurt did terrify you.
The four of you had gone to support him, eager to see him win after months of watching him train and prepare. He’d really committed to the process, which was a surprise – Benny was a notorious ladies man. He loved to relax with a beer. But he’d never broken his self-made rules, not once. No matter the outcome of the fight, you were insanely proud of him. All of you were.
The atmosphere in the warehouse was electric. It was a big venue, with hundreds of people gathering to spectate. You hadn’t realised this was such a popular event. Adrenaline buzzed through the air, making you antsy with anticipation. You and the boys had front row seats by the ring, allowing you the perfect view, the ideal place to support Ben.
“I’m gonna go get us some beers,” Santiago yells over the noise.
“I’ll come help you,” you shout back, linking your hand into his so you don’t get separated.
You make your way out of the double doors and down the hallway in attempt to find the bar. On the journey, you spot a sign that points to the locker rooms.
“You order, I’ll be right back,” you tell Santiago, before following the directions.
You push open the door and step into the locker room. Benny is sat on the bench, headphones blasting music so loud you can hear it from 10 feet away. You make your way over, and touch him on the shoulder gently. He doesn’t startle.
“I don’t want to disturb you, Ben. Just wanted to say good luck,” you say quietly.
He grabs your wrist and pulls you to sit next to him.
“You could never disturb me, honey. You’re my good luck charm,” he winks, and the cheekiness of it warms your chest.
He pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you, breathing in the scent of your strawberry shampoo. You inhale with him, and soak up the heat that’s seeping into your skin.
“It doesn’t matter what happens out there,” you tell him. “I’ll love you no matter what.”
You press a kiss to his cheek, and throw a beaming smile at him before leaving. You find Santi at the bar, and help him carry the beers back to the boys.
You’ve never seen this side of Benny. He’s throwing and dodging punches like it’s second nature. The man moves like ocean waves, fluid and constant, never once caught off guard. There’s a lot to be said about the pastime of men fighting each other, but honestly, Ben has found his calling.
Electricity crackles through the air as Benny swings his last punch. His opponent falls to the mat as you rise from your seats. All of you instantly begin screaming, roars of celebration filling the space. Ben throws his fist in the air, signalling his victory. It’s rare, this feeling. The five of you don’t win very often. This needs to be savoured.
Eventually, the cheering dies down, and Benny leaves the ring to go and get changed. The boys are all ecstatic, chattering with pride in their voices about their brother, their teammate, their best friend.
“Be right back,” you tell them, moving to slip out of the doors and down the hallway.
You strut into the locker room, eyes scanning the space for the man you’re looking for. You find him stood, unwrapping his hands. Before you know it, you’re running into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he spins you. His bare chest is dripping with sweat. He’s covering you in it, but you couldn’t care less. You’re both laughing, joy and love filling the air.
“I’m so proud of you,” you breathe into his neck, still in his arms. Your feet finally find the floor, and you lean back slightly to stare up at him.
“Couldn’t have done it without you, pretty girl,” he beams at you.
You can feel the energy coursing through his veins. He’s thrumming with it, buzzing with adrenaline – it feels like he’s going to burst. He’s practically vibrating.
Before you can even register what’s happening, Benny pulls you back to him, smashing his lips onto yours. He skims his hands down your back to grab at the backs of your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist and press yourself into him.
The kiss is needy, desperate, pulsing - all teeth and tongue. Benny walks you backwards to slam you against the lockers, using the pressure of his body to lean forward into you. Your hands thread through his hair, pulling forcefully. He groans, deep and guttural, and it’s one of the most gorgeous sounds you’ve ever heard.
He’s grabbing at your ass as he dips his head down to leave open mouthed kisses on your neck, biting at the column of your throat. Your dress is practically around your waist, and you roll your hips forward, searching for friction. It’s your turn to groan now.
“Fuck, honey,” he murmurs. “Prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.”
He holds you up with one arm, and moves the other hand to twist into the waistband of your underwear. He’s pulling them down when someone bangs on the door, startling you both.
“Benny! Champion! Get out here, man, or we’re coming in!”
It’s Will’s voice, that deep tone instantly recognisable.
You pull your lips from Benny’s, your head dropping back against the locker with a clang.
“Shit,” he chuckles, gently pressing a kiss to your sternum.
“Shit,” you repeat, giggling gently.
Benny puts you down carefully, smoothing down your dress with those big hands of his. He fixes your hair next, sweetly moving it out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. He runs his thumb under your bottom lip, wiping where your lipstick has smudged.
“Do we look like we just made out?” you ask him, amusement evident in your tone.
“You do. I look like I just won a fight.”
He smiles at you, and you can’t help but smile back. God, this man. One minute he’s got you whining against the lockers, and the next he’s got you giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Come on,” you urge. “They’re gonna come busting in here any second.”
Right on cue, the door swings open, three men barrelling inside. They all jump on Benny, ruffling his hair and pulling him into a headlock affectionately. You watch from a short distance away, smile still etched on your face. You love them so much you’re worried your heart is going to burst out of your chest.
You look at Will, and find him smirking at you. Always a step ahead. Frankie grabs your wrist and pulls you into their celebrations. You’re being thrown around like you’re in some sort of whirlpool, dizzy with the joy of being with your best friends. You wouldn’t change a thing, even if you are a little lightheaded.
You catch eyes with Benny, and he winks. You know that the events of tonight aren’t going to change anything between the two of you. Your friendship is so solid, you’re convinced it can withstand anything. The five of you are connected, somehow. This unexplainable, invisible tether, binding you wherever you go. The kind of friendship that they write books about.
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Frankie was the next person to kiss you.
Or maybe you kissed him. You’re still not sure.
The five of you were at a bar downtown, drinking and laughing. The boys were a few beers deep, muscles relaxing and minds quietening.
But not Frankie.
When he’d made the decision to get sober, he’d included everything. He wasn’t a man who believed in partially sober, or ‘California sober’. If he was going to commit, he was going to commit fully. Alcohol included.
Usually, it didn’t bother him. He could go to bars with his friends, happily crack open beers for them when they watched a football game, make a mean margarita when they hung out at his pool in the summer. But that night, he was on edge. He didn’t know why, couldn’t pinpoint any reason specifically, but he was on overdrive. His mind wouldn’t slow down - thoughts barrelling into him at a hundred miles an hour. He was debating going home to bed, before realising that he was designated driver. So, he’d sat back in his seat, taken a deep breath, and tried to pretend like he wasn’t about to combust.
You’d noticed. Of course you had. You, with your observant eyes, your careful gaze, your genuine smile. You’d noticed.
Will had too. He was keeping an eye on Frankie from across the booth, but he wasn’t worried. He knew you were watching him like a hawk. That reassured Will to no end.
“Oh yeah? Come on then, old man, put your money where your mouth is!” Benny’s yelling at Santiago, grabbing him by the bicep, up and out of his chair. You watch as he drags him over to the pool table, determined to prove himself.
No matter where you were, or what you were doing, somehow, Benny and Santiago always managed to turn it into a competition. You, Will and Frankie were always happy to watch – you usually ended up playing referee, only interfering when someone cheated or got too rowdy.
The two of them began setting up a game, leaving you at the booth with the other two.
“I’m gonna get some air,” Frankie says suddenly, standing up and making his way out of the door.
Will gives you a look of concern.
“I got it. Just make sure those two idiots don’t kill each other with pool cues, please,” you joke.
Will chuckles and nods, squeezing your waist as you move past him to follow Frankie.
Outside, you find him around the side of the bar, leaning against the brick wall. He’s breathing heavily, clearly trying to get a handle on things. You watch as he takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his hair. He slides down the wall, sitting on the cool ground, legs bent in front of him.
You walk over and sit down next to him, ignoring the feeling of the cold concrete underneath your bare legs. You lean into him slightly, placing your head on his shoulder. He breathes you in, and you feel some of the tension melt from his muscles.
Eventually, you speak.
“You okay?”
He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in closer.
“Yeah, cariño, I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m usually fine in bars, it doesn’t bother me. Guess I’m just anxious tonight.”
You hum in understanding, before realising something.
“What’s today’s date?”
He looks at you with puzzlement written all over his face, but answers you anyway.
“March 16th.”
“Happy one year of sobriety, Francisco.”
You can see it all clicking into place in his head. The reason he’s been on pins all day, the reason he’s been so wound up tonight, unable to settle. You figured it out before he could. Clever girl.
“And I’m celebrating it in a bar, apparently. How appropriate,” he laughs. It’s a real, hearty, genuine laugh. You love when he laughs like this – so hard that he starts wheezing. It’s so endearing, it makes you want to cry.
“I can’t believe I forgot. A year ago, it was like, the biggest milestone ever. And I forgot.”
You can tell he’s almost disappointed with himself. But you’re not. No, quite the opposite, actually.
“You see how great that is though, right?” you ask him. “You’re so busy living your life now, working, being the best dad ever, that you didn’t even have to think about it. It’s not a bad thing that you forgot about it, Frankie.”
He pulls you closer, both arms wrapped around you, your head pressed into the crook of his neck.
“How do you do it, hermosa?”
“Do what?”
“Always know exactly what to say.”
“Years of knowing you, probably. Years of loving you,” you answer.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, but you hear him clear as day.
“No, I don’t deserve you. I’m so proud of you, Francisco.”
He pulls away from you to look at you earnestly. He smiles at you, and you grin back at him. If love could lift you up, you’d be floating, both of you levitating with it.
Frankie leans in closer to you, and you mirror the movement. You’re not sure who kisses who, but suddenly his lips are on yours, his hands moving to cradle your face. It’s careful, and it’s gentle, and it’s so full of gratitude and history that it takes everything in you not to break out into a grin. One of his hands moves through your hair as the other one caresses your cheek. You can’t remember the last time you were kissed so tenderly. Neither can he.
Unbeknownst to you, Will has come out to check on you both. He stops in his tracks when he sees the two of you wrapped up in each other. His heart swells in his chest, and he can’t help but smile. He knows that this won’t change anything between you and Frankie. It’s just the comfort he needed – you both needed. He makes his way back inside quietly, grateful for the both of you and the way you look after each other.
Eventually, you both pull apart. Frankie rests his forehead on yours, and takes the first full breath he’s taken all day. His shoulders relax, his jaw unclenches. He’s okay, thanks to you.
“Thank you, cielito,” he murmurs.
“For what?”
“Everything. Knowing me better than I know myself. Knowing all of us better than we know ourselves.”
“Someone’s gotta keep you all alive,” you grin, and he chuckles, the vibration of it settling into your bones, warming you up from the inside out.
He pulls you back against his side, wrapping his arms around you. You both sit against the red brick, cold ground underneath you, for what feels like hours.
“There they are!” Santiago yells when he spots you both.
“Mom, Dad, can we go home?” Benny jokes, clearly down one drink too many.
“Of course we can, baby,” you smile, pulling Frankie to his feet with you.
You all clamber into Frankie’s truck – you riding shotgun, the other boys crammed in the back. You reach for your drivers hand, and interlace your fingers, resting your palms in your lap. You hold onto him all the way home, and can’t help but notice how much lighter he seems.
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Santiago kissed you next.
The five of you were having a pool day at Frankie’s, trying to cool down in the Texan summer heat. It was rare, for all of you to have the same day off, so you planned to make the most of it.
The four boys were already in the backyard when you arrived. Letting yourself in, you made your way through the house, briefly stopping in the kitchen to put your popsicles in the freezer. You’d purposely picked the strawberry ones, knowing they were Frankie’s daughters favourite. She was at her mom’s house for the week, but you knew she’d be back at the weekend.
“Hey, honey!” Benny yells when he spots you at the back door.
All of them turn to look at you, and you’re slightly taken aback by all the golden skin on display. Benny is wearing swim shorts with an inseam that can’t be any more than 5 inches, strong thighs just begging to be bitten. Will’s navy shorts compliment his blond hair beautifully, and Santiago’s green ones bring out the dark brown of his eyes. Frankie still has his shirt on, but it hugs his biceps just right. Damn, you think. I might just have the most attractive best friends in the world.
They’re all grinning at you as you survey each of them. You know they don’t mind being ogled just a little.
“Eyes up here, princess,” Santiago teases, no seriousness whatsoever in his voice. You scoff and throw your head back in a laugh, all of them simultaneously joining you in your amusement.
You put down your bag and kick off your shoes, before grabbing the hem of your dress.
“Give us a show, Miss Supermodel,” Benny whistles, winking playfully.
You peel your dress over your head slowly, wiggling your hips as you go. You’re left in a little black bikini that admittedly doesn’t leave much to the imagination. You don’t mind. You’re safe here.
They’re all whistling and cheering, make you laugh. You never feel more appreciated than when you’re with these boys. It’s everything. They’re everything.
“It’s like Sports Illustrated in real life,” Frankie grins, bumping your shoulder with his.
“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Will says quietly when you catch his gaze. You roll your eyes playfully, but smile at him genuinely, silently thanking him.
Your eyes flicker to Santiago. He has a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. It’s more than his usual appreciation. It’s hungry, hot, burning. It makes your skin prickle, the hairs on your neck standing up. You have to get away from his stare before you jump his bones right in Frankie’s backyard.
“Want me to make you a margarita?” Frankie asks, innocently breaking through the moment.
“Yes, please. That sounds amazing.”
He smiles at you before retreating to the kitchen, Benny following him in search of beer.
The heat doesn’t ease up all day. It’s sweltering, covering you all in a sheen of sweat that can’t seem to be wiped away.
Santiago’s gaze doesn’t help your warmth. Every time you look over, he’s surveying you carefully, eyes raking over your body in a way that makes your breathing quicken. There’s always been chemistry between you, sure. You have chemistry with all of the boys. But it’s never been like this with Santiago. Yes, you flirt with each other – it’s in both of your natures. But this is different. This is real.
You spend all day lounging around. Frankie keeps you topped up with margaritas as you make trips in and out of the pool, messing around with the boys. Benny hoists you up onto his shoulders in the water, throwing you up into the air as high as he can and laughing when you splash back down. You and Will throw a ball back and forth, doubling over when he overshoots and hits Frankie, who’s soaking up the sun in a lawn chair. In the late afternoon, Frankie fires up the grill, preparing to barbeque for dinner.
“Pope, you gonna help me?” he shouts from the deck.
Santiago looks at you, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, before joining him. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. There’s anticipation bubbling at the pit of your stomach, butterflies swirling. Warmth has settled in your core, and Santi’s heated glances are only fuelling the fire.
The sun finally gives you some respite in the early evening. You all settle on the grass, drinks in hand, laughing about nothing and everything. Benny’s telling you about his next fight, describing his opponent in hilarious detail. You look down, and realise your glass is empty.
“I’m gonna get a refill. Anyone want anything?” you ask, smiling as you watch Benny jokingly pretend to box his brother.
“Can you grab me a beer, princesa?” Santiago asks, pointed gaze trained on you.
You nod and make your way inside, praying that it’s cooler in the kitchen. The sun might have gone in, but the warmth in your core hasn’t left.
You reach into the fridge for the jug of margaritas that Frankie made earlier. You’re rising onto your tiptoes to fetch a new glass from the top of the cabinet when you feel a presence against your back. Santiago grabs one from the shelf and places it on the counter in front of you, leaning forward as he does it. His lips are brushing the shell of your ear, and you shudder out a breath.
“So you’re feeling it too, mi amor?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” you breathe. You’re worried you might combust if he keeps speaking to you in that deep, low, raspy tone of his.
“Don’t know what’s gotten into me. Can’t keep my eyes off you,” he whispers. He feels a shiver wrack through your body and chuckles.
You turn around to face him, and he steps forward, caging you in against the counter, arms on either side of you. You can’t go anywhere. You don’t want to.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he practically purrs.
He runs his thumb across your bottom lip, testing the waters. You catch it with your teeth and pull it into your mouth, biting down gently before sucking, not once breaking eye contact. He groans and tilts his head back, exposing his throat to you. You tangle a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, and give him a look that says I dare you.
Santiago surges forward to capture your lips with his. It’s desperate and needy - a perfect representation of both of your states all day. He slips a strong thigh between your legs and pushes upward, making you whine. You’re pressing yourself into him, trying to get as close as possible. His hands are everywhere all at once – your hips, your hair, your back, your ass. He wants to feel all of you, and can’t decide where to start.
You feel drunk off of him as he kisses you. His tongue is making you melt, his steady hands the only thing keeping you upright. You could kiss him like this for hours, surrendering yourself to this man you call your best friend. This man you’ll love forever.
You’re so lost in each other that you don’t notice Will entering the kitchen. He clocks the situation in front of him and tries to exit silently, walking backwards out the way he came in. He knocks into the recycling bin, startling you and Santiago, causing you to jump apart and hit your head on the cabinet behind you.
“Shit, sweetheart, you okay?” Will asks, genuine concern etched on his face.
Santiago cradles the back of your head as he looks at you, eyes searching yours for any signs of pain.
“I’m good, I’m good, don’t worry,” you reassure them.
Will smirks at you and winks cheekily before he leaves, grabbing a beer on his way out.
“Oh god,” you groan, leaning forward to rest your head against Santiago’s chest. He strokes your hair lovingly, a laugh rumbling through him.
You both know Will isn’t going to say anything. He’s the most trustworthy one of them all. Always observing, never gossiping.
“Love you, hermosa,” he chuckles.
“Love you too, Santi,” you reply, wide smile painted on your face.
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
Will was the last to kiss you.
It had been a long time coming.
Some people think Will is hard to read. He’s introverted, quiet, a wallflower of sorts. But he isn’t hard to read. Not really. You just have to know what you’re looking at.
He’d called you up one Sunday morning, asking if you had plans. When you’d told him you didn’t, he invited you over for a day of pancakes and terrible movies. It sounded perfect.
Which is how you found yourself lying on Will’s couch, legs tangled together, your back to his chest. His strong arms have found home on your waist, wrapped around your middle. You’re not sure how you ended up here, as you started the movie on opposite ends of the sofa. No one’s complaining.
It’s rare, this kind of intimacy. Casual, effortless, easy. No thought goes into it. You just fall into each other as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Will’s always had that gift. He makes people feel comfortable. No matter where you are, or what you’re doing, one look from those big blue eyes is all it takes to calm you down. It doesn’t matter if you’re being shot at on a battlefield, or just getting overwhelmed in a supermarket. Will’s there, and he knows exactly what you need. You’re convinced the man might be a mind reader, honestly.
He’s not, in fact, clairvoyant. He’s just a listener. No matter what you’re talking about, Will’s looking at you like you’re the centre of his universe. He’d be perfectly content to listen to your voice, to watch the way your eyes light up when you tell stories like this forever. You feel like the only girl in the world, as you lay here in his arms.
You’re deep in thought before you decide to break the silence, voice floating through the warmth of the room.
“Have you ever wanted to kiss me?”
You feel him hum from behind you before he answers softly.
“Every day since I met you.”
You nod gently before relaxing back into him, sighing in contentment.
“Have you ever wanted to kiss me?” he asks, mirroring your question.
“Not a day goes by that I don’t think about kissing you, William,” you murmur.
His arms tighten around you slightly, pulling you impossibly closer. He presses a kiss into your hair, and another to your bare shoulder.
You sit in the silence for a while, letting the questions hang heavy in the air. It’s not awkward – no, it’s the exact opposite. It’s comfortable.
“I’ve kissed Benny, Frankie and Santi,” you confess quietly. You’re not sure why, but it just feels like something you need to get off your chest. You don’t want him to judge you.
“I know,” he speaks softly. He knows. Of course he does.
“Does it make you think differently of me?” you query. You almost don’t want to know the answer.
“Of course it doesn’t,” he replies earnestly. “Why would it?”
“I don’t know. Just doesn’t look good for me, I guess.”
“That’s not true, sweetheart. They’re your best friends. You love them. A kiss doesn’t have to change anything - not always, anyway.” He pauses. “Do you regret any of it?”
“Not at all,” you whisper.
“Exactly. We all think the world of you. You should know that by now.”
You shift and turn so that you’re sitting in between his legs, facing him. You press your forehead into his, and he smiles gently.
“I love you,” you say softly.
“I love you too,” he replies, grinning widely.
Suddenly, he jumps off the couch, pulling you up with him.
“Let’s go outside,” he prompts, dragging you out the door behind him.
“Will, it’s raining!” you squeal as he practically carries you into the backyard.
He grabs you by the waist and spins you around, both of you laughing. The downpour has drenched you both, clothes sticking to your skin, hair dripping. He puts you down and looks at you as if he’s reading the words off the very surface of your soul.
Gently, he pushes the hair out of your face, moving it to behind your ears. He uses his thumb to catch a raindrop that’s making it’s way down your cheek, swiping it away. You’re both soaked through, but you can’t feel the cold. You feel the warmest you ever have, love illuminating your bones.
Will leans down and presses his lips to yours. His hands are on your waist, and he pulls you closer, plastering you together. It’s tender, and it’s sweet, and it’s a perfect amalgamation of Will. You’ve never felt more at peace.
When he pulls away, you remember his words from earlier.
“Does this kiss change anything?” you ask, megawatt smile etched on your face.
“Everything, sweetheart,” he replies, grinning widely. “It changes everything.”
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
“You saved the best until last,” Will beams, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.
The boys all scoff, laughing as they do it. You smile broadly, moving to peck his lips tenderly.
“Sure did.”
Benny and Santiago roll their eyes jokingly, while Frankie jabs them both with his elbows.
“Idiots,” he murmurs, still chuckling.
Will’s hand finds yours under the table. His fingers twist the ring you’re wearing absentmindedly, and he leans in to whisper in your ear.
“I love you, Mrs Miller.”
“I love you too, Mr Miller.”
“Guess I just had to kiss a few frogs to find my prince,” you wink at him, the whole table erupting into protests. You throw your head back in a laugh, your whole body vibrating with it. All four of them agree it’s their favourite sound in the world.
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dameronscopilot · 1 year
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SANTIAGO "POPE" GARCIA
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reallyrallyauthor · 2 months
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Santiago Garcia, Baby
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Summary: Your baby is in a clingy phase, but Santiago is persistent about helping you, and coming to an understanding with his son.
Contents: Baby fluff, talking to a baby, talking about a baby. A little parents making out and trying to make it happen. F!reader w/ hair long enough for a baby to pull on (~2k)
AN: based on an ADORABLE request about splitting your attention btw Santi and your toddler son
-----
“Santiago, I’m sorry, can’t this wait until after we put him to bed?”
You’re standing in the upstairs hallway, holding your fussing, struggling toddler outside of his room. He’s the spitting image of his dad, and just as good at making eyes at the ladies. He doesn’t say much yet, but he has a stubborn streak you suspect he inherited from both of his parents. He’s putting it to good use lately.
You haven’t been able to get out of your pajamas all day. Every time you go to set him down, he cries like you’re leaving him forever. It’s the most heartbreaking pain-in-the-ass you’ve ever experienced.
Santiago puts his hands around your son’s chubby waist, but the baby clings to you, shaking his head.
Santiago retreats, a dark look on his handsome, tired face. “I hate this phase.”
“It’s not exactly a picnic for me either,” you say, wincing as you try to untangle your son’s fingers from twisting and pulling your hair.
Santiago puts his hands on his hips. He looks frustrated, not just because of the situation, but because he can’t fix it. 
He sets a hand on your waist, his dark eyes worried.
“We can’t keep doing this, baby. Not the baby,” he says, pointing to your son, “our baby. I mean, you baby,” he points to your face. “My baby. Fuck. You know what I mean. This sleep regression bullshit is clearly wrecking my brain. And he hasn’t let you go for days now. You can’t get anything done. He doesn’t even want me to hold him.”
“Santi,” you say quietly. You can see in his eyes he’s a little hurt by it. 
“No,” he points a finger at you, his eyes snapping back to his usual razor-sharp gaze, “it’s not about my feelings. This is about you. You can’t sit down to eat. You can’t even take a shower.”
“Are you saying I stink?” You switch the baby to your other hip and pout at him. “Your dad thinks I stink.”
“I do not think she stinks,” Santi says to his son conspiratorially, running his knuckles on your son’s fat cheeks. “She’s still the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. Sorry to say, you’ll never find anyone like her.”
Your son babbles at his dad with a suspicious look, fingers already back in the ends of your hair.
“Kid, I don’t think you appreciate the fact that this woman was mine long before you were a twinkle in my left nut.”
You clear your throat. Santi grins at you. “What? Let me enjoy saying whatever I want while I still can.”
“Take it down like, forty percent. I don’t want him to go over to my parents’ house talking about your balls. Come on, let’s put our little monster down for the night.” You yawn. “He’s going to want like, three stories, so the sooner I start, the sooner we can go to sleep.”
Santi rubs the baby’s back and leans in to kiss you. Your son’s fat little hands immediately cover your mouth.
“No, mama,” he shouts.
You pull your mouth away, trying to twist so Santi can get to you. Your son claps his hands over his father’s mouth, his fingertips rubbing against Santi's scruff. You and your son both love the feel of it.
His baby frown is adorable. So deep. So serious. Such a tiny Santiago Garcia frown, from the downturn of his lips to the scrunch between his brows, so like his dad that you can’t help but laugh.
“This isn’t funny,” Santiago says around the little fingers that are practically clamping his lips shut. 
“No, mama,” your son says seriously.
“It’s a little funny.” You laugh, which your son finds infectious, laughing too.
Santi smiles, pulling the baby’s fingers away and kissing his chubby hands. “Can’t kiss my own wife without getting cock blocked by someone who couldn’t even walk last year.”
“Please, let’s not forget that we would’ve slept together the night we met, but you and Ben had to literally carry Frankie home because he was too drunk to walk. So, not the first time this has happened.”
“I still regret that. Should’ve let him sleep at the bar.” Santi cups the back of your head with his hand, his gaze warm on your face. “We could’ve had a whole three more weeks together.” 
He sneaks in a kiss on your cheek, which your son tries to push away. And that’s when Santi gently hauls him out of your arms.
“Okay, that’s it. Daddy’s putting you to bed tonight.” He looks at you. “I just got déjà vu. I used to say that to you, and it meant something entirely different.”
You roll your eyes, stretch your shoulders out as your son looks teary-eyed between the both of you.
“Hey,” Santi uses one hand to hold the baby, bouncing him up and down on his hip, and the other hand to make sure his son’s focus is on him. “She’s not gonna help you. It’s you and me tonight. That’s it.”
Your son’s lower lip wobbles, but even children and animals are susceptible to Santiago when he’s giving orders. 
A few fat tears roll quietly down your son’s face, which is a familiar precursor to a complete meltdown. He looks up at his father with devastating sadness.
Santi wipes his cheeks clean with an easy grin. “Don’t even start with those big, brown eyes. Doesn’t work on me. I invented that shit.”
Your son wipes his nose against Santiago’s shoulder, smearing who even knew what on the fabric.
“Guess I deserved that,” Santi says. 
Your son mumbles words, the only one of which you understand is ‘mama.’
But Santiago is totally dialed in, nodding his head as if he understands everything. He walks him into your son’s darkened bedroom, listening, as you lean against the doorway and watch.
“I know you love her. I love her too,” Santiago says, kissing the baby’s forehead. “Co-presidents of the fan club. You and me.”
Your son clings to Santi when he tries to set him in the crib. Santiago adjusts back to hold him a little longer, leaning his cheek against the top of his head as his son babbles again. Santi’s body sways a little back and forth, making your heart squeeze in your chest.
“Yeah, we’ll go for a drive tomorrow,” he says. “Give your mom the day to hang out and catch up on her shows.”
Your son blows a raspberry.
“She does have shit taste in TV,” Santi says. “I agree. Okay. In you go.” 
You can’t help but be drawn into the room with them. Far enough away so your son can’t spot you, but close enough to see the soft look on Santi’s face as he switches on the baby monitor and kisses his son goodnight.
He stays for longer than he usually does, humming a song that he made up one night when you were still pregnant, rubbing the baby’s stomach lightly like he used to rub yours.
Santiago straightens and turns to see you watching. He holds his hands out as he walks toward you.
“I’m so good at this dad thing, I should get a fucking medal,” he says as he puts a hand around your waist to pull you into the hall.
“You really need to watch your language now that he’s talking,” you say as you close the door. 
Santi walks with you toward your bedroom, but crowds you against the closed door, hands on either side of your hips as he pulls you closer.
“Baby, the kid has Delta for a bunch of babysitters. Fuck is the least of our worries for his future. He’s gonna come back from Will’s asking how many klicks to the sandbox and talking about covering him while he’s reloading.”
Your smile turns into quiet moaning as Santi buries his face in your neck, the scrape of his chin and warm lips against your skin making you melt against him.
“You putting me to bed too, Garcia?” 
He runs his hands under your shirt, up the bare skin of your back. “No. I know you. As soon as you get horizontal, you’re in a coma until your alarm wakes you up. We’re taking this to the shower.”
He opens the door and walks you backward into the room.
“Again with the not-so-subtle-hint that I’m a mess? Doesn’t really put me in the mood,” you say, kissing him on the lips.
He grins, kissing you back. “You are a mess. So am I. That’s why we’re taking a shower. Wait, did you think I wanted to get you in there for something else?”
You finally get to the bathroom and you hop up on the counter while Santi turns on the water and starts getting undressed. Seeing him naked is still like a cup of coffee to your system. He watches you watch him.
Then he runs his hands up your legs, hooking his fingers into the elastic of your pajama bottoms. And your phone alerts you that the baby is crying and yelling, as if you couldn’t hear it under the sound of the water from the shower. 
Santi reaches down for his pants. “I’ll get him.”
“No, you’re all ready to go. I’ll just meet you in bed.”
Santi hooks his arm around your waist to drag you back, but you twist away and go to settle your son. It hadn’t felt right not kissing him goodnight anyway. 
It all takes a little longer than you’d like, but you hum him the same song that Santi did earlier. Like magic, his breathing evens out and eventually he’s quiet again. 
You head back to the bedroom and see that the other man in your life is dead asleep as well. Flat on his back, mouth slightly open, and head turned slightly toward the door. Just like his doppelgänger.
You creep into the bathroom and close the door quietly. The air still smells vaguely like Santiago, the warm humidity surrounding you with him. It’s a nice consolation prize.
The water is still warmed up when you step into the shower and start washing, zombie-like in your rush to get to bed and cuddle up next to Santi. 
But he beats you to the punch. Quiet from his years of training, you don’t even know he’s there until you hear the shower door, feel his warm, sleepy skin pressing against your back.
“Finally,” Santiago says, biting your earlobe. “Let me take care of you.”
You reach back to rub your fingers through Santi’s short curls. “Why don’t we take care of each other?”
But his hands are already kneading your sore shoulder muscles, his strong fingers pushing and working the tightness in your back from a day of carrying around a kid who feels like he’s growing by the hour.
It’s a far cry from the crowded bar where you’d met. Or from Ben’s rowdy fight that he’d taken you to on your first date. Or the bookstore he’d taken you to for a second date, to make up for you getting Ben’s blood on you during the first. 
Your relationship with Santiago has always been like that. You’d both been single for so long before you’d met, that you’d had to figure out your own routines, your own way of doing things.
One thing, though, would never change. Your need to have some quiet time, just the two of you. To reset for tomorrow, tell each other the things that had accumulated that day, to show each other love. To remember what the sound of screaming and crying was. Fuck. The baby was awake again.
As Santiago slips away from you to dry himself off, you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to let your son cry it out. As hardened as he is, Santi doesn’t have the tough-love thing quite as down as he thinks he does. 
Instead, you finish your shower and creep out into the dark hallway. You sit outside your son’s bedroom door and listen, both of you falling asleep to Santiago’s quiet humming, smiles on your faces.
--follow up fic: Delta Babysitters Club--
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**masterlist**
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intheorangebedroom · 4 months
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Tonight you belong to me, prologue
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Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. 
This is the beginning of what you wished had no end.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)
Rating: Explicit 🔞
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 See series masterlist for extensive a/n blurb and especially for trigger warnings. Tread carefully. Ily 🧡 Please be gentle, I'm terrified 🫣
Word count: 5.1k
[series masterlist] * [next]
Prologue: In The Beginning
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He comes to you every Friday. 
He gets in after dark. He is gone before dawn. 
In this shady motel on the outskirts of town, where no one will recognise your car. The curtains are yellow, and the carpet is brown. There’s a dollar store painting of the Appalachian above the bed, and the tap runs either trickling and scalding or high pressure and cold. 
You hated that in particular, in the beginning. Now you don’t care. You don’t wash him off your skin anymore. Not until you’ve got no other choice. 
Because he can’t mark you, you’d been firm on that point, he likes to come on your skin. 
When he’d finally spoke, that very first time, he’d told you he was Frankie, but you assume it’s not his real name. Which is fine, you didn’t give him your real name either. 
“Frankie” had been far subtler than you, regretful, perhaps, you like to entertain the delusion, when he’d hinted that you couldn’t leave any trace on his body. 
And, in the beginning, you couldn’t imagine that it would ever matter. 
You were wrong. 
You were wrong about a lot of things, in the beginning. 
Friday night. Again. 
The swinging door creaks on its hinges to let in the regulars at random intervals. Mostly men, mostly middle-aged, mostly unshaven. Mostly clad in the working-class uniform of jeans, boots and t-shirt. Few of them sit around the round wooden tables. The bar isn’t large, there’s only four of those.  
When they come in small parties, the men favour the two pools on the right. They’re lined with blue felt. The casing is made of plywood. No one ever plays darts, no one ever feeds the jukebox. Its electric cord lays unplugged on the floor, coiled like a sad sagging tail. 
If they walk in alone, they tend to sit at the bar. Head turned toward the giant television screen hung on the wall to their left, where younger men in more colourful uniforms fight, run, kick or throw balls in all shapes and sizes. Its noise is at the forefront, the middle-aged men’s conversations a low humming sound that falls into the background. 
The long and angled bar itself takes up most of the rectangular room’s space. The counter is stripped-down to the bare minimum. Stainless steel, easy to clean, practical. Four beer taps and a gambling machine and beyond the counter, a large mirror with three rows of dusty liquor bottles. 
Food is served, occasionally, as evidenced by the paper napkins dispensers and the two yellow and red plastic condiment bottles on each table. 
The barman runs the place on his own. You drink here every Friday evening, and you’ve never seen more than six customers at once, you included. Admittedly, you might not be very observant. 
Being observant requires endurance, far more than you possess and are willing to deploy and direct towards others. You’re not selfish, not in the least. But you’re tired. You’ve been tired for years. There’s no rational explanation for your exhaustion. No honourable, awe-inspiring, valid ground. You don’t even know what wears you out. It might be sadness, disappointment, or boredom. Or all three in equal parts. All you know is that, come Friday night, your head needs the support of the gray wall behind you.
The creaking noise on your left signals the arrival of another customer, stomping in with a sure gait. Your eyes stay shut. You don’t come to the very aptly named Hole in The Wall seeking the company of other people, whoever they may be. 
You come here to hide for a few hours, between the styrofoam ceiling and the dusty carpeted floor. To drink your week away in peace, but not in nerve-racking silence. Alcohol, you found out at a young age, has interesting properties: it blurs out the sharp edges of your dark thoughts in just the right amount. 
Back in spring, when you stepped in here for the very first time, you looked comically out of place in your corporate attire, and you did raise quite a few eyebrows from the other patrons. Five months later, they must have learned to see past the charade of your overpriced clothes, because none of them pays you any mind anymore. It’s better than anonymity: it’s casual indifference.
You loosen your grip around your tall cocktail glass and let the condensation drip down onto the cardboard coaster. Reluctantly, you lift your weary eyelids to locate the square napkin lying somewhere on the table and dry your fingertips on it.
That’s when you see him taking a seat at the counter, directly across from your small table. 
Years from now, you will still remember the precise circumstances of your first, brief encounter, even though you’re not fully paying attention yet. Nothing indicates tonight will be any different. Nothing suggests you are about to live through a pivotal moment in your existence.
Details will stand out, however. Mostly visual, surprisingly, given the dim lighting of the place. The back of his trucker hat, midnight blue plastic mesh, flattening the dark curls on his nape. The washed out denim of his shirt, worked-in, greenish in the diffuse artificial light, pulled taut across his back, as he sits facing away from you. 
The square shape of his shoulders is backlit against the bar’s mirror. Your empty gaze finds the solid slope of his broad silhouette, and you let it rest there, lazily following his movements whenever he picks up his glass. It’s the same comfort you find when you rest your empty head against the hard wall. It’s aimless, inconsequential.
Later, on different kinds of Friday nights, the sight of his muscles bunching as he tugs off his shirt will bring you back to this very moment. The thought will reshape into a sharp, wistful ache deep inside your heart. What would have happened, to you, to him, if he had chosen to stop for a drink at another bar, somewhere further down the road? What if you had done the same, back in April? 
For now, your mind is blessedly blank.
Does he catch your reflection in the mirror? Does he feel your gaze on the back of his head? 
After a while, how long, you cannot tell, he pivots slowly on his stool, grounded and dense. Slowly, like a mountain would if a mountain came to life and decided to walk into the ocean. He doesn’t turn around completely, just enough to look at you, one of his arms still propped on top of the counter. 
The right side of his face is darkened by the shadow from the brim of his hat, but you can make out the pronounced crease in his brow. His eyes are black, and unfathomable, like the ocean at night, but alight with a bright glimmer. They find yours instantly. 
Something shifts inside your rib cage, something close to the heart, close to pain. 
You feel exposed, entirely bare. Your breathing subsides, you cannot move, trapped in a nightmare-like stretch of time as he glares down at you, immobile, impressive, gigantic. Dark eyes boring into yours. You’re drowning in them. 
You don’t want it to end. 
Inevitably, he breaks eye-contact, and swivels back toward the mirror. He sits still for a few seconds, before grabbing his glass to finish his beer in long gulps. 
You watch him lift his hat and brush his hair to the side with a large hand, and he’s out the door less than a minute later, without so much as a glance in your direction, a conscious choice, given the minute proportions of the place. 
He leaves you sitting there, with your brow pinched and your empty drink, struggling to understand the rippling effects of his massive presence on your body and your brain.
You bring your fingers to your chest and rub them over your sternum, where the shifting sensation continues to prickle. 
Neither a second drink nor a third helps dull the feeling, but a fourth one is not an option if you want to get home without a DUI. 
It follows you into the darkness of the deserted parking lot, on the drive home and into the glass prison of your clinically clean apartment. It’s there when you get into bed, when you lie wide awake at 3am next to your sleeping fiancé, and it’s still there when you wake up, hungover and sore, four hours later. 
Nestled between your lungs. The memory of his cold hard stare. Of his soft sad eyes. 
It bypasses your most foolproof diversions of painful pleasure and pleasurable pain. Your attempts at hard work and your compulsive distractions. It robs you of your appetite, of your lucidity, of your ability to rest. It corners you in the first floor toilet of your office building on a Thursday morning, on the verge of a panic attack, until you consider calling your sister for help. 
Ava would figure it out. She’d get you out of that loop in which you’ve locked yourself up, she’d know what to say. With her crude words and her unforgiving formulations, she’d admonish your silly overreaction and dismissively rebuke your daydreams over a mundane interaction, probably throwing in something about your heteronormative fantasies. 
Dude, you’re all worked up because of a staring contest with a rando in a dive bar? she’d say. She’d toss the rhetorical question at your face, you can hear her as if you’ve already sweated through the conversation. 
She’s often harsh but she’s always right. 
And normally, you’d be seeking that out. For your little sister to bully some good sense back into your nebulous brain. 
But something has shifted. 
Dark curls, thick fingers, flexing shoulders. Solid arms. Cold, hard stare. 
He abraded something on the surface of your skin, and you don’t think you’re capable of withstanding Ava’s sarcasm in your current state. 
By the following Friday, you feel so vulnerable you consider going to another place, or not going out at all. 
Only, the alternative is worse. 
You walk into The Hole in The Wall convinced that your unsteady gait is betraying your apprehension, squinting to adjust to the dim light of the place. The bar is nearly empty, as always, save for a couple of bearded graying men you vaguely recall having seen here before. They all look the same to you, anyway. Another thing you hate about yourself.
The barman tells you to sit while he prepares your drink. The gesture is kind but uncustomary, and it only serves to increase your uneasy feeling. 
Within an hour of waiting, because that's what you've been doing, you register with an icy trickle of shame dripping down your sides, you realise he won’t be coming. 
That man’s presence here last week is the very definition of sheer happenstance. Nothing more. Nothing else. If anything, you’ve been a nuisance to him, ogling him while he was simply trying to unwind with an afterwork drink. 
You’ll never see him again. 
And it’s fine. You’ll move on, drift back into drifting, avoiding at all costs to process what happened to you when you met his gaze. The tree hiding the forest. 
When you walk up to the counter to order your second drink, the question slips away from you. 
“Can I have the same thing the man in the trucker hat had last Friday, please?”
The barman looks up at you from the tray of clean dishes he's pulling out of the dishwasher and he huffs. He’s handsome, by most standards, you notice for the very first time. Very tall, and broad, green-eyed with a three-day stubble. He’s probably a couple of years above forty. His head is shaved bald. He’s manly in a burly, albeit fatherly way. 
“Oh sweetheart, d’you know how many guys with a trucker hat I see here every day?”
It’s not meant to make you feel small, his tone is gentle. It’s a straightforward, factual answer. 
“What do you wanna drink?” he asks when you don’t answer. “Tired of that G&T yet? Cos I got good beer. This is a beer place, you know? Wanna try a light blonde, to start? Something stronger? An IPA?”
What do you want. You’ve been drinking gin all your life because that’s what your mother always has. Starting at 5pm in the afternoon. Would you, indeed, like to try a light blonde? Something stronger? An IPA, to start? 
It’s a brand-new world unfurling in front of you, a yellow brick road paved with what-do-you-wants.
“Sure,” you nod, “I can try an IPA.”
The barman goes by the name of Mark. He’s also the owner of The Hole in The Wall, you learn. Bought the place two years ago, after a painful divorce. A cliché, he adds, with a charming, self-deprecating smile.
The interaction’s short and altogether not unpleasant, and the beer, to your surprise, is fresh and enjoyable. It’s much tastier, in fact, than the cheap, tepid gin you’ve been sipping so far. It gets you drunk just as fast, but this time when you leave the bar, your mind is quiet, if not at ease. 
The following week, a heatwave hits the Tampa Bay. The melting asphalt sticks to your leather soles, like your sweaty clothes to your clammy skin, like your brooding mood to your dampened dreams. In a couple of days eventually, August will draw to an end, but the summer won’t end with it. It never truly does. It taunts you all year round, a sweltering reminder of how much you hate living here.
And if it wasn’t for the humidity, you’d be jogging the short distance between your car and the cool haven of the air-conditioned bar. 
You push the swinging door forward, eyes shut in anticipation of the blinding darkness and you stand in the entrance for a few seconds. The familiar and comforting smell of moldy dust mixed with beer yeast greets your senses as you take in the chill air grazing your naked arms. 
And then you reopen your eyes. 
He’s here. 
Trucker hat, blue jeans, gray T-shirt. Different clothes, same silhouette. He’s sitting at your table, his position a magnified echo of yours two weeks ago, hand loosely wrapped around his pint, seemingly asleep with his head propped against the wall. 
Mark looks at you and tilts his head in his direction, wiggling an eyebrow with a silent question of “Is this the guy you were asking about?”
Your breathing’s so loud you think everyone must hear it over the droning television. Mark’s brow furrows with incomprehension at the alarm widening your eyes, and you anchor yourself to his face, walking toward him in slow motion, climbing on the first high stool you reach.
“Hey. You ok?”
You stretch your lips in a wince of a smile.
“So? What will it be today? Wanna try a Free Dive? It’s local.”
You nod in silence, but then he grabs a large glass, and you ask tentatively, “Can I have only half a pint?”
Fuck, your mouth is so dry.
Behind you, to your right, you feel more than you hear the man shift in his chair.
Mark sighs, his left hand paused on the tap handle. 
“I don’t have beer glasses this small, sweetheart. Get a pint, the first one’s on me, okay?”
You reiterate your silent nod. He places the beer in front of you, and you swallow the first swigs too quickly. The back of your throat throbs with the fast flowing intake of the cold liquid, or perhaps it’s because of the frantic beating of your heart.
He’s getting up now, you can tell by the friction sound of the chair dragging on the carpeted floor, and your frightened expression turns downright pleading as you hear him close the distance between you.  
He’s at your back, sliding his thick naked arm past yours to return his empty glass to the counter. His movements are slow, deliberate. You get a whiff of his scent, a masculine musk, with a faint smell of laundry detergent, it’s wholesome, safety, comfort. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Looking at you with intent.
He’s so tall you have to lift your chin to hold his gaze. Hard cold stare, soft sad eyes, it’s swirling violently inside your exhausted chest and he’s leaving again already, walking toward the door like nothing just happened.
He pulls it inward and you watch him exit the bar into the dusk light.
Did he come back for you? Are you going insane? 
Sixty-seven seconds. Sixty-seven seconds is the time it takes you to decide your next move. The one that’s going to forever change your life. The one that could be everything or turn out meaningless. 
“I’ll be right back,” you tell Mark, sliding your handbag on the counter and you stand up to follow him outside.
The sunset sky is a pink shade of orange. Shadows are stretching long onto the asphalt, drawing a distorted world upside-down. 
He’s not here anymore, you waited too fucking long. You quickly scan the parked vehicles on the other side of the road to your right, and the parking lot in front of you, but it’s empty, save for your anthracite sedan, a black truck and what you assume must be Mark’s old SUV, because you see it every week. 
“Fuck,” you breathe out, pressing your fingers to your sternum. 
You look to your left, where the parking ends. There’s a white utility vehicle advertising a plumbing service and a dark blue city car. Beyond them, the lot extends into a narrow stretch of gravel behind the small rectangular building. There’s a pile of junk, and the tailgate of a red truck.
Your hand drops to your side and you start walking toward it, going around the white van. 
He’s there. He’s waiting for you by the front of the red truck, behind the building. His hands propped on his waist, head down, hidden under his cap. 
You keep walking toward him, the sound of your shoes on the dirty ground grating your ears, but you stop short when he raises his head, fuck he looks even taller at this distance, with his elbows spread.
It’s like he senses your apprehension, or perhaps he shares it, because he folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself. 
For the very first time, you can fully make out his face. Strong features, a strong curvy nose, a patchy beard peppering a sharp jaw, and plush lips. Your gaze follows the solid column of his neck down to his suprasternal point peeking above the V-collar of his worn-out t-shirt, before it’s drawn back to his eyes.
He stands there perfectly still for you to detail.
Above you, the sky has turned a rusty blue. The humidity is stifling. It’s Friday the 30th, 2019, 8.17pm.
“What do you want?”
His voice is deep, and low, barely louder than a murmur yet intense, his words full and round. 
The question, however legitimate, hits you square in the solar plexus, right under your aching sternum. You fear that if you don’t speak fast enough, he’ll leave you again, alone with the memory of his soft sad eyes and his hard cold stare. 
“I don’t know,” you whisper, and god, if it’s true, what are you doing here? 
He huffs, and it’s the very sound of disillusion. His eyes grow dimmer, you think you’re not the one darkening them. Unfolding his arms, he removes his hat and takes a step closer, then another. You could touch him, if you reached out with your arm stretched. 
He looks at you like he’s already seen how your story ends. 
You could back away. You don’t. 
He moves slowly, thick body thrumming with undiluted strength and unreleased tension, eyes searching yours, giving you the time to leave, should leaving be what you choose, should you turn around and run before the hanging threat breaks like dark stormy clouds and drench you soaked. 
He slowly moves forward until he’s towering over you, until his chest touches your breasts, until the pilled cotton of his t-shirt catches at the satin material of your blouse. His scent floods your senses, he leans down into the curve of your neck and inhales you there, long, deep, unhurried. You hold your breath, still, in turn, for his exploration, nails digging into your palms, heart tripping.  
And then, he touches you. With his lips, a feather-like caress over the soft skin under your ear. Your eyes flutter shut, your thoughts are suspended.
“This what you want?” he murmurs.
His words sink under your skin, they harden your nipples, raise goosebumps on your nape in the muggy evening heat.  
“Yes.”
The cap falls onto the gravel. His hands go to your hips. Clutching you there with a rough grip and he’s tugging you closer, flush to his chest. He licks up a broad stripe along the line of your throat, pivots with you in his arms and backs you into the side of the truck, you have to grab his forearms to keep your balance. 
A guttural sound catches in his throat, like a grunt he tries to hold back, for your touch, for the taste of your skin, for your pliant docility.
Your head rolls back, you’ve gone weeks without a skin on skin contact, and now this man is hunched over you, his body swallowing yours, this stranger who’s infected your dreams with his cold hard stare and his soft sad eyes, his mouth roaming the expanse of your throat, short beard prickling your skin, and the shifting sensation inside your chest drops to your core where it catches fire.
His kisses are lips, teeth and tongue, rough and scraping at you raw in all the right ways, they trail up along your neck, under your jaw, and when they find your lips, he presses you harder into him. He tastes like beer, unfamiliar, you want to get used to it. 
The seams of your blouse strain when he pulls it out of your skirt with an impatient tug. His hands slither under the hem and find the naked skin of your back. His palms are strong, rugged and scalding and his fingertips calloused, they make your skin sizzle underneath their pressing, crackle like snapping wood, like fireworks at a summer county fair, like sweet candy wrapping. 
You're leaking hot and sticky between your hips, responding with your entire body, opening up for him, letting his tongue in past your lips with pathetic grateful little moans, winding your arms around his shoulders, over the cording muscles of his back, musky sweat dampening his t-shirt. The thick, solid shape of him, that got etched behind your eyelids.
You’re a want and a need and an empty flutter, entangled with him, whoever he may be, his tongue swirling inside your mouth, the scrape of his teeth on your lower lip, his splayed hands covering your back, his knee spreading your legs open. 
He’s voracious, harsh in his own need, snatching from you what you’re already willing to give, angling your head with a sharp pull on your hair to deepen his kiss, grunting his approval when you moan at the sting. 
Arousal keeps dripping down your fold where his thigh prods firm and brawny against the black material of your skirt that hinders the pressure. 
He growls, frustration rumbling low and menacing inside his throat. He grabs your ass and squeezes, thick middle finger pushing against the fabric of your clothes into the cleft between your cheeks and you jolt, leaping forward further into him. His belt buckle bites into the soft flesh of your belly, right where you're burning empty and wanting and shameless for him. You feel him hot and hard against your hip, and he tightens his hold, cages you within him. 
He’s big all over, larger than life proportions, you surrender to the fact with your lust-drunk mind, from the height of his frame to the girth of his sex, from his grip on your senses to the sorrow in his eyes. 
It blooms inside you like pain, blossoms of mahogany red spreading along your limbs in relentless waves, the power he already wields over you and you don’t even know his name.  
You buck between his arms, a first and very last attempt at freeing yourself, unconvincing with the scrap of your fingernails along the pebbled skin of his neck, and you press back into him again, squirming against his throbbing length, offering him some friction.  
He pulls out all of sudden, breaking the kiss, and you're left panting, ankles swaying, you’d drop to the gravel without the support of the truck, still sun-warm in the early evening, yet colder than his feverish body. 
He shakes his head with a silent no, his shoulders heaving, a wordless warning hissed through his clenched bared teeth. The simmering anger under the surface only makes you want him more, the unyielding restraint shining dark in his eyes.  
But it’s over. You know it. He gave you this, and took it back. With shaky hands, you smooth down the wrinkles of your blouse where he’s bunched it in his fists. You lick his taste off your trembling lip. You will not cry. 
He shakes his head again, you watch him through welling tears, confused, eyes flickering between his. 
Behind him, the city car’s engine revs up to a start, aggressive headlights backlighting him. His throat bobs up and down in chiaroscuro as he swallows hard. You know what you must look like in the crude white light. Supplicant, dependent, awaiting. Disheveled by his hand. Tires grate on the gravel as the car reverses away from you into the night, and with it the headlights, leaving you standing in the brown city night, urban semi darkness, and you see him shut his eyes. 
He smiles, a puzzling, sorrowful lift of his plush lips, and a new sort of ache washes over you. You raise forward on your tiptoes to peck a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. His entire frame quivers for you. A muscle clenches in his jaw, the deepening crease in his brow redefines his traits in shadows. 
He leans into you, like he wants you but he doesn’t want to want you, like he’s giving in but not entirely, because giving in would be the end of him, of you.
The flat of his palm to the swell of your breast, and he kneads your soft flesh, slowly at first, growing urgent. The back of your head hits the truck’s window when he pinches your nipple, hard, with two fingers, and you bite down a moan. 
He’s engulfing you again, lips latched around your other nipple, tongue swirling and licking through your blouse and your thin bra and you hold on to him, you cling to his frame when he bunches up your skirt around your waist, leather boot nudging your foot to the side, cock throbbing on your hip, slick dripping down your walls. 
“Stop me,” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear. It’s not a dare, it’s not a plea, it’s your last chance to back down before the free fall. 
Your pulse stutters, you arch into him without hesitation, but he pins you back against the truck with his chest, cupping you through your underwear and he curses into your neck at the sticky leaking mess he finds there.
Your naked leg hitches up rigid and tense against his leg, curled fingers, curled toes, and he hooks his index into the cotton of your panties. 
A brief stroke of his knuckles into the soft, smooth dip between your sex and your inner thigh, unexpectedly tender, before he parts your soaked lips with his two middle fingers, coating them in your sticky slick desire, and he sinks them inside your empty cunt. 
You crumble around the intrusion, forehead hitting his collarbone, slack-mouthed, a short exhale of a silent “oh.” He brings his left hand to the crown of your head and cradles you there, while his fingers pump in and out of your heat fast and rough. His thumb glides through your folds and starts rubbing at your clit, deft and precise, and you shudder between his arms, you slump into his hold. 
He keeps stroking your hair, gentle soothing sounds murmured into your ear as he fucks you raw with his hand, attuned to your moans and your every reaction, gauging what you can take before his fingers curl deeper inside your cunt, merciless, thumb pressing tight circles on your bud at an increasing pace.  
Your breathing comes in ragged and short while his intensifies. It’s pouring into your ear hot and overwhelming and you’re dissolving. Sweat beading at your temples, heat raising from his exerted muscles. 
You focus on the sensation of his flexing muscles under your clawing hands to stave off your building orgasm, it’s growing bright and blinding, searing and violent but it’s inevitable, and soon, too soon, your release flows hot and sticky into his hand. Your whines resound inside his chest but he keeps going, low husks of shhh, come on now, that’s it, until your trapped body trashes with the overstimulation.  
It’s like he can’t let go, pressing his nose heavily to the side of your face, and you struggle to resurface, blood thrumming in your veins, his angry cock pulsating against your hip. 
You let out a dry sob when he slides out of you and the rubber band of your panties slaps your sensitive skin. You don’t miss the flat drag of his tongue licking your taste off his palm, you furrow your fingers deeper into his arm with a short clench of your eyes. 
“Fuck,” your hear him quietly groan, and his fingers disappear into his mouth. 
You want to stay tucked up against him, curled up into his hold. You could live the rest of your life there, you think, between his hands and his scent, between his chest and his truck. 
You lock your ankles and your knees, hoping they will not fail you and you stand, pushing away from him and into the side of the truck. You readjust your skirt, slide it down, palm it smooth. Brush the damp hair from your forehead with the back of your trembling hand.
In your peripheral, he’s leaning down, picking up his hat from the ground and combing his fingers through his hair before he sets the cap back on his head.
You look up dazed and heavy-lidded and you brace yourself before meeting his gaze, cold hard stare, soft sad eyes, and he says,
“I’m Frankie.”
****
Bonus (having déjà vu? that's normal 😝 Gonna use this gif at the end of every first chapter I manage to yank out of my crazy in love brain):
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groguspicklejar · 7 months
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if i've learned anything about fandom, it's that almost all crimes are forgivable if they're hot enough.
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syrma-sensei · 1 year
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Oscar Isaac in almost every random frame:
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noisynaia · 11 months
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Santiago saying “that’s right baby, say my name” ?
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐈 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞
Thank you for the request. You are really feeding my Santiago obsession, I wrote this instead of working on my exam project...
summary: Santiago comes home earlier than you had expected, catching you in the middle of pleasuring yourself, and as the good boyfriend that he is, offers to help you out.
pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x afab!reader
word count: 2.3k 
note: Explicit (18+) Established relationship. Female mastubartion, vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V (with use of contraception), creampie. No use of (y/n). This has not been beta nor proof read and English is not my native language. Title from ‘Movement’ by Hozier.
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...So move me, baby Shake like the bough of a willow tree You do it naturally Move me, baby...
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A shaky sigh escapes your mouth, as you slowly slide your fingers from your sternum down through the valley between your breasts to your stomach, letting the pads of your fingers run down your lower abdomen to the middle of your pelvis. Your other hand is palming the soft flesh of one of your exposed breasts, fingers sliding lightly over your nipple.      
You are lying sprawled out on the middle of your and your boyfriend’s shared bed, your upper body slightly elevated by the pillows that are supporting your back, your legs spread open with your knees bent, the soles of your feet planted on the mattress. All you can think about as you lay in this possession is Santi. Making you imagine that it is his hands that are touching you as you let your hand wander further down, letting your fingers slowly slide through your wet folds. A warm rush runs through you, your skin tingling at the memory of his touch. You drag your fingers towards your entrance, coating them in the wetness of your arousal before slowly moving them up toward your clit.
Your fingers start to move in slow circles around the nerve bundle, slowly teasing yourself as you feel the heat in your stomach grow. Your eyes are closed tightly shut as you let yourself get lost in the sensation, your mouth slightly agape as you reminisce the feeling of Santiago’s broad, skillful hands touching you. You see him so clearly in your mind, easily recalling his handsome features. The lines of his strong jaw. The curve of his nose. The shape of his lips; lips you so desperately wish you could kiss right now. Those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes of his. You imagine them looking at you as you touch yourself, imagine his dark irises roaming your body through heavy lids.   
His name is on your tongue and it spills from your lips as you begin to move your hand faster, adding a bit more pressure which makes your body jerk slightly. You keep moaning out his name as you imagine that it is his fingers that are bringing you pleasure.
“Babe?” A familiar voice utters and you are immediately pulled out of your fantasy. 
Your eyes snap open and you squeeze your thighs together, more from instinct than anything else, it is not like he hasn’t seen you in more vulnerable positions before, but something about him catching you like this still makes you feel a little bit of embarrassment.
Santiago is standing in the door of your bedroom, you had not heard him come home, too lost in your little solo session to hear the front door opening or him going to through your house to your shared bedroom. His side is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, an amused smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth like he is having a grand time seeing you like this, but something is flickering in his eyes, something darker, a deep and intense lust.      
“You didn’t have to stop for my sake.” He says, uncrossing his arms as he starts to walk over to the bed.  
“I… I thought you wouldn’t be home until late?” You mutter a little flustered, he was supposed to be out with the guys tonight, you had not expected him to get home before you had gone to sleep, but the clear look of enjoyment in seeing you like this is making it hard to feel real embarrassment. 
“I missed you so I went home early.” He confesses. “Sounds like you were missing me too, huh?” The mattress dips as he climbs down on the bed, placing a hand on each side of your body, caging you under him as his eyes lock with yours. 
“I always miss you when you’re not around.” You say, bringing your hand up to his face to cup his cheek, your thumb gently sliding over his cheekbone.
“Well, I’m here now.” He says, his voice low and deep, before leaning down to kiss you hard and passionately, it’s the kind of kiss that you would have you afraid of your knees giving up under you if you had been standing.
“Need you.” You whisper into his mouth as you finally break the kiss to get a breath of air and Santi takes the opportunity to pull off his shirt, throwing it on the floor before he comes crashing down on you again, kissing you like it was the only reason he had been put on this planet. 
“Your jeans too.” You pant against his lips as he finally breaks the kiss.
He hums, leaving another quick kiss on your lips before he lifts himself from the bed to get rid of the rest of his clothes. You let out a little moan when his already hard cock springs free as he slides off his boxers. Throbbing and ready, the tip glistening with precum, he must have been standing in the door for a little while you think. You stretch out your arms towards him, gesturing for him to come back down on the bed to you. A devilish smile on his lips as he crawls back down over you. 
“You looked so beautiful spread out like that, touching yourself as you moaned my name.” He says as he begins to leave a trail of kisses down your throat. You let out a light moan as he continues his trail of kisses further down your body. He stops when he reaches your lower stomach and looks up at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide, he is looking drunk on love. “Wanna taste you, baby.” He mutters, which makes you let out a little whimper.
You spread your legs wider, you need him so desperately.  
“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby.” He coos, sitting back on his calves to get a better view of your glistening pussy now on free display. “So pretty…” He says in awe. “Are you gonna let me have a taste?” 
“Mmm.” You hum through closed lips, nodding to let him know that you are more than willing to let him have a taste of you.     
He brings his middle and index finger to your core, slipping them through your folds as he coats them in your slickness.     
“You are so beautiful.” He murmurs, letting his fingers explore your vulva. “My sweet, beautiful girl.” 
“Fuck, Santi….” You moan as he finally slips his fingers into you. Slowly pumping them in and out of you as he positions himself between your legs. You tangle your fingers in his curls, letting out a little whine as he removes his fingers, making you feel empty, but it turns into a low moan as he lowers his head, taking your clit between his lips and starting to hungrily suck at it.      
You grab his hair a little tighter as he brings up a hand to spread your lips open, giving him better access. He brings his other hand to your entrance, sliding his fingers into you once again, slowly pumping into you while his tongue licks and sucks at your clit. He is moaning into your cunt, enjoying the reaction his movements have on you, making you grip his hair even tighter. He keeps lapping into you, keeps working his magic and you feel how your climax is building up, getting ready to explode, and when he curls the fingers inside of you just right you know you’re a goner.  
“Fu-ck… Santi, I…” You pant out, your hips jerking up into his mouth.
“I know, baby, I know. You can, baby. Please cum for me.” He hums into your pussy.    
It is all you needed to hear, your climax washes over you in hot, electric waves. You whine out as you soak his face and your cunt clenches down around his fingers. Santi keeps pumping you through your orgasm, letting you ride out your high until you get too sensitive and you feel like you can’t take it anymore and you have to tuck on his hair to make him stop. Santi lets out a gasp as he finally detaches his mouth from you, humming happily as he licks his lips. 
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Can’t get enough of you.” He sighs as he climbs up over your body, caging you between his arms once again before leaning down to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his lips. It sends a warm rush through your body.    
“I need you inside of me.” You confess, making him smile down at you, dipping his head down to kiss your lips again. 
“Then you shall have me.” He grins into your mouth, kissing you as he takes his cocks in his hand, giving himself a few pumps before he positions himself at your entrance. He kisses your mouth as he starts to slip into you. You feel how your walls stretch as you take more and more of him. You raise your hips, lifting your legs to cross them around his body. You are relishing in the sensation of him filling you up so completely, even with the preparation of his fingers and with your wetness the girth of him still stings a little, but it is not an unwelcome feeling. Santi kisses your cheek and you feel so loved and so content in this moment like you are exactly where you are supposed to be. You can’t help but push your hips upwards, the need for him to move, getting almost unbearable. Your movement has him moan slightly. 
“Ready?” He asks, leaving another kiss on your cheek.  
“Yeah.” You nod, grinding slightly into him, which has him let out a little grunt. He starts to slowly pull out of you until only the tip of his cock is remaining inside before rolling his hips, pushing all of his cock into you again with one fluid motion, making you cling to his back as he begins to fuck into you, lifting your legs from his waist to his shoulder. The position is letting him thrust deep inside of you with each roll of his hips.
He starts out with a slow, rhythmical pace but his thrusts are quickly getting faster and more desperate as he loses himself more and more in the overwhelming feeling of you. “You feel so good, baby…” He pants out as he keeps thrusting into you. “Fuck, I love you so much.” 
“Love you too.” You breathe out, as he keeps pounding you into the soft mattress beneath you. “Fu-uck, love you so much, Santi.” 
Your words have him fueled up, the way he is now pounding his cock into you, so deeply and purposefully, makes you cry out in pleasure. “Yes, Santi! Fu-uck, right there! Right there…” You shriek, the pleasure building up to a whole new level. “Santiago, I…I-” You are so close now, and you can feel him twitch inside of you as his name falls from your lips.  
“That’s right baby, say my name” He growls “Love when you say it, makes me know that I’m yours.”
“You are, Santi. You are all mine.” You gasp out. His name keeps spilling from your lips over and over again, you’re chanting it like your life is depending on it like it is a prayer you are devoting to a life-giving deity. Your breasts are being squeezed against his broad chest, your sensitive nipples rubbing against his warm skin. Your arms are desperately clinging to his back. His heavy balls are hitting your skin with each strong thrust, and the sound of your skin colliding is filling the room. 
“I’m so close.” You babble into his shoulder. 
“Yeah, I can feel it, baby… You can, baby, you can cum for me.” He says, bringing a hand to your head and gently guiding it back onto the pillow, as he follows you down kissing you so gently as the last string that is holding you together snaps. Your walls squeeze down around him, sucking him into your warmth as your climax washes over you. He kisses you through it as his own climax comes over him. You hum into him as you feel the warmth of his release filling you up, coating your walls. He keeps thrusting into you, fucking his cum deep into you until it is leaking out around his cock. 
You only break the kiss when you physically can’t keep going as your lungs scream for air and you have to catch your breath, but you don’t mind as it makes it possible for you to watch his handsome as he keeps thrusting into you as he rides out his orgasm until his movements finally come to a halt. He sneaks his strong arms around you, kissing you before flipping you over so you’re now laying next to him instead of having him on top of you. He holds you close, the secure feeling of his strong arms around you making you feel safe and secure as he hugs you tight. His softening cock is still inside of you as you both lay and catch your breath. 
“I’m glad you came home early.” You finally break the silence, as you whisper into his chest.
“Me too.” He says, squeezing you a little tighter.
The two of you lay like this for a while, until you start to yawn and Santiago gets up and leaves the bedroom. He is soon coming back in with a glass of water for you and a damp washcloth. He cleans you up as you sip the water, soon joining you on the bed again, pulling the warm covers over you both as you snuggle into his broad chest. He is gently stroking your back, whispering sweet nothings and ‘I love yous’ into the room until you fall asleep, completely engulfed in the warm feeling of his love.
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...So move me, baby Like you've nothin' left to prove And nothin' to lose Move me, baby...
Movement, Hozier
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@cutesyscreenname @alexxavicry
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eyelessfaces · 3 months
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I'll be the silence ringing through and through and through
santiago garcia x reader
summary: if santi had it his way, he would be back home, with you, his mouth on your neck or something of that kind– it would have been possible, a few months ago. or in some alternate universe where he hadn’t fucked it all up. in short; santi wants you back.
warnings: mentions of a breakup but no reason is mentioned, alcohol consumption
tags: f!reader, exes to lovers, inevitable angst, fluff
word count: 1.7k
masterlist | taglist | ao3
updates blog: @eyelessupdates
happy new year!!!! randomly dropping a santi fic to start it right hhhh
fic title is from the song "heart to heart" by fiddlehead :)
reblogs and feedback are extremely (I cannot stress this enough) appreciated!!
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If Santi had it his way, he would be back home, with you, his mouth on your neck or something of that kind–
It would have been possible, a few months ago.
Or in some alternate universe where he hadn’t fucked it all up, and where he would be holding you by the waist and kissing your cheek instead of having to watch you from afar, scrutinizing every littlest movement of yours while he was slumped in Frankie’s couch, like an hermit, feeling helpless, the neck of his beer being the only thing to kiss his lips tonight.
Maybe it was just the alcohol, maybe everything would seem way less dramatic tomorrow, save for the hangover headache – but no, scratch that, he wasn’t even drunk, just barely tipsy, so no, tomorrow won’t be better.
It must be the sight of you laughing at another man’s joke then, probably.
Was he hitting on you? Was he just a friend, like Benny, Will and Frankie were to you? 
He shouldn’t care; that wasn’t his business, that wasn’t his problem. Not anymore. Not that he had been the kind to carefully observe your every movement any time you talked to another man back when you were together. He had never really been of that kind, he trusted you.
Except here, right now, it was his problem. For some reason, it felt like it was, and even more than before, when you were still together.
Because now that you didn’t love him anymore, there was nothing to stop you from doing anything with that man.
Would that man fill the hole Santi had left in your heart? Would he make you happier that Santi ever had? 
Probably. He was probably a good man, would be a good boyfriend, wouldn’t fuck everything up. Would probably even marry you, and he’d be damn right to.
“He’s gay” Will snorts, plopping down next to Santi, giving a small pat to his chest. Santi’s gaze finally departs from you to turn to his right, where his friend has settled next to him.
“Good to know, but I‘m not interested in him,” Santi jokes, looking down at his half full beer. Half empty.
“That, I know.” Will cocks his head to the side, a more serious expression over his face as he brings his beer to his mouth. Santi’s gaze darts back to you and that man talking, a sick feeling filling his stomach as he sees you smile and shake your head frantically just the way you used to when he would come up with a shitty joke. “I’m like, eighty three percent sure she’s still in love with you.” Will speaks again, nudging Santi’s knee with his own.
“Seventeen percent of what?” Santi chuckles, more convinced that the rest of that percentage is the most important part.
“Seventeen percent of, you still fucked up, man.” Will says, patting Santi’s knee before getting up from the couch, already. “I’m not good at math dude, but all I can tell you is, it’s worth trying again!” he declares over the music, pointing at Santi before disappearing through the crowd. 
Easier said than done.
Santi sighs, bites the inside of his cheek as he runs a hand over his few days old stubble. 
He had never had any issue talking to people with ease, but for some reason, the idea of talking to you tonight seemed like the most intimidating thing he ever had to do in his entire life.
But god, did he want to look at you in the eyes again. To have you make that focused frown whenever you were attentively listening to someone. To see the way your lips curled up into a smile when you could pre shot a joke, and the way you still pretended not to know what the punchline was, and still ended up laughing.
Santi smiles to himself, finishes his beer, and when he looks up, you’re not in the crowd anymore. Then Benny joins him when he goes to the kitchen for a refill, and you happen to slip out of his mind for the time being. 
The air is crisp, compared to the smothering heat inside. It tickles your cheeks, the tip of your ears, it hits every exposed area of skin, the sweat over it now feeling ice cold.
It’s all you needed and wanted, so you shouldn’t complain.
You walk back and forth along Frankie’s porch, the overwhelming feeling of the slight tipsiness and the fast beating of your heart simmering down, and you lean against the wall, taking a deep breath. 
You turn at the sound of the door opening beside you, the loud, previously muffled sound of the music now clear, ending up face to face with the one person you did your best to not go talk to all night long.
“Shit, sorry. I’ll go” Santi apologizes, still firmly holding the doorknob, starting to go back inside.
“No, no, it’s alright” you say, inviting him to stay with you. “I didn’t privatize the porch” you joke, giving him an awkward smile.
He chuckles as he tentatively steps outside, closing the door behind him, leaning his back against the wall beside you. Neither of you say a single word for a while, then he looks over at you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. “I assumed you wouldn’t wanna see me.” he finally declares, making you scoff and shrug.
“I actually don’t mind,” you say, looking over at him. He’s now looking ahead, a small pinched smile over his lips. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before looking back at you.
“I feel like an idiot.”
“Fair enough, you are one.” you immediately sigh, looking away. His gaze is too heavy. “I loved you.” the knot inside your throat tightens only after you pronounce the words, thankfully.
He swallows hard, a shiver running down his spine. It’s not the cold air’s doing. He stares deeply at you, watching you doing your best not to look at him.
“I know.” 
The atmosphere hangs heavily as the awkwardness takes over. The silence lingers, punctuated only by the sounds of the night around you. 
He pushes himself away from the wall, taking a step closer and turning to look at you, forcing the both of you to truly establish eye contact for the first time tonight.
"I fucked up, I know," he admits, his voice low and filled with remorse. "But I never meant to hurt you." he shakes his head. “Ever.”
You blink, your gaze tearing from his. "You did anyway," you reply, your tone tinged with a mixture of bitterness and sadness. The memories of the pain he caused are still fresh, wounds not fully healed. 
He runs a hand over his stubble, a nervous habit you remember all too well. "I know I can't change anything that I did, but I want you to know that I'm sorry."
Your eyes meet his own again, searching for sincerity. "It doesn't fix everything," you say, your guard still up. 
He nods understandingly. "I just needed to tell you, and to let you know I haven't stopped thinking about you."
The vulnerability in his gaze begins to chip away at your defenses. Despite the hurt, a part of you softens. "Santi–”
He cuts you off– "I've been thinking, and you know I don’t do it often” he jokes, scoffing. “And I realized how much I lost when I let you go." 
A wave of internal conflict washes over you. Your past relationship is a heavy burden you’re carrying, and you’re not sure you should grant him your forgiveness, yet there's a glimmer of something in his eyes that translates his genuine desire for redemption, and there’s some part of you that craves everything you had with him.
“Please,” he starts, his gaze chasing yours as he softly holds onto your wrist. “Please give me a second chance”
His plea hangs in the air, and you can feel the sincerity in his touch. The warmth of his hand on your wrist is a rough contrast to the chill in the night air. You sigh, and look away, torn between the pain of the past and the possibility of a different future. The silence stretches painfully, and you can hear the faint sounds of the night around you – a distant car passing by, the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
A shiver shakes through you, the brown of his eyes seeming deeper than usual, softer as he silently begs for you to say something.
“Second and last chance” you finally declare, refusing to give up on everything you’ve done to try to get over him, yet indulging in everything you’ve ever wanted since you’ve been apart. 
He nods silently, his hand leaving your wrist to settle at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Okay. Alright. I won’t need another one” he promises confidently, the frown over his face eventually softening. You smile as his thumb gently rubs over your now cold skin.
“Alright, but you gotta kiss me for it to take effect” you tease as you break the tense atmosphere, readjusting your position onto your feet and placing your hands at either side of his neck. His skin is warm, and you feel his muscles contract under your hands when he laughs.
“Good thing I’ve been wanting to do it all night long” he smirks before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours, smiling as you sigh into the kiss. This is it; you feel complete again. 
He tastes of booze, and his light stubble slightly stinging when he moves are surprisingly pleasant. Your hand shifts to rest at the back of his neck, feeling his scar here, his own hands pulling you closer at the waist where he squeezes lightly when you run your other hand through his short hair.
You pull away only once it becomes necessary, the lack of oxygen making you all giddy though you’re not sure it’s just it. Santi is still holding you close as he presses his warm lips over your forehead, laughing when a shiver runs through your spine and makes you jolt. 
“Alright” he declares as he strips himself of his shirt, pulling it over your shoulders.
“You already pulled this trick on our first date” you scoff, looking over at him. A sly smirk grows over his face as you adjust the jacket over your shoulders.
“...And it worked, didn’t it?”
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the-witheredroses · 4 months
Text
Oscar Isaac Characters Finding You Dead
Minors DNI
Featured Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Moon Knight System, Basil Stitt, Blue Jones, Poe Dameron, Nathan Bateman, Duke Leto Atreides, Prince John, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Anselm Vogelweide, Llewyn Davis, Abel Morales x gn!reader
Sorry if anyone is ooc!
CW: death, murder, suicide, blood/gore, break-in, various wounds, torture, etc. + pet names, untranslated Spanish, so on.
Notice! Not all of these scenarios are romantically founded, the reader is just someone who knew the character/was close with them.
These are just some short, dumb little rambles/headcannons of mine, so it’s not written the best.
Not proof read or heavily edited
Miguel O’Hara - Villain Attack
There was never a doubt in Miguel’s mind, he knew that one day he’d have to save you. But not like this…
A Green Goblin anomaly had appeared and started bombing Nueva York.
You’d think with all the Spider People so close by, there’d be no casualties. But being so focused on protecting other universes, he almost neglected his own.
The moment Miguel was aware of the anomaly, he and many other Spiders rushed in to help protect the city.
The damage was already extreme, with two buildings nearly demolished.
Spiders spread across the scene, saving and moving the bystanders as Miguel focused on the alternate Goblin.
After capturing the terrorizer, Miguel started barking orders to everyone, wanting everything cleared up asap.
He was heading back to base as the spiders cleared the rubble.
“Oh god- MIGUEL!” One of the Spiders cried out as they tried to lift a large blanket of concrete up. The urgency in their voice quickly set Miguel off.
Miguel rushed over, his heart dropping seeing your dust covered body.
How long had you been under there? Why didn’t anyone sense you sooner? Miguel’s mind raced with panic.
With his sheer strength, he threw the debris away from your body and checked your vitals, his eyes focused on your face the entire time.
Open your eyes… please… mi amor…
When didn’t feel a heartbeat, he went to start cpr, but realized your ribs were broken. The broken bones had stabbed your vital organs, he couldn’t save you, it would’ve only caused more damage.
Miguel didn’t even realize he was crying until he saw his tears hit your face, muddling the dust covering your skin.
It wasn’t often he cried, hell, it took a good few minutes for him to start crying over Gabriella’s death. But after another loss, he couldn’t hold in the pain he was already barely containing.
His arms cradled your broken body with the most care possible. It didn’t matter that you were gone, you were his, the person he swore to protect.
I failed again…
Sobs ruptured through the bombing site. The boss who everyone saw as intimidating and cold, was now hunched over, sobbing over your limp body.
I failed.
I failed.
I failed…
Moon Knight System - Steven / Marc / Jake - Break-in and Murder
Steven, once again, had a late night of work at the gift shop. He was exhausted when he came home, but was more than happy to be back home after stocking shelves for hours.
He was almost tempted to let Marc or Jake front instead, but Steven wanted to see you before Jake took off to do Konshu’s bidding later in the night.
“Love, I'm back!” He says, keeping up his cheerfulness. It had been a long day, he just wants to see you.
Looking around the house, Steven felt confused. You normally rushed to meet him, to welcome him back.
Where were you?
Walking into the bedroom, Steven saw your form under the blankets.
“Love? Are you not feeling well?” He asked quietly, worried he might wake you.
You looked at peace, your hair tousled as it lays on the pillow. Your skin was a bit pale, but Steven smiled softly, assuming you were just tired, he knew he sure was.
His hand fell on your covered stomach as he sat beside you. But a warmth quickly spread over where he had applied pressure to the blanket.
Looking over, Steven nearly had a heart attack. His hand was tacky from blood that now soaked the thick comforter that’s covering you.
With fear rushing through his veins, he ripped off the covers to reveal the stab wounds littered across your torso.
A scream ripped through his chest as he quickly tried to see if you were still alive. His heart dropped when he felt your cold skin and lack of a heart beat.
Despite Jake and Marc trying to desperately front, Steven wouldn’t let them or listen to their pleads.
Instead, he grabbed your body and sobbed. His hand clasped yours, wishing yours would squeeze his, that you’d wake up and kiss his worries away.
No, no, no— what happened— love… oh god…
It took a good while for Steven to let one of the others front, but Marc took over when he got the chance.
Both had been confined to the mirrors in the bedroom, wishing they could hold you like Steven had. Instead, for over an hour, they were stuck in the mirrors, cursed to grieve from a distance.
Steven faded back into the subconscious, too drained to watch Marc from the mirror.
Jake, on the other hand, took a step back into the subconscious because he had his own plans.
Marc didn’t sob as much as Steven did, but his pain was just as bad.
He had lost so much in life, he was almost confused on how to express his grief for you.
His fingers run along your face, tracing every detail he loves so much. Marc wished you would open your eyes, but your body was long since cold.
Marc wished he complimented you more. Sure, he praised you often, but did you know how much he loved you?
His heart ached with guilt. Marc wanted to make you blush once more from his compliments and soft kisses.
He didn’t know who did this. But he would. They’d find out who did this.
They all would get justice for you.
By Konshu’s word, he swore they would.
It was Marc who called the police and watched as you were dragged away to the hospital morgue.
It was Marc who watched the security footage that showed your killer breaking into the apartment and leaving an hour later.
It was Marc who found out the explicit details that came with your murder.
Marc was the one who told Steven and Jake the details.
This shouldn’t have ever happened… but now we know. What do we do next?
Jake was the protector, or so he’s supposed to be.
Standing over your body in the freezing morgue, Jake stared at your expressionless face.
He could remember the last time you two had a date night. The night was warm as he drove the two of you around town. He could remember the beautifully warm smile that broke across your face as the date came to a close.
Jake would do anything to see that smile again.
The others had already fronted to say their final goodbyes, Jake wanted to be the last one. He wanted to talk to you one last time.
“We found out who did this, amor.” He whispered, trying to contain his wavering voice.
“They won’t get away with this…” His lips brushed your forehead.
”I’m sorry I couldn’t save you…” His tears finally fell down as he reluctantly pulled away.
As he left the hospital, Jake dawned the suit and slipped into the night, ready to enact revenge for you.
Your murderer will regret ever laying a finger on you…
Basil Stitt - Suicide
Basil hadn’t seen you in a while. Yes, part of it was because he had locked himself in his apartment, but he also just hadn’t seen you pass by his door.
He always had his eye to the peephole when you should be leaving or getting home from work.
Is that weird? Of course, but it made him feel less alone. He wanted to talk to you, but his scars contained him to his room.
Where were you? He wondered after spending an entire day looking out into the hallway.
Basil’s heart dropped when he saw movers taking garbage bags out of your apartment.
What are they doing to your things?
Despite his fear, Basil dawned his paper bag and poked his head out.
“What are you guys doing?” Basil questioned nervously.
“There was a suicide. The family wanted us to collect the person’s belongings.” The confused and hesitant workers answered.
Basil slammed his door and collapsed to the ground instantly. The paper bag tumbling to the floor as he clutched and pulled his hair.
His body trembled with grief and hatred as tears pooled on the floor.
He never was good at reacting to bad information, but this was worse.
Why did you leave him too? What did he do wrong?
First it was his face, then his job, then his family and girlfriend, but now you too?
His tears turned to screams and Basil went on a destructive rampage in his apartment, the agony overwhelming him.
He blamed himself for your death, despite barely knowing anything about it.
Maybe if he hadn’t gone into hiding, you would’ve lived. Maybe you two could’ve been lonely together.
But he was also angry.
How could you leave him after everything that happened to him? When he needed you the most?
You didn’t know though. How could you? Your neighbor, the only person you saw everyday, had disappeared for weeks without a word.
Basil knew that, but nothing could stop the emotions flooding and pouring out of him.
Why did you leave me? Why? Why?! Why?!?
Blue Jones - Murdered by a Client
Working for Blue always had its risks, and everyone knew that, including him.
But Blue didn’t expect this.
You had been bought out for the night by a rich newcomer. Nothing bad was supposed to happen.
Blue gave them permission to use you as you saw fit. As long as the merchandise didn’t get damaged, anything went.
Blue stood over your strangled body, his face neutral and flat.
Your glossed over eyes stared back at him, lips hung open loosely.
He didn’t expect his toy to be destroyed, let alone strangled to death.
Your costume was still on, but your makeup was out of place. Blue’s doll was a beautiful, broken mess.
Blue exhaled a puff of smoke as he turned to the killer, the man a sobbing mess.
“I didn’t mean to- they wouldn’t listen to me- please let me go, I’ll compensate you-“ He tried to ramble out, shutting up when the barrel of Blue’s gun pressed against his forehead.
The shot rang through the entire building. The girls and clients quickly rushed out of the other rooms to see what happened.
Screams and tears broke out from the girls as Blue pushed past everyone going to his office.
But it was once he was alone that Blue had the chance to process what happened.
Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw your dead ones. It hurt seeing something he owned in such a state.
Only one tear falls down his cheek as he reviews the footage of what happened. He always kept cameras in the rooms, it was a security measure, but he didn’t think he’d actually ever watch the footage for something like this.
Blue already knew the man was lying about why he killed you, but it hurt to watch you get choked and beg to be let go of.
The man was just angry, he only wanted to kill. You had done nothing wrong. Which made Blue mad.
He leaned back in his seat as the hot, silent tears fell down his cheeks, hidden by the cigar smoke flooding the front of his face.
Blue decided that, from the forward, he was going to be far more strict with who could touch his toys…
My poor bunny…
Poe Dameron - Spaceship Crash
You and Poe had agreed to stay safe, to meet one another after the fight concluded.
Together, you were going to celebrate the victory.
Poe knew you were an intelligent flier, that you were going to do great things for the universe.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that everything went well, until he joined the celebrations…
Everyone was celebrating over the successful stop to the First Order. But as Poe searched the crowds, he realized you were missing.
Fearing the worst, he darted to the medical tents, desperately looking for you. His fears were met when he saw your barely breathing body.
Poe fell to his knees besides the cot you rested on, analyzing the damage you had taken.
He called out your name, to no response.
“Their ship was shot and crashed. There were some malfunctions and the safety’s didn’t trigger. They don’t have much longer, there’s nothing we can do on such short notice.” A nurse sadly explained.
“So you're just leaving them to die out!?” Poe exclaimed in horror, his tears falling fast and hard.
Despite wanting to reprimand the nurse, he knew it would do nothing. Instead, he held your hand to his lips as he watched you until your final breath.
In your final moments, Poe had been whispering soft and loving words to you, hoping you could hear him.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, that any of this happened. You deserve the world, the galaxy. You helped save us. You’re a hero… you’re my galaxy…”
Poe couldn’t stop crying, and he could barely hear himself over the cheering outside.
He should’ve been celebrating with you, this shouldn’t have happened.
No one knew where Poe had gone, and hours later, Finn had to pull Poe away from your body.
Despite all reluctance, Poe eventually left your side for the night, but he didn’t stop mourning you.
That night, he spent his time in your room holding your belongings close, not wanting to lose the last bits of you he does have.
My galaxy, I’m so so sorry…
Nathan Bateman - Killed by a Prototype
You had been one of the few people Nathan trusted enough to come around the house.
Not that he ever let you go downstairs, no.
He didn’t need you to.
When first developing Ava and her predecessors, he had chosen to try and study a real person. Not through the cameras like he did later on, no.
He thought it’d be better to model the AI after someone he liked.
But he was wrong. One of the few times he had let his emotions make his decision, and it was the worst one.
While trying to work out the kinks of the AI, it had escaped. It had knocked him unconscious for long enough that it made its way upstairs.
The girl stared at you in horror as you stood in the kitchen, knife in hand from making dinner.
You looked just as shocked to see a nude woman coming up from the basement, wires hanging from her broken arm.
She even looked oddly similar to you.
Before you could even react, she tackled you, the knife going flying.
Nathan, having heard the crash, awoke and ran upstairs.
He came up from behind and broke the AI’s skull, the body falling on top of you.
“For fucks sake. That was awf…” he trailed off once he shoved the AI’s body to the side and saw you.
Nathan didn’t know how to react seeing your bleeding body, knife sticking out from where your heart is.
There was no hospital nearby, and with how glassy your eyes looked, he knew you were doomed.
Silently, Nathan sat back on his knees and feet, just staring down at your lifeless body.
He wasn’t an emotional person, but he didn’t like how he felt at that moment.
His eyes searched yours before shifting to the dead AI woman, his creation, your killer.
Nathan’s fists reacted quicker than his brain had, and before he knew it, his hands were bloody from breaking the AI down to nothing but shards.
His feet moved to the bar, and before he knew it, he had drunk a full bottle of vodka.
His knuckles, caked in dried blood, chucked the bottle at the wall. The shatters go flying, some even hitting you…
Nathan stood over your body, once again, staring down at you. His expression unclear.
After your death, Nathan was far more careful. Adding keycards to open doors, not just simple locks.
He even kept the prototypes locked up no matter what.
And who knows, maybe your death is what got him to start drinking so much…
How idiotic…
Duke Leto Atreides - Poisoning
Leto knew the dangers of loving you, yet he still did it.
He always made his love clear, practically worshiping you in private.
Leto would risk his life and title as Duke just to care for you for forever.
He wanted to propose eventually.
But your life was taken long before he had the chance.
The Duke looked down at your slumped body, your poisoned drink spilt from where your head had fallen.
In that moment, Leto regretted never marrying you.
He loved you, but in theory, it was better to stay unmarried, open to alliances with the other Great Houses.
But this wasn’t worth it.
Your life wasn’t worth it.
Leto had to keep his composure in front of his men, but in the comfort of his room, he cried. He weeped.
His sobs shook his body as remorse and grief overwhelmed his senses.
Seeing your body in such a way, it shook him to the core.
Sure, he had experienced death before, but this was different.
He loved you, and he saw where you died, he saw you dead.
Choked sobs escaped his lips as he recounted all the moments you two shared.
He wished he could’ve kept you safe, stopped you from drinking the poison.
You were in the House of Atreides, you should have been safe.
That’s what ate at him. That you died where he swore you were protected.
You died under his care.
Why you were killed, he wasn’t sure. But he swore to find out, to avenge you.
If nothing else, he’d make sure to get you justice.
He loved you, and he messed up never marrying you.
I wish I had made you mine, my dear…
Prince John - Assassination
John, the prideful idiot, should’ve never put a bounty on Robin Hood’s head.
It only made his reputation worse.
John should’ve lowered the taxes, but he didn’t.
And now all the citizens hate him, rightfully so.
But John always had you to go back to, you to love and receive love back.
You tried to reason with John, to show him he was being unreasonable and bleeding his kingdom dry.
Yet he never listened, and he now knows the danger of not listening to the advice he gets.
You had just been going about your business, crossing through the towns when you were attacked.
What was supposed to be a simple robbery, turned to an assassination. One of Robin’s troupe mates had gone rogue; they wanted to send Prince John a message.
The message was received.
John had gotten word of what happened.
He found out about how you begged for your life.
How you cried before your body was abandoned on a wooded path.
It made him angry. It made John furious.
You didn’t deserve this. You advocated for the citizens, yet you were the one killed.
John had destroyed everything in sight upon hearing of your murder.
His guards and mother had barely been able to calm him down. But once he had come down from the rage, John broke out into sobs.
He was barely consolable, all he wanted was to fall into your arms and be comforted by you.
Just one more time, John wanted to feel you caress his scalp as you reassured your love for him.
He couldn’t believe he lost you, the only person who loved him.
In spite and pure hatred, John raised the bounty on Robin Hood and his gaggle of followers.
John wanted them alive so he could execute them on your behalf, but he’d take their dead bodies as well.
As long as they were dead, he would be content.
Robin Hood… you’ll regret this… hurting my beloved…
Santiago “Pope” Garcia - Car Accident
Santi had been through so much in life, and it made him extremely overprotective of those he loved.
He always was worried and tried to protect you.
He didn’t want to risk you getting hurt, especially in the dangerous world we live in.
So why did the world still take you from him?
Santi didn’t know how to react when he got the call from the hospital.
He initially had ignored the call, thinking it was a reminder to set up an appointment or something. But when they called again a few minutes after, the blood in his face drained.
“… died… car crash…” those were the only words his brain registered the operator saying.
His heart broke into a million pieces and he felt like he was hyperventilating.
You died..? How could you die in a crash? After everything tried to do to protect you?
The call had ended and Santi sat hunched over, crying into the palms of his hands. His breathing was erratic and uncontrollable.
If he had picked up the first time, maybe he could have made it to the hospital. Maybe he could’ve said goodbye. At least, that’s what he thought.
“I’m so sorry- oh god, no…” He murmured over and over, desperately wishing it wasn’t true.
He almost wished he was at the crash, that way he could’ve seen you one last time. But now, he’s stuck waiting for the morgue to call, waiting to confirm that it’s your body on the table.
Santi’s sobs only stopped when he passed out from exhaustion.
Why did this happen to you? Why you…
Anselm Vogelweide - Shot on Accident
Anselm was known for his erratic and random behavior. That included when he’d change his mind on a whim.
Despite his absurd actions, you cared for him, as he did you.
Anselm always kept you nearby, and everyone knew that. Even people just passing through his office knew that.
He treated you differently, he treated you better than most of his other employees.
Where he’d change his mind as he saw fit with his clients, he was very firm with his decisions regarding you.
And it didn’t go unnoticed.
So when Anselm decided to raise the price out of the blue on a client, the client was pissed.
It wasn’t unexpected that a gun was going to be pulled, but the gunshot that rang out- that was a surprise.
His men had already detained the perpetrator before Anselm realized that you’d been shot.
Your hands clutched at your bleeding heart, and your eyes quickly fell shut, your body following suit.
Disregarding his squeaking leg brace, Anselm dove to collect your body in his arms.
His eyes were wide with horror and disbelief at the sight of you dying in his arms.
The world was practically silent for him as he watched you breath your last breath.
Anselm sat there for a moment, pulling your body close to his chest in an attempt to preserve your warmth. He felt an ache in his chest when you gave no response, your body limp and spilling blood.
Anselm didn’t give himself the time to mourn or cry, instead he went cold, his heart stilling for a moment as his attention turned to the shooter.
Looking through the fogged glass lens, Anselm ordered to have your killer chained up in the basement as he carried your body to another room.
For months after your death, Anselm tortured the person who killed you.
The basement became a crime scene of horrific activities. Teeth and nail pulling, breaking bones, slicing skin, it was all incomparable to what Anselm felt the murderer deserved.
They killed his dear dove. This was the least he could do.
His disappointment was immeasurable when he found the murderer dead one morning, Anselm felt far from done torturing them.
The body was disposed of swiftly, and afterwards, Anselm visited the extravagant grave he made special for you.
It was only then, after everything, that he let himself cry over your passing.
My dove…
Llewyn Davis - Suicide
Llewyn was your friend, and the two of you always helped one another out.
He needed a couch to sleep on, you were open. You needed a drinking buddy, he was there.
You both couldn’t offer much monetarily, both just trudging through life and old habits.
But you always left the window unlocked, just for him.
Llewyn hadn’t heard from you in a while, and it had just so happened, he needed a place to stay and was in the area.
Throwing open the fire escape window, he hopped through, entering your apartment.
He called your name as he wandered around, confused where you could be so late in the day.
Yet, when he arrived at the bathroom door he paused, knocking before entering.
He instantly wished he never opened the door.
In the tub, surrounded by bloodied water, he saw you. Your face was towards the window, like you were watching the sky before you died.
The sight made him nearly hurl, but the tears made it out first.
What have you done…
Just when Llewyn thought his life couldn’t get worse, you decided to leave him just like Mike did…
Of course, he knew it wasn’t actually a choice to go against him, but it still felt like he was part of why you took your life.
And that broke his heart.
If he had just visited you or bummed at your place more often, would you still have gone through with it?
He called the police after a bit of a breakdown, and a few days later, he was alerted that your only goodbye was a note scrawled with “I’m sorry.”
Maybe the note was for him, but boy, he wished there was more.
A simple “fuck you Llewyn” would’ve been better than this…
You had always asked him to play a song, but he alway said no. He always said he was too tired, that music was his work, not something he wanted to do all the time.
You never pushed him to play for you, not like other people did. So, he never played for you.
But now, in front of your grave, Llewyn played his heart out to you. His tears bouncing off his guitar, onto the frozen ground where you’d been buried.
‘If I had wings, like Norah’s dove,
I’d fly up the river to the one I love…’
Abel Morales - Accidentally Killed During Work
Abel knew the dangers of letting his employees continue their oil deliveries and solo inspections.
So many of his employees had already been attacked, yet he still took the risk.
He just didn’t expect the attacks to get worse.
Sure, some had been threatened with a gun, hell, one was kidnapped and beaten.
But this was the first time someone actually died…
Upon hearing about your death, Abel stopped in his tracks and demanded to know what happened.
He felt like his life was falling apart the moment his wife explained what happened.
After so many troubles and hoops he’s had to go through for his company, he didn’t think he’d be losing one of his best employees as well.
You were doing a simple house call and sales pitch.
That’s all it was supposed to be.
If he had known your colleague wasn’t feeling well, he wouldn’t have sent you out to the call at all.
He never would’ve guessed you’d decide to go alone…
Abel felt guilty over your death. You died because the competition was trying to send a message, or at least that’s what he assumed.
Abel held his head high as he found out about the circumstances of your death.
Apparently, the murderers were only meant to rough you up a bit and dump you just outside city limits, in a particularly snowy area.
But as you tried to run away, one of the goons tried to shoot a warning shot to get you to stop.
The bullet hit you in the Achilles tendon.
You collapsed into the dense snow instantly, crying out in pain.
In fear of getting arrested, the shooters fled, leaving you to bleed in the snow.
You died of hypothermia. You could’ve been saved.
That’s what hurt Abel the worst.
If your killers had just tried, they could’ve brought you to the hospital. But instead, they’re now awaiting a trial and eventual imprisonment.
But because they confessed, and it was an accidental death, they would be able to have parole, they could walk free one day.
To Abel, they deserved to rot in prison forever. But he didn’t have the right to oppose the judge, not when your family had already accepted the punishment.
Abel paid for the funeral, and there he saw you for the last time.
I’m sorry this happened… I’ll take care of your family from now on. I promise…
—————————————————
Brb sobbing in the club rn…
For real though, thank you for reading!
Feel free to send over any requests/suggestions
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fettuccin-e · 5 months
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Think About It
Kinktober Day 23: Dirty Talk
Tags: Santiago Garcia x Reader, talk of Frankie Morales x Reader x Santiago Garcia (ie. talk of threesome), unprotected piv (pls wrap it in real life I beg of you), dacryphilia, plenty of dirty talk like it's a lot, light degradation, breeding kink whoopsie, Santiago Garcia is a filthy motherfucker do Not blame me for this (w/c: 1.3K)
A/N: So this may have gotten out of hand a tad so do Not fucking look at me okay??? Santiago Garcia the man that you are I love you sm and also there are so many Frankie mentions in this fic so it could be a prelude to this fic I wrote earlier this month where they actually have a threesome (For Kinktober I have been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)
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Santiago Garcia doesn’t get overwhelmed easily. He’s a soldier; he’s been conditioned to withstand the harshest conditions, brave horrible situations without breaking, without letting his hard exterior crack.
But fuck, when he’s with you like this, that exterior shatters like fragile glass, all over the floor in front of your shared bed.
You’re so fucking tight and wet around him as he keeps a hard grip on your hips, yanking you back on his cock, plunging himself as deep as he can fucking get.
“God damn it, baby, taking me so fucking good,” he grits, yanking your hips up further, your face pressed into the pillows as you scrabble at the sheets, clinging for purchase against Santi’s onslaught. “This pussy’s so goddamn wet, she’s fucking leaking around my cock, baby. Making a goddamn mess.”
“Santi,” you whine, “You can’t just-”
He lands a swift smack to your ass, watching as your skin recoils against him. It’s hypnotizing, makes him want to fuck you into these sheets for hours, just to watch your gorgeous body react to him over and over.
“What, baby?” He growls, leaning close and fucking into you hard enough that the headboard smacks against the wall. “Can’t what? Can’t tell you how fucking tight your little pussy is? Can’t tell you that she’s fucking sucking my cock in like you can’t get enough?”
You whine, loud and high-pitched, burying your face in the pillows. Santi snarls in return, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and yanking your head up until you’re gasping air into your lungs. He fucks you harder, slamming into you violent and fucking reckless. His careful control has burned to ashes before him, lost in the heat of your body.
“Look at you, fucking desperate slut just sobbing on my cock. It’s spreading you so wide, honey, ‘s gonna split you apart,” he snarls, and you hiccup over your moans. “Think this is enough for you baby? This needy pussy just needs more and more and more.”
Your hips will probably bruise under the strength of his grip, but God, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think you do either, with the way you moan, high and wonton every time he buries himself so deep.
“Should get Frankie, fill you up even more, get you all fucked and loose on two cocks,” he grits, and Christ, the way your cunt clenches around him has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from busting inside of you right fucking now.
He chuckles darkly, and you squeak softly when he leans close to you, covering your back with his warm body. “Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” he grins, and you shiver beneath him.
“Fuck, I don’t- I don’t know,” you whine, pushing yourself back and fucking yourself on Santi’s cock. 
“I do, baby. I know you want it,” he growls, leaning back up again to fuck into you hard enough that you scream. “Could get Fish and we could both fuck you so good, hermosa. Get him buried in this sweet little pussy while I,” he pulls your asscheeks apart to expose that little hole buried between. You jerk and moan when he brushes a finger over it. “I could take this sweet little ass.”
You sob into the sheets, humping involuntarily back into Santi’s harsh thrusts into your heaving body. Tears are dripping down your face and landing on the pillow below you.
Santi groans, fucking lost to it, rambling as he fucks into you like a man possessed.
He leans over you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pulling you up until you’re only pressed against him, your tits exposed to the air while he humps up into your cunt.
“I could eat your pretty cunt while Frankie fucks this mouth, show him what a good little cocksucker you are,” he murmurs into your ear, and you gasp his name.
He pulls his arms tighter around you, holding you so fucking tight as he gets so deep into your hot cunt. You’re dripping all over his thighs, his thrusts making lewd snapping noises when his thighs stick to yours every time he shoves his hips in, in, in.
“We talk about you, baby, me n' Frankie,” he mutters, and you can’t do anything but let your mouth gape open as he forces little moans out of your mouth. “Talk about how pretty you look, how good you fucking taste. Frankie needs a taste baby, wants to bury his tongue in this sweet pussy still you’re fucking drowning him.”
“Jesus, Santi, fuck- ah, oh my God,” you slur between labored breaths, and you can feel Santi’s cocky grin against your neck, before he bites sharply into it.
“My gorgeous fucking girl, can’t believe you’re fucking mine,” he snarls snapping his hips up, up up. You dig your nails into his forearms as he breaks you apart, jamming the thick head of his cock up into that little spot that makes you cry so beautiful for him.
“Gonna knock you up, just like this, baby, wouldn’t you like that?” he says, and you hiccup a little yes that has him growling, one of his hands coming down to clutch over your stomach, pawing at your skin.
“I’ll pump this sweet pussy full of my cum, make sure it fucking takes.” You sob like you’re dying, blinking fat tears from your eyes. “And if it doesn’t,” he continues, “I’ll keep fucking you, over and over, flood this cunt till you’re dripping everywhere, leaking down your fucking thighs.”
“Santi, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna-”
Santi talks like he can’t hear you, maybe he fucking can’t, too lost in the heat and wetness and the need to hold back his own orgasm brewing deep in his bones. “I’ll fuck this pussy everywhere, I’ll make sure that you have a baby, watch you so round and goddamn beautiful baby, you’ll fucking glow, I just know it. Shit, I’ll fuck you in the kitchen, the goddamn shower, keep you nice and full of me no matter what. I’ll make you nice and loose so you can take my cock all the time, no matter what, just give me the word, sweet girl, and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”
You scream, wordless and overwhelmed, when you cum, your pussy gushing all over Santi’s thighs even as he ruts into you like a goddamn animal. He growls, littering your neck with kisses and bites and licks. The guys will give him shit when you see them next, but he can already picture it: the way Frankie will eye the marks, his pupils blown wide, and Santi will fucking know.
“Please cum, Santi, please fill me up, give me a baby,” you whimper as you shake through your orgasm, and who is Santi to refuse you?
He groans, shoving himself hard into you, as deep as he can get, and floods your cunt with his cum. He hopes the first time will take, that he’ll be able to see the way you get rounder and rounder, carrying your beautiful baby.
When you’re both finally wrung dry, he keeps you hugged tight to him as he lowers you both to your sides. He keeps himself buried deep inside, not wanting a drop to slip out.
“Fucking Christ, Santi,” you mutter, running your hands over his forearms as he buries his face into your hair. He groans, but stays mostly quiet. “Gonna blow your knees out if you keep fucking me like that,” you giggle.
“Worth it,” he mutters, and grins into your hair. “But if I do, we can always call in Fish to keep you satisfied.”
“Shut up,” you chuckle, but Santi doesn’t miss the way you clench around his soft cock at the prospect.
He files the thought away for later.
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Here is the entire article about Triple Frontier 2.
May I remind you all that Oscar recently said there is a project in the works with Pedro? Please say it’s this!
youtube
I may die a small death if this happens.
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ivystoryweaver · 4 months
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Jingle Bells
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Summary: Santiago is a flirty cute dork and you can’t stop me
Pairing: Santiago Garcia from Triple Frontier x gn!reader
Word Count: 800
Content: fluff, mentions of Christmas songs (but story doesn’t indicate what Santiago or reader celebrate, if anything), not beta’d
*✧・゚: *✧・゚:*✧・゚: *✧・゚
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"That'll be $73.07," you mumble to your customer, waiting as she runs her credit card through the machine before handing her a receipt.
Twelve hours on the cash wrap at work, scanning grocery item after item, dealing with faulty coupons, the holiday rush and fussy customers. Your feet are sore and you're dying to get off your shift in thirty minutes.
You picked up back-to-back shifts to pay for a plumbing bill your landlord refused to cover.
"Plumbing is the responsibility of the tenant," he groused at you last week. "Read your lease."
Without even a glance, your hand reaches to scan the next customer's items.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Happy holidays," a soothing tenor voice greets you.
"Happy holida - " You trip over your monotonous reply when your eyes meet the most beautiful man you've ever seen in person.
Sparkling brown eyes dance underneath thick eyebrows, arched in playful curiosity. A sprinkling of gray dusts his dark curly hair.
"Hi," he greets you, chomping playfully on his gum, which draws attention to the curve of luscious, full lips and the sexy stubble on his chin.
"Good afternoon," you manage, reminding yourself to continue scanning his groceries.
"Afternoon?" He shoots back, nodding toward the darkened windows at the front of the store. "It's 9:15."
"Oh. Right," you sheepishly chuckle.
"Long day?" the handsome man genuinely questions.
Your first instinct is to shrug him off with the run-of-the-mill small talk that comes as naturally as breathing to you, as a cashier.
But something happens - a contradiction that has your heart tripping over itself.
His eyebrows shift curiously, like a puppy, while, at the same time, a smug smirk curls the corner of that mouth.
"Uhh, yes," you admit, pausing, "the longest."
"I'm sorry," he sincerely returns, reaching to swipe his next grocery item for you. "Must be busy this time of year."
"Oh, god...sorry," you stammer, reaching to finish up his order.
"'S okay," he shrugs one shoulder. "You gonna be able to get out of here soon?"
"Not soon enough," you joke. "If I hear 'Jingle Bells' one more time, I can't be held responsible for my actions."
"Hmm," he nods and then he sings, "Dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleeeiigghh..."
"Nooo, please stop," you find yourself laughing. Out loud. When was the last time you laughed?
"Are you sure? Because I do all the hits. Siiiilent niiiight - "
"Oh my god," you giggle, "you have a terrible voice."
He pretends to be offended, "Is this how you treat all your customers?" The corners of his warm brown eyes crinkle with amusement, letting you know he's still teasing. "Because if you smile at everybody like that, you must be the best cashier in this place."
"Could you hurry it up?" A grouchy customer behind this gorgeous man interjects, almost bouncing on her toes.
And just like that, you're deflated. This is why you don't waste your time caring. No point, no time to truly connect. Everyone is in such a damn hurry, especially this time of year.
"Sorry," you mumble, flustered as you start to bag the man's groceries.
"Hi, I'm Santiago," he greets the grinch behind him. "And this is... " he glances back at you, reading off your name tag. "Been a long day. Just trying make 'em smile. I'll get out of your way."
He flashes a stunning, yet disarming smile and the woman falters.
"Oh. I-it's okay."
"Thanks," he nods, shifting his attention back to you.
You give him the total. “Hang in there,” he winks. “Bet this place would fall apart without you.”
He leaves you stupefied, but smiling.
You can’t even remember the last time someone showed kindness and warmth to you, a simple cashier - let alone made you laugh.
The remaining 27 minutes of your shift feel a little lighter.
*✧・゚: *✧・゚:*✧・゚: *✧・゚
One week later…
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Dashing through the snoooowww…”
Your eyes snap up to find Mr. Handsome next in your checkout line.
“This is gonna get awkward if you don’t remember me.” His dark eyebrows shoot up questioningly.
“Santiago…right?” Your cheeks feel warm as he flashes you that smile.
“Guilty,” he chuckles. “I really am dying to see what happens when ‘Jingle Bells’ pushes you over the edge.”
“Don’t try me,” you laugh, scanning his grocery items. "Nobody wants me to lose control in here."
"Maybe somewhere else then," he cooly suggests, with the cutest eyebrow wiggle. "Maybe a restaurant? Or a bar? We could grab a drink when you get off?"
Your mouth drops open. "That...was..."
"Pretty smooth, right?" He grins. "Yeah, I've found that singing off key holiday songs is the way to go."
You laugh for about the twentieth time since you met Santiago.
And you go for that drink.
*✧・゚: *✧・゚:*✧・゚: *✧・゚
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stealfromthedevil · 10 months
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Ugh, they're just too much! Always Benny for me, but I can appreciate how beautiful the rest of them are.
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